Here's Scene 1.
ACT I
SCENE 1
PRODIGY ENTERS. Curtain/lights are down.
Prodigy's a young, beautiful english rose. She's around twenty-two years old, and has shoulder length pitch-black hair. That has brilliant WHITE STREAKS glazed through it. On the LEFT HAND SIDE of her head, is a little PINK BOW.
PRODIGY
Welcome to the future. Twenty Forty-Four. To be precise. Capital City, England if you want more detail. The future isn't the best place for a young girl like me to grow up in. We have our fair share of crime, and disasters. I guess like anyone else. But what truly separates us from you is the rise of Mutants and Androids. I'm not a mutant myself but I live among them and they treat me as their own. I don't fit in with the Norms as we call them. Mutants emerged from the aftermath of the Nuclear War of Twenty-Twenty-Two. They have bodily deformities that have outcast them from traditional human society. And Androids? They appeared in Twenty-Thirty from Syntax. The leading technology company in the world.
(Pause)
My name is Amy Kathryn Anderson. In case you were wondering. But I prefer to call myself Prodigy. Most of the mutants do. How I got that name? That's beyond the time arc of this particular play. But you'll find out soon enough. When the time is right.
Prodigy EXITS.
AT RISE: WE'RE in Prodigy's quaint little office. There's a wooden desk, with a computer on, and a swivel chair behind it. Two ordinary chairs sit in front. Prodigy is at the window. The blind is half drawn, and she is looking out into the street. THUNDER, LIGHTNING and RAIN sweep across the street. It's not a nice night. Prodigy has a CIGARETTE in one hand, and with the other is peeping through the blind. The window reads - AMY ANDERSON, PRIVATE DETECTIVE.
PRODIGY
Ohhhh...!! Why isn't anyone coming? What am I doing wrong? I desperately need a new case to investigate. I'm running low on funds!
(turning away from window)
I guess I might as well call it a night. No-one's going to show up at this time. It's nearly 11pm.
(Inhales cigarette)
Hmmm.. That's better. Nothing like a good fag to calm me down. It seems to be my only friend these days.
(Crashes into swivel chair behind desk, and places head in hands)
Why did I take up this job?
(inhales more cigarette smoke)
It's all because I got that Sherlock Holmes novel, 'The Hound of Baskerville' for christmas when I was a kid. I knew it. I knew it right there and then that I wanted to be a private detective. But my dad he kept trying to talk me out of it. Maybe I should have listened to him now.
(Leans back, and inhales more smoke)
I need a fix-er-up-er.
(Opens top desk drawer and takes out a piece of wrapped up tin foil and a credit card)
This old thing has expired now. But I still have other uses for it.
(Unwraps foil and sprinkles a bit of the cocaine inside onto the desk, then uses the credit card to dice it into a thin line.)
This always does the trick when I'm feelin' blue.
(Digs into wallet, and pulls out five pound note. Rolls it up into a tube and sniffs the line of coke in one shot.)
Ahhh... That's better.
(Sniffs hard to ensure all the coke has gone up her nose, then rubs it.)
Oooooohh. I feel good all of a sudden. I could dance right now.
(Carries on smoking)
FOOTSTEPS approaching. Prodigy jerked forward in her seat, and waited for the inevitable knock.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
PRODIGY
(Douses out cigarette into tray, and folds her arms.)
Come in.
MRS. WARNER ENTERS looking rather distraught. She shakes off the rain from her UMBRELLA, and steps to Prodigy. Mrs. Warner is an elderly lady in her late fifties, with wrinkled skin, and thick sloshes of make up on her. She was wearing a pretty little red hat that was perched on top of her head. She looks posh, and fancy.
PRODIGY
(Smiling as cheerily as she could)
Can I help you?
MRS. WARNER
Yes. I've lost my baby. I don't often come to these parts, but my son wanted a toy from around here, and now....
(Sobs)
I've lost my baby!
(Sobs some more)
My husband will be so upset with me if I don't return home with him. I would go to the police, but it seems so trivial for them. I saw your office and wondered if you could help.
PRODIGY
I certainly can. Mrs...?
MRS. WARNER
Mrs. Warner.
PRODIGY
OK. Mrs. Warner. I just need to take down some details. Nothing to complicated. I'm sure this is a difficult time for you.
(Dumps tin foil into top draw, and pulls out a notepad and pen.)
So your name is Mrs. Warner.
(Writes it down.)
MRS. WARNER
(Sits down)
That is correct.
PRODIGY
And where were you last when he ran off?
MRS. WARNER
I was by the old haunted house. Just down the street. I turned my back for a brief second or two, and then he was gone.
(Wipes tears on napkin)
I hope you won't think of me as a lesser person because of it.
PRODIGY
(Writing down details)
No, No. Of Course not. It happens to all of us. Do you have any pictures of him that I could borrow for my search?
MRS. WARNER
All I have is this.
(Pulls of old, crinkled photo)
This is the most recent I have of him.
PRODIGY
(Takes photograph, and frowns.)
It's a DOG.
MRS. WARNER
Yes, Yes. He's my baby. You do pets don't you?
PRODIGY
Yeah. I guess.
MRS. WARNER
Thank you. Thank you. I can pay you quite handsomely if you find him.
PRODIGY
(Perks up in seat)
Really?
MRS. WARNER
Oh yes. We're a very wealthy family. My husband works for that Android company, Syntax.
PRODIGY
(Passes across notepad and pen)
If you could write down your details, that would be most helpful.
MRS. WARNER
(Writes down details)
There you go dear.
(Stands up.)
Call me the moment you find him.
PRODIGY
Will do.
Mrs. Warner takes her Umbrella, and EXITS. Prodigy leaned back in her chair, and lights up another cigarette.
PRODIGY
Damnit! Damnit!
(Thumps fists onto desk)
I thought I had a real case there.
(Breathes in smoke)
Never mind, I guess. A case is a case. Money is money. I hope I can make a lot for this. I don't particularly want to drag my sorry ass through these soggy streets looking for some over pampered Dog. But a Job is a Job. It all helps in the end.
(Stands up, and takes several puffs of cigarette before distinguishing it in the ash tray.)
Prodigy EXITS. END SCENE 1. (BLACKOUT)
This is the play that I got that compliment for. Doesn't seem that good now. What was I thinking!? I sent it off to the Soho Theatre a few weeks ago for a free script feedback. They'll probably just write back with CRAP written across it. :-(
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