Gallowville - Act the Second, Scene Four - Prof. Green

SCENE FOUR:

Enter the Narrator.

The Narrator: Meanwhile, realising that there is likely to be an apocalypse in the offing the Four Horseman have gathered and are, in their opinions anyway, more suitably attired for the modern world.

Exit The Narrator. Curtain up. An scrap yard; Thunder and lightning ensues Enter Death, Pestilence and War amid much smoke and confusion. Death is dressed in an standard Gothing outfit - i.e. Black attire of some kind, dyed black wig covering his skull, a number of strange finger ornamentations, skull themed jewellery and carries an large petrol chainsaw which has also been painted black. Pestilence is dressed as an filthy and stinking hippy type, resplendent in long wig, flower themed clothing and a large spliff giving off enough fumes to kill a small herd of elephants. War wears the typical uniform of an skinhead; overly tight jeans, a pair of steel toed Doc Martens combined a well worn leather jacket, obviously his head is shaven and he has drawn the standard tattoos across his knuckles ('Hate' and 'More Hate'). He is also adorned with various weapons including (but by no means limited to) a sword (which he is holding) and a long dagger sheathed in his belt, the handle of a switchblade can be seen to protrude from one boot.

Death: Are we all here? No, wait where's Famine?

Pestilence: Er... Yeah about that...

War: Wasn't He supposed to be bringing the horses?

Pestilence: Um...

Death: He better not have bloody eaten them again.

War: Yes, it would be a shame to have to eviscerate him...

Pestilence: No, he hasn't eaten them...

Death: Well?

Pestilence: He's gone on hunger strike...

War: What? I've never known him miss a meal.

Pestilence: Well if you two would let me finish; He was bringing the horses here and then some minions of Galloway stopped him and demanded he hand over the horses to be turned into pies as a mark of respect. Naturally he refused so they arrested him and then turned the horses into pies anyway, so by way of protest he went on hunger strike.

Death: Well what are we supposed to do? We're supposed to be horsemen, and there are only three of us...

War glances about the scrap yard.

War: Well one of these things is bound to run...

Death has already cottoned on and has spied his vehicle of choice.

Death: We're taking that one.

He points, War follows his finger and then groans as he sees the hearse.

War: Do we have to go in that? Maybe something with a bit more style...

Death: We are going in the hearse, you will not argue. Now you two go and make sure it runs while I try out this new fangled scythe, then we go and break out famine.

War and Pestilence both walk off towards the hearse muttering to each other.

War: It's not fair it's always everything to suit him.

Pestilence: He just said that we were taking the hearse, that doesn't mean that we can't modify it a bit...

War: A good point...

He produces a large hammer from the depths of his jacket and approaches the hearse. Curtain down to much noise of metal on metal along with gratuitous cursing and swearing. Exeunt.

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