Script: Impish

Scene: a gentlemen of senior years in a smart suit stands in near darkness. Outside the gloom, fire crackles unseen and there's an unpleasant chemical taint to the air.

Sir Gregory Hutt-Morton: I say, hello? Is there anyone there?

A collection of spikes and barbs rise from the floor with a screech of metal against stone. They bend and bind into a set of chairs and a conference table.

Sir Gregory Hutt-Morton: By all that’s holy! What fellness is this? HELP! Someone! Helloooo?

Sir Gregory runs into the gloom, almost having to push his through the fog like darkness. In the distance he sees a patch of light. Running to it, he finds himself by the same chairs and table.

Sir Gregory: [panting] What… is… What the hell is going on?

Lord Darkwing, the Unseen Menace of Curs and Laggards: Ah, Sir Gregory. Kind of you to join us. My apologies for the late start. I was caught up in a design by committee pre-pre-meeting. Those pamphlets won’t make themselves! I am Lord Darkwing, the Unseen Menace of Curs and Laggards.

Terror of Rulers, Twister of Words and Policy: Hello both. Ah, Lord Darkwing, a pleasure to see you, old fiend. Who’s the stiff?

Sir Gregory: To the pit! Both of you, vile spawns of Satan!

Lord Darkwing: Steady on there, Sir Gregory, think of your blood pressure. For the record, Lady Satan – and bless her demonic majesty – is a distant cousin. Spawn seems a little pejorative. Please, let’s be civil. May I introduce my colleague, Terror of Rulers, Twister of Words and Policy.

Terror of Rulers: Actually, I think it’s just spawn, not spawns in this context.

Lord Darkwing: Oh you little tinker, Terror. First point to you! Well played.

Terror: I thank you. One has KPIs to maintain.

Sir Gregory: Wait. Did, did you say Lady Satan…?

Lord Darkwing: Yes, it’s a very modern plane here. I believe they consider themselves entity-fluid.

Terror: Don’t say “oh, it’s a phase!”. Just because Loki was doing it first, doesn’t mean they followed along. I think after two Earth standard millennia, they’re fairly sure.

Lord Darkwing: So, shall we get down to it then?

Sir Gregory: You’ll not have your way with me, you… filthy degenerate scum!

Terror: What is it with you mortals and sex? You’re obsessed with it. Getting it, who’s having it, who’s not having it, are you any good at it, overcompensating for it, thinking about it, not thinking about it, thinking are you thinking too much or not enough about it, and now, who was what when they were born.

Darkwing: My that was quite a sentence and all on one breath too.

Terror: Are you trying to up your condescending points again?

Darkwing: Ah, you got me on that one! One nil to you still. So, Sir Gregory, my colleague’s question? Oh and may I call you, Greg?

Terror: Let’s all just take a deep, calming breath. Careful of the miasma, though. We’re all friends here. Call me Terry. I’m not big on formality.

Sir Gregory: Get down to what exactly? Where am I? No, you may not call me Greg, no. What is going on here? This another TV jape?

Terror: the meeting, of course. The wine cellar of Norhampton & Fletcher rarely looks this good.

Darkwing: It does hum a bit of sulphur on a bad day. Still, they do do a lovely claret. So, Greg, did you get the memo?

Sir Gregory: *Sir*, if you don’t mind and what memo?

Terror: The glowing one written on ethically sourced fake human skin? It was delivered to your office last month.

Sir Gregory: That? I shredded and burned it. I thought it was Extinction Rebellion trolling me.

Terror: By all that’s unholy. The person hours put into crafting a claw written summons and you bloody shred it? You didn’t even recycle. I truly despair…. and that’s not even my department! I’m so sorry, Darkwing, old bean, but I’m going to need a moment. What is the mortal realm coming to!?

Darkwing passes Terror a monogrammed handkerchief. Terror dabs at the acidic tears in his eyes. The material smokes before dissolving.

Darkwing: Well, frankly, if you don’t stop burning stuff, you’ll be coming down here to cool off. It’s been really nippy since Mammon made us cut back on burning gas. Personally, I blame that numpty Dagon for selling it to you mortals. “When Hell freezes over,” they say. I’m not laughing for a start!

Terror: Be that as it may, we have summoned you here to make a complaint, Sir If You Don’t Mind Gregory.

Sir Gregory: A complaint? Piffle.

Terror: Yes, a complaint. This year you stated that – and I quote – “… the transgender mafia are but imps and demons walking in the skin of humans.” You later backtracked on this, saying that they were just imps. That, Mr Sir Greg is an outright falsehood and slur. As a representative of –

Sir Gregory: Well, I, uhh, I meant what I said and I have since apologised. Those transgenders are just so touchy.

Flames surge from Lord Darkwing as he rises to his feet, claws scrape deep into the wood finish of the desk.

Darkwing: SILENCE MORTAL! INTERRUPT AND YOUR SUFFERING WILL BE LEGENDARY!

Terror: I say, old friend, that was impressive. Lovely impression of old Pinhead as well. Just, please don’t make the mortal follow through. It’s so difficult to get out of the furniture. Greggy, do come out from under the table. You don’t want to know who has been pinned underneath.

Sir Gregory: I, I am very sorry. P-p-please, d-do continue.

Terror: Thank you. Yes, your statement and fumbled apology was very hurtful. As a demon and carer of many an imp, I felt the accusations were wholly untrue and undeserved. Furthermore, it’s transgender people. You’ve managed to not talk about ‘the gays’, so do update, dear boy.

Darkwing: Indeed, my despotic friend, myself, and Lady Satan theirself were most displeased. Millennia of victimisation at the hands of Western propaganda, in which we’re somehow the bad guys, just because we didn’t want to follow the rules slavishly. You try and do a human a good turn by helping them understand why clothes and shoes are useful in a paradise, and you’re marked for unlife! Have you ever trod on a sharp pebble or wandered into thorns? You ask someone blessed in the breast department what is like run without good support. It’s very painful! It troubles me that dear old Yehoshua had none of this in the peace and love message, but I guess that doesn’t sell swords, news, and fear.

Terror: Lord Darkwing, I feel we have drifted somewhat. I have another meeting at 4pm and golf with Dagon before.

Darkwing: My apologies. Look, people – mortals, folk, skinbags, etc – however you choose identify, as you arrive into the cosmos, your future is unwritten. It is true that depending on where, when, and to whom your are born gives a privilege –

Terror: Why is your eye twitching, Sir Gregory Mister? Do you require medical assistance?

Sir Gregory: No. I’m perfectly fine. It’s… you’re woke… and you said the P word!

Terror: note to self, the word Privilege now causes certain mortals spiritual pain.

Darkwing: Woke? Oh, you say it with such disdain! Caring for people is what got you away from the trees, to the coasts, and across the globe. Not to mention not killed by beasts – four or two legged.

Terror: I think we may have a work cut out on this, let’s not mention evolution and societal dynamics just yet.

Darkwing: Right again, Terry. As I was saying, you are born and – I’ll keep it simple – where you start and what you start with is not your destiny. People change – inside and out.

Terror: Indeed. The very idea that there’s some type of mafia, as well. Have you been to a leftwing meeting? Factions within factions. I only go so I can wind them up by saying “Tony wasn’t all bad”.

Darkwing: In fairness, they don’t tend to make things up as much. Meanwhile, you’ve a gaggle of – what’s that word? – energy transnationals who sell you the blood of the Earth. You are hooked on their products, knowing that long term they’re doing harm.

Terror: So, here’s the schtick, Greggy my boy, when you get back, you’ll issue a full retraction on what you said. A large swathe of the voting public will think better of you. The imps will be placated and we’ll let this ride. It’s winner winner plant based dinner.

Sir Gregory: And if I don’t…? This could just as easily be a fever dream from the wrap of Ket and lunchtime bottle of Moet.

Terror: Yes, we could indeed be a figment of your mind. But who is dreaming who?

Darkwing: Oh, don’t bake his noodle with your half baked philosophy! We need to wake him up, not bloody enlighten him.

Terror: Let me put it this way, you apologise or Mrs Hoiton, the caring, yet very strict school ma’am –

Darkwing: If she’s a school ma’am, I’m a Pokémon card.

Terror: – will hear of your comment, and she may feel she has no choice but to come out.

Sir Gregory: Come out? But, she’s the love of my life. She was the only one there for me after my wife passed away.

Darkwing: I refer the honourable mortal to the phrase: one person can make a difference. She chose to look through the grandstanding and the huff & puff of your political career, focusing instead on what you could give her: acceptance and kindness.

Terror: Yes, read between the lines, Greg. It’s her story to tell – or not – and think of your time together. You’ll have to choose between love or hate.

Darkwing: Binaries are so limiting aren’t they?

Time passes

Terror: Has he gone into power save?

Darkwing: No, that’s laptops. I think he’s thinking it over.

Sir Gregory: I think I know what to do. I’m… I think I would like to apologise. I think might have been horribly wrong.

There's the soft chime of a bell as a very burned looking elevator rises from the ground. The doors open and soft muzak plays.

Terror: Think nothing of it, old fruit. It’s funny what a conversation with two demonic entities can do for a fellow. Might be a good idea to say you’ve had time to think on matters. If you go around saying you saw two demons, people will think you’re proper crackers.

Darkwing: Just… reflect on what we’ve said and think of those you love. Oh, and a word to wise; if someone with wings, dressed a white sheet, sandals, and a glowing frisbee on their head turns up, saying “it’s okay to invade Iraq again.” You’re being trolled. Don’t fall for it.

Sir Gregory gets into the lift and it rises up, doors closing shut.

Darkwing: Do you think we’ll see him again?

Terror: In this life? Maybe. Afterwards, I dunno, me being an atheist. I’d say it was all a bit ineffable, but that might be a copyright issue.

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