"Listen," said the Player in that smooth showman's voice, "it's not your fault you're here, really. It's the business of tragedy. Everyone has some tragic flaw, something that drives them to self-destruction, for the sake of that final, thrilling conclusion. Your flaws weren't even that dramatic, to be honest. If the stage were yours alone, it'd be dull theater."
He turned to Guildenstern and Rosencrantz. "You want so badly to make sense of it all, don't you? But in the end you didn't even try that hard. You," he said to Guildenstern, "are so desperate for rational explanation that you'd rationalize sealing up a letter you weren't supposed to see and sending a college chum to his death. And you," he said to Rosencrantz, "just don't want to make waves. You do what you're told, because it's easier. Hope for the best, but of course the best never comes."
When his eyes landed on Laertes, he clucked his tongue. "Now you, you almost had the makings of a true anti-hero! But you'll always be known as someone else's tragic foil. You had just enough blind righteousness to get yourself in trouble. You let yourself be used by the king you'd been clamoring to kill. You got played, son."
He looked at Osric next, and outright laughed. "And you," he said, "were so preoccupied by status and hobnobbing with royals, you didn't even notice the tragedy unfolding around you! You brought it about, prepared the weapons, and you were oblivious!"
Rosencrantz, of all people, spoke up. "Well, that's not fair," he started to say. "He didn't know. None of us knew! What were we supposed to do?"
"Ask someone who cares. I just care what happens next. A tragic flaw needs a tragic requital, and you're luckier than most in the Bad Place. No fire and brimstone for you, just flailing around in the dark." The Player flashed a disarming smile, took out a coin and walked it across his fingers. "But here I've given too much of the plot away. Let's go back to the beginning."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2019-02-02 06:53 pm (UTC)He turned to Guildenstern and Rosencrantz. "You want so badly to make sense of it all, don't you? But in the end you didn't even try that hard. You," he said to Guildenstern, "are so desperate for rational explanation that you'd rationalize sealing up a letter you weren't supposed to see and sending a college chum to his death. And you," he said to Rosencrantz, "just don't want to make waves. You do what you're told, because it's easier. Hope for the best, but of course the best never comes."
When his eyes landed on Laertes, he clucked his tongue. "Now you, you almost had the makings of a true anti-hero! But you'll always be known as someone else's tragic foil. You had just enough blind righteousness to get yourself in trouble. You let yourself be used by the king you'd been clamoring to kill. You got played, son."
He looked at Osric next, and outright laughed. "And you," he said, "were so preoccupied by status and hobnobbing with royals, you didn't even notice the tragedy unfolding around you! You brought it about, prepared the weapons, and you were oblivious!"
Rosencrantz, of all people, spoke up. "Well, that's not fair," he started to say. "He didn't know. None of us knew! What were we supposed to do?"
"Ask someone who cares. I just care what happens next. A tragic flaw needs a tragic requital, and you're luckier than most in the Bad Place. No fire and brimstone for you, just flailing around in the dark." The Player flashed a disarming smile, took out a coin and walked it across his fingers. "But here I've given too much of the plot away. Let's go back to the beginning."
The coin spun through the air. "Forget."
"That was mean," said Alfred.
"I'm a demon! I get to be mean!"