Civil Discourse: Warm Words

Alistair and Baxter are grown men dressed in riding outfits. Reginald wears a tux and stands with a towel over his arm for the champagne near his feet. 


Alistair: I have had enough of you Baxter!

Baxter: OOooooOOOOoooh. Did you hear that Reginald? The giant infantile being has had enough. Reginald?

Reginald: Yes, sire. I heard.

Baxter: Ha! Reginald heard you, Alistair.

Alistair: Of course he heard me. He’s standing right there. And I’m shouting!

Baxter: Oh, are ye shouting? Is it a truth that ye, Alistair Wicketmire shouteth?

Alistair: My last name is Smith. You damn well know that!

Baxter: Pffffft. Smith. Did you hear that Reginald? I’m mocking him Reginald. Reginald?

Reginald: Yes, I did hear. I believe your purposeful use of antiquated English served your degradation of Mr. Smith well.

Baxter: Indeed it did. Did you hear that Alistair? Alistair Smith, Lord of Sheffield.

Alistair: I’ve never even been to Sheffield!

Baxter: And why not? It’s lovely!

Alistair: Who care if it’s lovely? I’m not from there!

Baxter: Reginald cares. Reginald is from Sheffield.

Alistair: Oh. Oh well I’m sorry Reginald. I was just upset at Baxter’s repeated…

Reginald: I’m not from Sheffield.

Alistair: Ah! I’ll murder you both!

Baxter: Wait, you’re from Sheffield, Reginald. Isn’t that where you go on holiday?

Reginald: Sire, when you say holiday, are you referring to my lunch break?

Baxter: Of course!

Reginald: Do you mean the shady spot in the field?

Baxter: Where else? Jackson is always talking about Sheffield, and then going out there to sit.

Reginald: Jackson is from Sheffield. He sits in the field, well, because I believe his spirit is broken.

Alistair: It’s strange when servants get sad. It’s like a seriously injured clown. I mean, I want to help. But I don’t want to get involved in the circumstances that led a man to be both injured and dressed as a clown.

Baxter: Hear hear. Reginald, you’re dismissed. You’ve made Alistair uncomfortable. And I’m tired of looking at your face. I think you’re smarter than me and that makes me uncomfortable.

Alistair: Indeed.

Reginald: As you wish. Shall I send another to hold your umbrella?

Baxter: I think I can manage, Reginald. Oooh, I’m Reginald. I’m not from the shady spot in the field.

Alistair: Ho! Good one Baxter.

Baxter: Full of life I am. Let us not fight, Alistair. Let us gather our mounts, or have Reginald do it, and ride towards the sunset. But not for too long, as my mother warned me about catching cold.

Alistair: As fine an offer as there ever was. Jolly good.

Baxter: Yes, jolly good indeed.

About mcgettigan

Writer and reader.
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