Gladiatress Page #3

- Where is she?

- Who?

(Punch)

Oof! Cor!

- She bleedin' hit me!

- Who hit you?

Some bird out there.

Im not going out there. You sort her out.

Did you hit him? What did you hit him for?

Tough bird, are you, yeah? Come on, then.

Kents!

Kents, is it? Come on, then. We are Kents.

That was really expensive!

(High-pitched) I lied. So you'd come with me.

You'll have to kill me first!

(High-pitched)

Im a scheming miserable little sh*t.

(Giggles)

Doh!

MAN:
Go on, kill him, love!

Go on, kill, kill.

Kill him! Kill him!

Mother! (Echoes)

(Laughs)

And these Pritish women,

they even have-a the hair under the arms.

Ooh! Oh, General, you rascal!

Lady soldiers give me an 'ard on.

You Pritish, you gave us quite a scare.

Well, we do love a bit of a hack.

When we invade again,

it will be a different story.

Of course, if it wasn't for the storms

that broke up-a the ships,

Pritain would already be ours.

(Splash)

Let's eat.

So, tell us more, principressa of Pritain.

(Chews noisily)

Mm... Mm...

Sorry, sorry.

(Slurping)

Ahh, lovely.

B. Not P. B, B, B for Britain!

- How incriadeable!

- (She belches)

One could never tell you were once...barbarian.

But tell me, did you never fear,

when you were first taken

by us beastly Romans,

that you would never again know

the status of a princess?

(Muffled by food) Oh, in my island,

we have a saying, you know?

Class will out.

(Farts)

(She giggles coquettishly)

(Farts)

(Sprays)

(Explosive fart)

(Squeaky fart)

(Tight, ripping fart)

(Huge fart)

(Flock of birds takes of)

Hey!

You know, we have a saying, too, Principessa.

If the cat will not purr,

then we torture it until it does...

or dies in agony.

Well, we Brits clearly have much to learn

in the...proverb department.

Si, and we Romans in...

..other departmentitties.

We probably have more departments

we need much to have to learn...

..of.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Ow!

(Manly laughter)

(Room falls silent)

No women 'ere.

Oh.

Id better go, then.

Just one thing.

What?

Anything. Large one, no straw.

(Laughs)

(All laugh)

Two pints of goats' milk, slightly on the turn,

and er...

..a Pernod for the lady.

Picts?

Aye.

Southern scum?

May your forests be levelled,

your highlands cleared of people,

all your food fried in yesterday's fat

and your country languish eternally

under a southern yoke.

May your empire decay,

your country become a joke to all nations,

riven with class division

and forever ruled by ponces.

- Cheers.

- Cheers, yeah.

- Holiday or business?

- We're ambassadors, hen.

Here to make a treaty against you lot.

Hence the effort. Will you join us?

No. I mustn't.

When I drink, I can become violent.

MAN:
Don't we all?

- And rude.

- I don't want to talk about it.

- What's the matter, hen?

Im a Celtic warrior.

First class. A trained killer.

My sister's been captured.

- And I...

- Don't tell me.

I know what it is. You've had the wee ones

and you thought you'd just step back

into the workplace again.

- Yes. Yes.

- But it's not so easy, is it?

I can do the maiming.

- But it's the killing, in't it?

- Mm.

You keep seeing their mothers, am I right?

It was the same for her after we had wee Tiffany.

You've just gotta get back out there, girl.

Believe in yourself.

Here. There's only one way to handle this.

You've gotta just drink your way through it.

(Flies buzz)

Ooh, that horse, it's gone right through me.

It's the best part of the evening, I always think.

- Another dainty?

- Ooh, thank you.

I wonder what the men talk about

when we're not there.

Oh... Nothing, Im sure,

to worry our sweet pretty little heads about.

We must discover a safe harbour for our ships.

Why don't we just torture the heathen sow, huh?

Oh, let me. Please.

- Please, please.

- No, Crassus.

The Pritish can be stubborn and very stupid.

No, my way is the best. Slave.

Quickly. Run to the legion,

bring me the soldier with the nicest arse.

(Laughs)

You are incorrigible!

Oh, dear.

Personally, I never listen to the rumours.

Er... And anyway, I said,

Well, that's his business.

Lofacta tells me this Dwyfuc requires a man.

We shall find her one.

Oh, and, Crassus...I am not that way.

You understand?

- No. No!

- ldiot.

Of course not. Because that would be Greek.

And we are...Romans.

Enough!

Gladiator.

- Next.

- Next!

Pritish.

Female.

(Laughs) Excellent.

Perhaps now we see the famous Celtic Kick.

Oh, God!

This is so provincial.

- Crassus!

- General Rhinus.

How goeth the preparations for the games?

Most perfectly, General.

Some of the local animals

are not as...wild as we would like.

And the gladiators?

Oh, prima qualita!

So, who's top of the bill?

You got Schlaffwaffe the Goth?

Unfortunately, his agent is being a little difficult

but we have some of our best lawyers

on the case.

Egor, look at me! Ahhhh!

OK... I go into town.

I need different feathers for my helmet.

Waaah!

Want anything?

- No.

- Waaah!

Come on, boys.

- Ah!

- (Wood thuds)

We could put her up against the legless Kurd.

(Crassus groans)

Make her a domestic.

They said I did really, really well

considering it was my first time,

and that if I wanted, I could be a slave.

I was delighted.

(Sighs) Oh, the ennui!

At home, Id be in the open -

hunting, riding,

perhaps a little butchering in the afternoon -

but here...

..what's there to do?

(Sighs) If this ennui continues,

I may have to retire early

and have a little...wankette.

Hm...

(Long note)

Lady Lofacta.

Dwyfuc, let me introduce you.

This is Centurion Firmus Tarsovorlovus.

Ah, the Pritish princess.

Won't you join us?

(Purrs like a lion)

(Jaw clicks)

I mentioned to General Rhinus

how nervous I had become

of shopping outside the palace gates.

I did not expect him to send someone so soon.

Unfortunately, I have no time.

A little man comes today to do my lice.

I don't have any lice.

Lice are a sign of good living.

They live only in the cleanest hair.

I had a vole...

My lice are always very big and healthy.

..that wintered down there

and raised a small family.

My lice sometimes wave at me.

My vole used to wish me good night.

(Squeaky voice) Good night, Princess Dwyfuc.

Go to sleep.

Oh... Why don't you go shopping with Firmus?

Oh, that...that would be hairy.

Nice 'orn.

- Slave!

- (Hums)

- Slave!

- (Hums)

- Slave!

- Oh, sorry. Keep forgetting.

- There's a job for you. Kitchen.

- Oh, brill.

(They laugh)

Thanks.

Bloody Celts.

A date to remember.

(Stone zings and ricochets repeatedly)

Oh, Firmus.

(Stone zings)

(Crunching)

Why do I feel so happy?

Because ah...

..you know tonight you get some.

Yes.

Yes, probably.

And...perhaps, too,

you are happy...because you are hot.

Like a candle.

And you know that after dinner,

I will pleasure you in a thousand ways...

..and leave your body like a pool of melted wax.

Oh, Firmus...

..I do believe you're flirting.

Let's go in. (Purrs)

Do you need a lawyer?

No? Good. Im not a lawyer, Im a legal exec.

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