ZZZZZZZ

This playful, comedic short delivers a scathing lampooning. Of whom? Well, I guess you can make up your own mind on that.

Note that whenever Milady Threet interrupts, she always steals Fremayne's next syllable as the beginning of her statement, a subtle indication of her self-serving anti-others personality. Or at least, it was subtle until I just mentioned it.

ZZZZZZZ by Kyle Patrick Johnson An Original Screenplay KyleJohnsonScripts@gmail.com Represented by: Contact: Phone: Fax: Email: Website: Canton Literary Management Eric Canton 866.429.3118 888.843.7193 Ecanton@prodigy.net www.CantonLiteraryManagement.com FADE IN: INT. CASTLE - DRAWING ROOM - DAY Tapestries hang from massive stone walls, flank small glassless windows. The ceiling is out of sight. MILADY THREET (40s), lies on luxurious satin cushions, on a sumptuous soft couch. She sleeps. Threet’s makeup is gaudy: lips too orange, eyelashes too long, eyelids too blue, cheeks too red. She snores. FREMAYNE (20s), a liveried servant, pops in at the sturdy wood doorway. FREMAYNE Milady Threet! Madame! Threet, startled, flicks her eyes open, noisily sucks in a short strand of drool from the corner of her mouth. MILADY THREET Whuzzahundawhoahhhh... She blinks, props herself on an elbow. Sees Fremayne. Straightens immediately. MILADY THREET Oh, it’s just you. What, what? FREMAYNE King Ganadine requests your presence in the throneroom, Milady. MILADY THREET It’s my naptime, Fremayne. FREMAYNE Yes, Milady. But the King has appointed this day to choose a new Steward for the Cas-MILADY THREET I’ll go down later, there’ll be time enough. That’s what a lady ought to do. 2. FREMAYNE Oh, Milady, but the position has such import-MILADY THREET Answer me this, Fremayne, why is it the King always wants me to come at his beck when he will not allow me to have my very own tailor? Fremayne’s right hand twitches. FREMAYNE Milady, I but carry the mess-MILADY THREET A gentleman would leave my sleep. Fremayne bites his tongue, bows his way out. Threet resettles herself on the cushions. Her breathing slows. She is again asleep. Her sleepy hand wanders up to her face. She snuggles, a full-body wriggle. She picks her nose. First the left nostril, then the right. A small wooden bowl of red grapes sits on a footstool. Her wandering hand flops on the fruit. Still asleep, her hand pulls a grape off the vine. The hand brings it up towards her mouth. Can she do it? In her sleep? It creeps closer, closer to her mouth. The mouth yawns open. The hand covers the mouth. The hand moves away, yawn over. The grape is not in the mouth. The grape is stuck in a nostril. She snores, now with a whistling wheeze as the grape rocks back and forth, in and out. FREMAYNE (20s), pops in again at the door. 3. FREMAYNE Milady Threet! Madame! Threet sits up with a start. The grape squirts out of her nose, pinging the doorframe just above Fremayne’s head. He takes no notice. Threet smooths her billowing dress. She looks up with a regal air. She sees Fremayne. She deflates. MILADY THREET Again, Fremayne? What, what, what? FREMAYNE I’m terribly sorry, Milady, but the King says we are under at-MILADY THREET Tact, Fremayne, decorum! Always say “His Majesty”. FREMAYNE Yes, Milady. His Majesty reports that the Hun hordes are encamped about the castle w-MILADY THREET All the King’s reports are gross exaggerations. The Huns couldn’t possibly be as gross or as exaggerated as all that. Threet inspects her fingernails, head aslant. Fremayne’s right arm twitches. FREMAYNE Milady, the King suggests that you pack your things for immediate ev-MILADY THREET Vacation? He’s trying to buy me off for not giving me my own tailor. She waves her hand, sending him off. Fremayne leaves, rolling his eyes. Threet plops backwards onto her cushions, looks up at the ceiling. 4. With an exasperated sigh, she heaves herself up, rolling over. She smacks at the cushions, making them evenly poofy. She settles back down slowly, savoring the luxury. She peeks at the door, sees no one, puts her thumb in her mouth, sucks. Her other hand plays with her hair, twisting it, caressing it. She sucks and plays. She plays and sucks. Her eyes close. Fremayne appears at the door, his right hand twitching. FREMAYNE Milady Threet! Madame! Threet jumps several inches off the couch, her thumb popping noisily out of her mouth. MILADY THREET What, what? Go away! FREMAYNE The Huns... the castle... breached... our men-at-arms fleeing, the captains and sar-MILADY THREET Aren’t you going to apologize for waking me up? How dare you! FREMAYNE No time for apologies, Milady. Time to r-MILADY THREET Under no circumstances will I take orders from you, twitnit! I’m a real lady! Fremayne’s whole right side twitches, eyeballs bulge. FREMAYNE The Huns are coming up the stairs! I’ve told you over and over ag-MILADY THREET Anyone is preferable to your rudeness, Fremayne. Begone. 5. Fremayne, relieved, bolts through the room. Threet’s hair is slightly mussed by the wind as Fremayne dashes by. Fremayne dives out a window. My hair! MILADY THREET Threet fusses and fixes her hair. She lies back on the couch. Threet closes her eyes. Several large HUN WARRIORS stomp in at the door. They hold battleaxes at the ready, snarling with bloodlust. Threet opens her eyes. The Huns advance, lifting their weapons. MILADY THREET You couldn’t possibly be my tailors. I never get what I want. FADE OUT.