A Weakness

HELLO THIS BLOG IS NOT DEAD!! 

A scene written for my playwriting class. I may explore this more, whether in prose or script form I am not sure. Unfortunately I cannot get the formatting to look exactly like a script.

Setting: Two people sitting at a table across from each other. The room they are in is dilapidated, wood walls warped from moisture, concrete floor dirty with what is mostly dirt, partly old blood. Slats of light come in from the ceiling, illuminating the otherwise very dark room. There are two doors. One is on stage left, and has light coming from under it, indicating it leads outside. The other is on the upstage wall, slightly stage right; there is no light coming from behind it. They appear to be alone.
 
A:     I’m not sure what you want from me.
B:     I think the premise is very simple actually.

A:     Well I don’t think—
B:     (Cheerfully) You don’t think, do you? Responsibilities, consequences, aftermaths, you don’t think about any of it, and now here we are. You wanted to play superhero; I guess we’re here to be your villain.
(Silence)
B:     You give too much away with your face.
A:     Don’t give me the ‘attachment is a weakness’ spiel. I’ve heard it before.
B:     And most likely you’ll hear it again.
(Another silence)
A:     What are your terms?
B:     (Laughs. It is not kind) The short version is we want you to give up. Stop trying to intercept us, to weaken our hold, to—
A:     And you really think we’re that fucking stupid?
B:     We think you want your man back.
(A sighs, overcome with exhaustion. It slumps through their body, makes it obvious there is too much to be done and not enough time to deal with it)
A:     Is that it?

B:     I’m sure a few K to keep our mouths shut wouldn’t hurt.
(The hatred radiating from A’s body is absolute. They stare at each other. This power imbalance is common, just not usually this extreme.)
A:     (Mutters) Not like you need the money. (Quietly, struggling to hold it together) You aren’t going to get away with this.
B:     Have we not already?
A:     What is the long version?

B:     Of the terms?

A:     (Frustrated they cannot trip B up for even a second) Yes.
B:     Well, we could always get into what we might want from you specifically,
A:     Me.
B:     Yes. There is, logically, nothing stopping you from joining us. (As A looks completely taken aback) We know your skillset; we think it’d work. We could fake your death here. No one would be the wiser.

A:     Oh, yeah, just join the bad guys—
B:     I think your terminology is a little dated—
A:     (Raising their voice) —and forsake the man I’m trying to save!
B:     Leave him. What is one life?
A:     A life. If you’re going to be so flippant, maybe we should strip you of yours. (They move as if to stand)
(A red dot appears in the center of their chest. Three more appear; one started on their face and catches in their eye as it moves down. A looks down, sees the dots, and stops, halfway out of the chair. They sit back down. After a moment, each light goes out.)
A:     (Unimpressed) Really?
B:     Just taking precautions. I would assume you did the same. (They examine A’s face) Once again, your face gives too much away. You didn’t?
(A says nothing. The anger is back)
B:     Or we could say—
(They are interrupted by a phone dinging. B watches in mild irritation as A pulls an old flip phone from their pocket.)
B:     We told you you couldn’t record.
A:     You think this thing records? (They open the phone, tap a few buttons, and read the screen. Several things pass over their face, ending in anger)
B:     Hm?
(A’s head snaps up to glare at them. The force of their eyes makes B look away for just a moment; the smallest victory)
A:     You’re behind this.

B:     You’ll have to be more specific.
A:     (Quite upset) They wouldn’t do this, they wouldn’t just abandon— (They visibly compose themself) One of your people did this.
B:     Still don’t know what you’re talking about.
A:     So, okay. Say I do take your deal.
B:     Which one?
A:     Say I join you. What happens to him?
B:     I mean he’s dead. We can make it quick. You could do it yourself, if it’ll make you feel better. He doesn’t even have to know it’s you. (They are trying to figure out if A is serious or not. Somehow A has developed a previously nonexistent pokerface)
A:     And the other deal. We can’t work against you; can we save people, can we still help?
B:     Sure, but you move against us, and we’ll destroy you.
A:     Destroy us, right, like you’ve done all those other times.
B:     (Shrugs) We weren’t really trying.
A:     What?
B:     Those were half-assed attempts, mostly to keep you out of our space. If we wanted to, we could wipe you out. Completely, no trace left. Your little group only exists because we let it.
(A processes this slowly. B sits patiently as A considers the phone in their hand. A’s face holds an awful expression as they throw the phone as hard as they can at the wall. The phone breaks into several pieces)
A:     You know what? You’ve got a deal.
(B doesn’t laugh, but the look on their face is similarly awful, and very, very satisfied. They stand first, holding out a hand to A. A takes it with little hesitation. They shake hands, and B leads A to the upstage door. They knock with the back of their hand once, and the door swings open, revealing a dark hallway. B walks through it. A takes one look back at the room, looks directly into the audience, nods, and follows through the door. It swings shut behind them. BLACKOUT)