Chapter Text
Scene I
A public place.
Enter several Citizens, indistinct, modern-dressed. Some hold phones, some coffee cups, some nothing at all. Enters Scott Hunter, who jogs between the commotion.
The Citizens move like chickens in a henhouse, erratically, ridiculously: wandering in random paths, abruptly changing direction, lightly bumping shoulders without apology, circling one another aimlessly, drifting apart then clustering again and seldomly in Scott’s way.
First citizen -
Welcome back to Man in the Crease,
The loudest hive for hockey's feast.
Second citizen -
Today's fresh meat, dripping and raw,
Scott Hunter's fall, his tragic fatal flaw.
Third citizen -
A hot scandal, sharp and keen,
What curse has struck our Scott Hunter's scene?
Fourth citizen -
Seventy points last season, bold and bright,
A true captain, of stage and might.
First citizen -
Seventy! Tally them, one by one they gleamed.
I’d have given him wife and kids, mate!
Second citizen -
And now? Six games in…
All, lifting their hands-
zero points, it seemed!
Fourth citizen –
Zero! Checkmate!
Second citizen, pointing at Scott –
A captain? Ha! He sinks the ship,
Fifth citizen -
Drags spirits down, to the pit!
First citizen –
No goals, loss to all my bets!
No assists, no ripples in the nets!
Fourth citizen -
His passes fade, they falter and fall short,
His stride forgets the fury of the sport.
Third citizen -
And in the room, the whispers grow so chill.
You can't claim he's the spark to fire their will.
Sixth citizen -
A captain raises tides, he lifts the crew,
Not drags them down into the blue.
Fourth citizen -
Yet still he's crowned, already set apart…
All -
Team USA's leader, for Russia's frozen heart!
Fourth citizen -
Picked too soon, before the season's test,
A burden heavy, I'm sure, on his chest.
Second citizen -
Can he command a team, fierce and vast,
How dares he lead a nation proud
When he can't even face his own dark cloud
Ah! Should our flame die on fast?
The Citizens devolve into a frenzy of overlapping murmurs, their erratic paths crisscrossing wildly: Scott exits with great difficulty.
All, overlapping, voices rising and fragmenting -
Trade him now… / Bench the guy… / He's washed up! / Overhyped, old… / He'll doom the run… / What a flop… / Cut him loose! / Strip the C! / Fuck!
The Citizens halt in their movement and turn to the audience.
Fourth citizen -
New York devours the weak, spares no regret,
Second citizen -
We feast on glory…
Third citizen -
But only while it's fresh and set.
All, in unison -
Welcome back to Man in the Crease,
Your one-stop truth without cease.
Today's topic, of our sextet,
What has happened to Scott Hunter yet?
Blackout.
Scene II
The scene is of a small smoothie bar. Early morning.
In front of the stage, enters Elena.
Behind her, a counter. A blender. Cups, stacked. A door with a bell. A simple counter stretches across the stage: blender gleaming, stacks of cups, chalkboard menu scrawled with bright names: Green Warrior, Berry Blast, Blue Moon Over Brooklyn…
Elena –
Kip Grady is…
She shakes her head.
Elena -
I mean, look at him. A lost lamb.
Enters Kip Grady, denim apron tied loose, matching denim baseball cap with a single embroidered strawberry. Backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes narrowed against the light
Kip , quietly –
Jesus, not now, my brain’s still offline.
I am dusty, freshly off the subway line;
Can’t a guy catch a break,
Without every horn and siren awake?
Kip drops his backpack behind the counter and starts cleaning the blender, lower than he ought, bending lower than necessary, as if hiding from the world.
Elena –
Look. He’s the gentlest disaster I know.
Heart like overripe fruit, bruises easy, still sweet,
Musky, I assure you, with the times he was dropped as a baby.
Which is adorable. And dangerous.
He just told me he met someone.
At the smoothie bar.
The one that sells maybe three drinks a day
In a neighborhood full of coffee addicts.
So either this guy is insane for superfoods,
Or he stayed for Kip.
I’m betting on the second.
Not that I blame him… Kip’s easy on the eyes
When he’s not hiding behind that ridiculous cap.
Anyway. This…
She gestures at the set up behind her.
Elena –
…is how I imagine the two idiots met.
They’re not great at telling stories straight,
So I’ve tidied it up for you. You’re welcome.
She steps aside, still in a pool of light, watching like a benevolent god. Kip flips a switch, and the main stage brightens Enters a Businesswoman brisk, phone in hand. Kip straightens, and hands a cup previously hidden behind the counter to her.
Kip - Here you are, ma’am, one Green Warrior,
With the grass it boasts, for the price I’ve told.
She exits. Bell jingles again. Kip tests the blender, its shriek slicing the air. He kills it, checks the clock.
Kip -
Six-thirty. Save me.
Enter Maria..
Maria, teasing -
Rough night, superstar?
Kip -
Let’s say the night and I reached an uneasy truce.
Maria, slipping something over the counter -
Advil?
Kip taking it with a sigh -
I love you.
Elena –
So do I. Bless her.
Maria exits to the back. The shop empties. Light shifts slowly, from cold fluorescent warming to soft gold as morning creeps in. Kip slumps onto a chair he has dragged behind the counter and presses his forehead to the wall. Enter Scott, hood up. He closes the door quietly behind him, scans the empty shop, then the menu board.
The bell does not ring. Scott looks at Kip for a long time.
Scott, clearing his throat-
Good morning.
Kip, startled awake -
Morning…
Sorry, I was elsewhere.
What would you have?
Scott smiles. He pauses. Kip turns to the audience.
Kip –
I had planned to drift through this day unseen,
Unnoticed. I am sore of head,
Bruised by last night’s excess,
And hunted still by deadlines yet unborn.
He looks at Scott.
Kip –
And yet this man stands here
As though the world had made him carefully,
Had carved him slow from marble, then unfurled.
His quiet strength beneath a hooded sky.
I should not look.
I do.
Scott -
What’s worth having here?
Kip –
A collection of very decent smoothies with rather extravagant names.
Any allergies?
Scott -
No, no allergies, I’m easy.
Kip –
Then trust me, the blueberry is the best of them. Blue Moon Over Brooklyn. Though when I make it for myself, I add a banana.
Scott -
So you're the rebel here.
Kip –
It has been observed before,
though rarely this early.
Scott -
It sounds excellent, actually.
Kip –
Does it?
Scott -
Yes. Blue Moon over Brooklyn, with banana.
If off-menu orders are permitted, Kip.
Kip –
Uh, I mean, technically, it was my idea, so I think we can get away with it this time.
Kip makes the smoothie, shaking fresh blueberries into the blender. There is a whirr as he starts the mixer, but the whirr softens to the background as Scott leans one hip against the counter, watching Kip’s back for a moment. He turns to the audience.
Kip steals a glance at Scott.
Scott -
Why am I still standing here?
The room’s too small suddenly,
Air thick, like before a face-off.
This is just a shop.
And he a stranger, working for his wages.
Nothing special. Nothing allowed.
I know the rules, their pages.
Heads down, mouth shut. Don’t ask, don’t tell.
I wrote half of them myself.
So why does my pulse answer, now,
When he looks up and smiles
Like he already knows my name?
What if this is the moment
The thing I’ve never said out loud
Finally finds a face and decides to stay?
Scott leans exhales and turns back just as Kip kills the blender. There is silence while Kip pours the drink. The blender slows to a stop. Kip pours the deep violet smoothie into a tall cup, snaps the domed lid, slides it across the counter with a small, satisfied nod.
Scott, taking the cup, considering it for a beat, then drawing a long pull through the straw; he stopping and looks again at the cup, then at Kip –
Damn. You weren’t exaggerating.
Kip –
Told you. Banana changes everything.
Scott, taking another sip, speaking around the straw –
It really does. I didn’t expect that.
Kip –
Most people don’t. They order plain blueberry and wonder why it’s missing something.
A comfortable pause. Enters Maria, discreetly.
Scott reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folded bill, clearly far more than the price, and places it deliberately in the tip jar.
Kip –
That’s way too generous…
Scott, smiling –
For the recommendation. And as a thank you.
Kip –
I… well, thank you. Seriously.
Scott –
Thank you, Kip. See you around?
Kip, surprised –
See… see you around.
Maria, slapping the counter –
Girl.
Kip, turning to side-eye her –
Don’t.
Lights dim slowly on the counter, morning gold strengthening.
Elena, stepping forward again, dry, fond –
I told you, idiots. Both of them.
I tried that smoothie myself, you know.
Without the banana it’s just…
Purple juice pretending to be breakfast.
Kip has this knack, he makes things better
Just by daring to try small things.
He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
He’s so damn earnest it hurts to watch sometimes.
I’ve never told him that.
But someone needs to notice.
She glances back at Kip, who is now quietly rinsing the blender, humming under his breath.
Elena, quieter –
I think someone finally did.
Lights fade completely on the shop, leaving only Elena’s silhouette for a breath, then blackout.
Scene III
It’s the cafe again. The scene is slightly darker, and there is nothing on the counter, except Kip's head.
Kip is slumped over the counter, cheek resting on his folded arms, fast asleep. His denim cap has slipped sideways. The bell chimes. Kip stirs, but doesn't wake. Enter Maria from the back, newspaper folded under her arm. She pauses, takes in the sleeping Kip with affection, then gently sets the newspaper on the counter beside him.
Kip, groggy –
Hi, welcome to Straw+Berry.
How can I help you?
Maria -
It's me.
Kip rubs his eyes.
Kip, groggy –
What time is it? Did I miss opening?
Maria –
You’ve got eight minutes.
Plenty of time to look tragically hungover.
Kip, sitting up, with a small groan –
I wasn’t even drinking.
Just… stayed up too late watching the game at Kingfisher.
Couldn’t look away.
Maria –
But you left with me.
Kip, shrugging -
Was hard to sleep after that.
Maria, smiling –
This might wake you up better than coffee.
She slides the newspaper to Kip. She unfolds the paper and slides it toward him.
On the front page, a large action photo of Scott mid-celebration, helmet off.
Maria –
Night of the Hunter! Quite the comeback.
Kip takes the paper slowly, eyes locking on the photo. He smiles, uncertainly.
Kip, to himself –
Scott Hunter…
He stares at the image a long beat, then looks toward the door, as if expecting the bell to chime right then.
Maria –
Can't believe he comes here for his smoothie.
Kip, barely above a whisper –
Shhh! Don't jinx it.
I need the tips.
Elena steps into a narrow pool of light at the edge of the stage.
Elena, from where she is, softly –
There it is.
The moment the dream stopped being a dream
And started being tomorrow morning.
She eats the kernel, leans back slightly.
Elena –
I’m thinking something like 9 A.M. sharp.
Place your bets, folks, He won’t be late.
Maria gives Kip a gentle nudge on the shoulder, amused, then exits to the back. Kip folds the newspaper carefully. He glances at the clock. Takes a breath. Straightens his cap. The light brightens even more. He takes out the newspaper again. Enters Scott, hood up, shoulders a little less hunched than yesterday.
Scott, almost shyly –
Hi, Kip.
Kip, under his breath –
Oh my god.
Scott –
Same as yesterday?
Blue Moon… with the off-menu upgrade?
Kip, smiling fully now –
One wild Blue Moon Over Brooklyn
Coming right up
For Scott Hunter.
Scott visibly pauses.
Scott –
Ah, you know who I am?
Kip, as he peels the banana –
I do now.
Scott –
Well, when something lucky happens to me before games,
I try to repeat it. So, um…
You might see me often?
Kip focuses on the blender. Scott leans lightly against the counter, watching. He pulls out his phone, thumbs hovering as if to type a message, then thinks better of it. He stops, eyes returning to Kip. Kip glances up. Their gazes meet. Both look away at the same moment: Kip back to the blender, Scott to the menu. The blender whirs, then slows. Kip pours the thick violet smoothie into a tall cup, snaps the lid, slides it across with the same small, satisfied nod as yesterday, though it takes half a second longer than necessary.
Kip –
On the house.
Scott takes the cup, but without breaking eye contact he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folded large bill, and slips it deliberately into the tip jar.
Kip –
You can’t keep doing this.
Scott –
Oh, but I can.
And I will.
He lifts the smoothie in a small, wordless toast, turns toward the door.
Scott, over his shoulder –
See you soon.
Scott doesn’t wait for and answer before heading out, the bell chiming softly on his path. Warm light fills the stage.
Kip, a beat too late –
See you soon!
Kip follows Scott with his eyes. When the latter's disappeared from his view, he looks down at the tip jar.
Fade to black.