What happens next? asks Sweezus.
Splinters and rubble, says Vello.
Yay! says Terence. We're ready.
We don't have rubble, says Baby Pierre.
But I see you have splinters, says Belle.
We made them, says Terence.
Let's see, says Sweezus. Cardboard splinters. Are you going to throw them at me or what?
They won't penetrate, says Arthur.
They WILL! says Terence.
Sweezus looks sceptical.
Promise, says Terence.
Sweezus looks suspicious.
He grabs at a splinter, and discovers the needle.
No way, little buddy, says Sweezus.
Is that one of my needles? asks Belle.
Yes, says Terence. We were going to tell you.
Bet you weren't, says Arthur.
I'm not made of cement like you, says Sweezus, and I'm not a pebble like Baby Pierre.
They need a lesson in empathy, says Kierkegaard.
No time for that now! says Vello. The cardboard will suffice, without the needles. All we need is some rubble.
Rubble, says David. What is rubble if not pebbles?
Me? says Baby Pierre. I'm not being a rubble.
Just for the rehearsal, says Vello. But first take off those socks.
Baby Pierre feels hard done by. Being a rubble. Not wearing the socks.
Sweezus collapses, grasping the splinters. Baby Pierre climbs on top.
Fetch me some wine and oil, cries Sweezus. I'm dying!
This Earthquake is nothing new, says David/Doctor Pangloss. There was one in Lima last year. There is a vein of sulphur running under the earth between Lima and Lisbon.
Nothing's more likely, cries Sweezus. But oil and wine, for pity's sake!
Likely! says Pangloss. It is PROVED!
Are we getting the wine and oil soon? asks the Rubble.
You don't talk, hisses Sweezus.
Just asking, says the Rubble. What do we want it for anyway?
Dunno, says Sweezus. But I faint now, and Pangloss brings me some water.
Empathy, somewhat belated, says Kierkegaard.
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