Jelly Eye

This is laborious work, grumbles Ageless. 

I'll help you, says Terence.

He chooses a grape. A fat one.

Now what? says Terence.

Squeeze it, says Ageless. 

Terence squeezes. A grape jelly ball squirts into his eye.

It didn't work, says Terence. That one's wasted.

Not necessarily, says Ageless. Allow me to extract it.

He stops squeezing, and advances towards Terence's eye.

Storms don't like people touching their eye! says Terence.

I'm not people, says Ageless.

Or lobsters, says Terence. Or anything with claws.

Extract it yourself then, says Ageless.

It's falling out anyway, says Terence. Look. It fell into the bowl.

Disaster! says Ageless. My beloved won't want to sample it now.

Gaius and Kierkegaard enter the kitchen, with shopping bags.

What's this? asks Gaius.

We're making a red drink, says Terence. But my eye fell in.

It wasn't his eye, says Ageless. Just a grape jelly. But I'm thinking of starting again.

Let me see, says Gaius. 

Ageless, Terence and Gaius peer into the bowl, which is one quarter full of a mixture of dark purple skins, grey seeds and greenish grape jelly balls.

Hey! says Terence. It's not even red!

So the project is abandoned, and no one is bothered.

How did the shopping go? asks Ageless.

We bought two black cloaks, says Kierkegaard, whipping one out of a shopping bag, and putting it on.

Gaius puts his on as well.

Here comes the Inquisition, says Ageless. Good costumes.

What's an Inquisition? asks Terence.

When men in black cloaks ask you questions, says Ageless. 

And you must answer correctly, says Kierkegaard. Otherwise it's an auto-da-fé.

What's that? asks Terence.

An infallible way of preventing earthquakes, says Gaius. 

I hardly think so, says Kierkegaard.

Tell that to the people of Lisbon, says Gaius.

They both laugh, because they are grown ups and understand satire, but Terence is alarmed.

With good reason. 

He is the Earthquake.