Or, How I Lost My Virtue At Cards Currently being written, with excerpt below. In 1939, shortly after the start of the war, four nomads find themselves escaping a storm into a tent sequestered from the world. In this ethereal setting they come a know one another: A Sailor, A White Slaver and his pet, A Gypsy Seeress and a Mesmerist (my illustration of whom can be seen below). To pass the storm they play a game of Canasta but as they are each survivors of the Great Depression, funds quickly run out and they are forced to find items far more personal to themselves to wager. The game culminates in a scene of death, torture and debauchery. Yep, you guessed it, this one was initially inspired by a Decemberists song.  "My Mother Was a Chinese Trapeze Artist" (originated with Tarkio), to be exact.  Throw in some bloody promo shot of the band (as seen above) that I came across and you've got a rough sketch of the characters you'll meet in this completely bizarre play.  It's not entirely based on the song, though there are some obvious parallels (i.e. the sailor who hates the sea and whose prostitute mother lost him to a Captain in a game of Bridge).  There are also, I am afraid to say, a few shameless references to various other Decemberists songs.  I promise this is the last time I'll do this.  Maybe.

Excerpt [THE GYPSY has made her demand for THE MESMERIST's final wager.]   (The Mesmerist removes his ascot and unbuttons his jacket, vest and shirt.)   MESMERIST: Sailor, you have a knife?   (The Sailor looks to the Gypsy.)   GYPSY:  You may give it to him.   (The Sailor unfolds his knife and hands it to the Mesmerist, who takes it and makes an incision across his ribcage.  He sets the knife down and reaches under his shirt, into the cut.  There is the sound of bone cracking and he withdraws a rib, setting it on the pile of belongings.  The Mesmerist wipes his hands and the knife clean of blood, and then hands it back to the stunned Sailor.  The folds it gingerly as the Mesmerist redresses.)   TRADER:  What, pray, is that?   GYPSY:  Eve’s Rib.   SAILOR:  What?  Why’s he got it?   GYPSY:  The Gods were afraid of our power to reproduce on our own.  It made us gods in our own right.  Thus they split us into man and woman.  We were created more whole than our male counterparts with the ability to create new life, a gift men have in tradition both fear and coveted concurrently.  The man you see before you was hungry for that power, to complete himself, to return to the all being we once were.  With it, he could never be controlled, he would need no one.  And did you achieve your goal, Sir?  Are you whole, independent?  Were you granted the gift to bestow life?   MESMERIST:  You have the answers.   GYPSY:  Your by-blows were profitable, no doubt, but imperfect.  You erased each from being shortly after you’d designed it.  You became only a destroyer.   MESMERIST:  I will prefect them.   GYPSY:  They reflect your nature.   MESMERIST:  And what will you do with it?  You are already a creator.   GYPSY:  I will do nothing.   MESMERIST:  That is what I’ll die for should I lose.   GYPSY:  Each of us here will long for death should we lose.  Some of us will die slowly and wish for a quick mercy.  You will be the only one among us blessed to receive it.  The pity being you are the only one among us who will wish to live.