Bailiff v. Baker

The Bailiff, unsure of what exactly transpired, tucks both pistols under his belt (very tight fit) and walks over to the fence, near where the Background Artist had risen. He sees the mangled body of the Animator. Not knowing why, but knowing it the right thing to do, he returns to the field and drags the Background Artist's body to lay alongside the body of the Animator.

Someone should really bury these people, he says. He looks around. He spits, then returns to the oak.

The Baker arrives. He's a tall young man with sandy hair, a lantern jaw. He wears stained sweatpants, sneakers, a thick winter coat. Cigarette stains mark his left hand. Tattoo of on base of his neck reads: shantih shantih shantih.

This is gonna be tough, says the Baker. I can only see out of one eye.

The Bailiff asks why.

The Baker explains. As a child he suffered slingshot backfire. The tubing snapped, striking his eye, lacerating his pupil. If you have a lighter you can see, says the Baker. It looks like a cat's eye. The Bailiff takes the matches sitting on the table and strikes one. He holds it close to the Baker's face and stands on tip-toe. Sure enough: a cat's eye.

You can't see anything out of it?

Nah. Blurry. A fog.

The Baker pantomimes the actions of the accident, grasping at his eye, shrieking in mock pain. They both laugh.

Say, says the Bailiff, you don't have drink on you, do you?

The Baker doesn't. The Bailiff nods.

The Bailiff asks if he'd like to chose pistols. The Baker choses his, the Bailiff takes the other.

I think we need to write our jobs on the paper here, says the Bailiff, pointing to the List of the Dead. The Bailiff takes up the pencil and writes his job. The Baker follows suit. The Bailiff misspelled bailiff but the Baker says nothing.

They walk out to the field. They stand ten paces apart.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.