A set of velvety, red curtains hangs from a rail at the centre of the stage. Both the CARDINAL and the ADVISOR are standing in front of it; the former with a worried expression, the latter evidently bored. Muffled sounds of a crowd can be heard. The lights go up.
CARDINAL:
Fifteen minutes late. This won’t do. This just won’t do at all.
ADVISOR:
Relax. I’ll go give him another knock.
He turns to leave. The CARDINAL puts a hand on his arm.
CARDINAL:
For heaven’s sake no! Didn’t you hear what he said? Perhaps the word excommunication means nothing to you but I take it very seriously indeed!
ADVISOR:
I forget, was that before or after he demanded the nun from yesterday’s mass be brought back for a “proper” “close” “inspection”? The bathtub full of whisky? He’s blind drunk. Off his rocker.
CARDINAL:
(in a seething whisper) How dare you! Why, if you’re insinuating that his holiness would ever-
ADVISOR:
Don’t try to play innocent with me. We both saw him last night, fighting the guards. Screaming, running up and down the corridors: “Help! Help! There’s a demon in the toilet!”. Nothing but his hat on...
The ADVISOR shudders and crosses himself.
CARDINAL:
Well... I mean...
ADVISOR:
And surely you haven’t already forgotten the “surprise” he left outside your door this morning.
They pause. The CARDINAL discretely checks his shoe.
CARDINAL:
Alright, I’ll admit it. Things did get somewhat out of hand. It’s the Easter festivities. He gets carried away.
ADVISOR:
So what are we going to do?
CARDINAL:
We’ll just have to wait.
ADVISOR:
How long? They sound pretty restless out there.
The ADVISOR walks up to the curtain and cracks it slightly, peering through. The sounds of the crowd get louder. The CARDINAL snaps it shut. The sounds become muffled again.
ADVISOR:
Wait a second.
The ADVISOR crouches down beside the curtain, reaches through and pulls out a tall, white and gold hat, covered in stains. He holds it out to the CARDINAL questioningly.
CARDINAL:
Absolutely not.
ADVISOR:
Come on! This is your chance to play the big man. How many more opportunities do you think you’ll get?
CARDINAL:
Well... I think my chances at the next conclave are rather strong actually. Whenever that may be. Perhaps sooner rather than later...
ADVISOR:
That’s nonsense and you know it. Cardinal Ricard is the favourite, that chinless ass-kisser. This is your shot - it’s now or never!
The CARDINAL pauses, staring woefully at the hat.
CARDINAL:
I have always wondered what it feels like...
ADVISOR:
Try it on. See if it fits.
The ADVISOR holds out the hat. The CARDINAL accepts it, putting it on gingerly, taking great care to adjust it over his head.
CARDINAL:
How do I look?
ADVISOR:
(mock bowing) Divine, your holiness...
CARDINAL:
Stop that. Stop it! Nobody must ever, ever know, you understand?
ADVISOR:
Mum’s the word.
CARDINAL:
Right.
ADVISOR:
I’ll keep watch. Go on - get out there, and enjoy it!
The CARDINAL positions himself in front of the curtain. He reaches up and makes one last adjustment to the hat, accidentally knocking it askew.
CARDINAL:
(with a small squeal) At last!
ADVISOR:
You ready?
CARDINAL:
Punch it.
The ADVISOR pulls a drawstring on the curtain, sending both sides flying back. The muffled sounds of the crowd crescendo to a deafening cheer as the CARDINAL steps out, lifts up both arms and waves slowly.
Lights out.
This is my fourth entry to the daily freewrite project kindly hosted by 
with the prompt 'Robes'. I apologise to any Catholics unlucky enough to have found my blog...
Please feel free to post a joke at my expense in the comments.
Previous Entries:
Thanks for reading.