Chapter Two: King Lay-us's Lament
Chorus:
If Thebes were a board game, King Laius would be the player who flips the table when he's losing, then blames the rules for being unfair. This morning, his crown sits crooked, his patience worn thin. The city's whispers are growing teeth. The king? He's running out of bandages for all these self-inflicted wounds.
Inside the palace, King Laius paces before a cracked mirror, his reflection fractured into pieces—none of them quite regal.
Laius (muttering):
They call her what? "F*** It All"?
A name fit for a gutter, not my blood.
She thinks herself clever—slipping through fingers, dodging destiny.
But I am the hand that shapes fate.
I am the king.
He slams his fist against the marble, the echo ringing down the empty corridors. Servants scatter like startled birds, eyes averted, lips sealed. Rumors move faster than royal decrees.
Jocasta stands in the doorway, silent, watching her husband unravel thread by thread.
Jocasta:
You're going to break that hand one day.
Laius:
Better broken than idle.
She mocks us, Jo. She mocks me.
Our daughter—if she still claims the title—
She's a shadow, a rumor, a blight on my name.
Jocasta:
Or maybe she's just tired of being told who she is.
Laius:
You take her side, then?
Jocasta:
I take the side of peace, Laius.
This war—father against daughter—
It's tearing the city apart.
Laius (voice rising):
She started it!
Running wild, casting spells, stirring up the rabble.
Thebes is laughing at me.
Jocasta:
Maybe they're laughing because they're afraid to cry.
Laius turns away, jaw clenched. He cannot bear the weight of Jocasta's gaze, nor the truth that lingers behind her words.
Chorus:
Ah, the royal marriage—
A tapestry of secrets, stitched with denial.
If love is blind, power is deaf, and pride is both.
In a shadowed alcove, Echo listens, unseen. She slips away, feet silent on the cold stone, carrying news to her sister.
Scene shift: Thebes marketplace. The F*** It All leans against a sun-warmed wall, eyes scanning the crowd. Echo appears at her side, breathless.
Echo:
He's losing it.
I mean, really losing it.
He's talking to mirrors now.
The F*** It All:
Maybe he'll finally see himself for what he is.
Echo:
He's blaming you for everything.
The drought. The gossip.
The fact that his robe's gone out of style.
The F*** It All (smirking):
If I had that much power, I'd have changed the whole city by now.
Echo:
He's scared.
They all are.
You're a ghost story now—
The thing parents warn their children about.
The F*** It All:
Good. Let them be afraid.
Fear is the only language they understand.
Chorus:
Meanwhile, in the palace, Laius plots and paces,
Counting enemies in every shadow.
He calls for his advisors, but finds only echoes.
Enter Agent Gray, a stranger in a city allergic to outsiders. Gray's suit is crisp, briefcase immaculate, but his eyes betray confusion—a bureaucrat dropped into a myth.
Gray (to himself):
Assignment: Investigate the disturbance in Thebes.
Objective: Restore order.
Reality: Define "order."
He approaches the palace gates, greeted by two guards who eye him like a stray dog.
Guard One:
State your business.
Gray:
Agent Gray, Bureau of Civic Harmony.
I'm here to assist with your…situation.
Guard Two (snorting):
You got a spell for making the king less crazy?
Gray (deadpan):
Not in this briefcase.
He's ushered inside, the guards exchanging bets on how long he'll last.
Scene shift: Throne room. Laius sits, posture rigid, eyes darting to every shadow. Gray is announced.
Herald:
Agent Gray, from…somewhere official.
Gray bows, papers in hand.
Gray:
Your Majesty, I'm here to investigate recent…anomalies.
Reports of unrest, identity disturbances,
A daughter who refuses her name.
Laius:
She is no daughter of mine.
She is a curse.
A blight.
A—what do they call her now?
Gray (checking notes):
"The F*** It All," sir.
Laius's face contorts in fury and embarrassment.
Laius:
Blasphemy!
She was meant to be my legacy—
Now she's my undoing.
Gray:
Sir, with respect, perhaps if we open a dialogue—
Laius:
Dialogue?
With a ghost?
She's everywhere and nowhere.
She slips through walls, through words, through truth itself.
Gray:
Perhaps she's simply…unwilling to be defined.
Laius:
No one escapes definition.
Not in my city.
Chorus:
Gray scribbles notes, but the ink smears—
Thebes resists bureaucracy like a cat resists a bath.
Scene shift: Jocasta's chambers. She sits alone, hands folded, eyes closed. The weight of secrets presses on her chest.
Jocasta (whispering):
What have we done?
What have I allowed?
If a mother's love is meant to protect,
Why do I feel so powerless?
She rises, moving to the window, watching the city below. The people of Thebes swarm like ants—restless, uncertain, hungry for change.
Chorus:
The queen watches, the king rages,
The daughter disappears, the city holds its breath.
And somewhere, the story sharpens its claws.
Scene shift: Thebes streets at dusk. The F*** It All and Echo move through the crowd, cloaks drawn tight.
The F*** It All:
He'll try to smoke me out—
With spies, with lies, with threats.
Echo:
Let him try.
He's losing his grip.
The F*** It All:
The tighter he squeezes,
The more slips through his fingers.
Echo:
What's next?
The F*** It All:
We make our own rules.
We write our own names.
She stops, chalk in hand, and scrawls a new word on the wall:
"Free."
Chorus:
In Thebes, nothing lasts—
Not names, not kings, not even fear.
But rebellion?
That's a story that writes itself.
Night falls. The palace lights burn late. Laius sits alone, clutching his crown as if it might anchor him to power. Jocasta weeps in silence, torn between love and guilt. Agent Gray files his first report: "Thebes—Unclassifiable. Recommend further observation."
And in the shadows, The F*** It All smiles—
A ghost, a legend, a storm on the horizon.
Chorus:
The king laments, the daughter laughs,
The city waits for the next act.
Stay tuned, dear Thebes—
The game is just beginning.