A slightly dingy modern pub. US behind the bar stands a BARMAN, who spends most of his time scowling and cleaning glasses. DS are various tables, two of which are occupied. At one sits a little old LADY and at the other sit WAR, in armour PESTILENCE, with green hair and FAMINE.
DEATH walks in SL. He is wearing a long black robe that completely covers him and holds a large scythe. He walks over to the table at which FAMINE sits, and sits down.
Death: (throwing back hood) Ahhh. Fresh air at last.
(WAR and PESTILENCE look up while FAMINE stares into an empty mug)
War: You look different. Healthier.
Pestilence: Yeah, whatsup?
Death: I got fed up.
(FAMINE snorts loudly. They all ignore him)
War: Of what?
Death: (Passionately) Of people thinking I am called Yorik. Yorik! All they need to see is a skull and they go all Hamlet on me. (PESTILENCE sniggers)
War: I thought Hamlet was one of your favourite plays-
Death: (almost shouting) No it is not. Not when I am being called Yorik the whole time! And being patronised- poor Yorik. I tell you, if I met Shakespeare now I'd kill him. Again. (he looks around) why is Famine sulking?
War: He wants the apocalypse now
Famine: Exactly.
Death: We all do, but we get on with it. Even if we get called Yorik.
Famine: No I will not 'get on with it'. I want the apocalypse. It is why I exist. I didn't think being a horseman of the apocalypse was a part time job... Huh.
Pestilence: What he says.
War: (to DEATH) You see, impossible, the lot of them. Mind you I'm also getting fed up (Snort from FAMINE) haven't had a decent war in ages
Death: I see them all the time.
War: But that isn't me. That's politics. And Pestilence over is reduced to making major health scares every week that never happen.
Pestilence: 'snot as if it's about anything real anyways. Flu here flu there. No real attitude diseases now-
Death: You dyed your hair green! (suspiciously) nothing to do with Shakespeare is it?
Famine: (crossly)Shakespeare doesn't have to be behind everything you know. Some bad things can happen without him.
War: Actually we are meant to make the bad things happen.
LADY stands up, walks over to their table
Lady: Excuse me?
Pestilence: Toilets thataway. Mind you, you may catch something. Very unhygienic, pub toilets. It's something I try to make sure of.
LADY titters nervously
Lady: Oh no, no really I just wanted to ask if any of you know which horse won the 4:11 at Newmarket.
DEATH and WAR look at each other, PESTILENCE looks at the ceiling, FAMINE takes no notice
Death: Er... no. We know quite a bit about horses, but not so much about racing...
War: I actually know quite a bit about racing. Was something chasing them? Waving weapons?
Lady: Oh no, they've banned over-use of the whip now, you know. It's just I had a flutter on a horse. I thought it looked a good bet with the name.
War: What was the name?
Lady: Knackers Yard. It was its third race, I got tremendous odds.
Famine: Enough, enough! I am getting thirsty. You Madam, are not going to win anything on a long odds shot called Knackers Yard, not even if they strapped rocket boosters to it. Here (he rises and takes her arm) let me help you to your seat. (he does so then returns) Right. Who's turn is it to get the round?
Death: Mine. What will you be taking? The usual?
Pestilence: No
War: Yes
Famine: yes
Death: Okay, a stout for War, bitter for Famine... ( faces PESTILENCE) what are you going to have?
Pestilence: Oh, an American beer of some sort.
War: Makes sense.
(DEATH goes to bar and mutters the order as conversation continues)
War: He really is cut up about that Yorik business. You don't change your looks after thousands of years so lightly. Mind you everyone is rather image conscious nowadays.
Pestilence: Not all. Som'of us refuse to conform. We're not all mindless sheep that goes and looks like the rest of everybody.
Famine: Green hair is hardly original. And it just makes you look like a tree.
( PESTILANCE opens his mouth to reply)
War (Hurriedly): Let's not get side-tracked. We're all on edge.
Famine: 'Course we are, we need an apocalypse. Huh, what's the point of us if there is no apocalypse
War: Patience
Famine (Very annoyed): She's not here, she's one of the virtues. We are the underemployed horsemen of the apocalypse, and I'm a very annoyed one.
(DEATH returns with the drinks, and starts placing them down by each person)
Pestilence: How comes we're the four horsemen. Too establishment. Should have horsewomen as well, fight the system.
Death: It's the European Union that sorts out those equality thingies... Well, so do I, but that's by the by.
Famine: What do the EU have to do with the apocalypse?
War: It always seems they're organising it.
Pestilence: Well I say we get a woman to join us.
All their gazes are drawn to where the little old lady is drinking a drink while filling out what could be a bet slip
War: No
Famine: Don't even think of it.
Pestilence: Er. Okay.
(He starts drinking his drink. There is a moment's silence)
Pestilence: Another thing about Shakespeare
War: /Yes?
Death: /Yes?
Pestilence: (to WAR): Did he know about your Chihuahuas?
War: Why?
Pestilence: Well I don't see much point at letting them slip. I mean they make an awful noise, but what sort of speech is it threatening to let a bunch of Chihuahuas on the loose. Never understood quite a bit of Shakespeare actually.
Famine : I wonder why.
Pestilence (hotly): I don't sit and moan, you just hate my style-
War: Calm down, calm down. No need to make a scene. We could get kicked out
Death: Kicked out? Us?
War: Well... yes. I mean we could just fight back, but I hate doing that... Well I mean... In any case it was better when you were a skeleton. People had very definite ideas of black robes that they could see flashes of bone-white in.
Death: (bitterly) Very definite ideas. They think it means I'm a deceased jester. (Brightens up) Actually I think you forgot about this.
(He waves his scythe around)
War: Well there is that.
Pestilence: The best respect.
Famine(Almost wailing): It's for killing people. It's for an apocalypse. And I want one now-
(Trumpet sounds offstage)
Famine: Oh.