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Neptune, or, The Tragedy of Veronica, Daughter of Mars, Epilogue.


[The curtain rises on an empty stage, with the five heraldic banners of the city still hanging overhead—the green and gold sailing ship of NEPTUNE, the blue castle of KANE, the copper candle of MARS, the silver hammer of ECHOLLS, the red quill of HEARST. VERONICA MARS enters left, hands at her sides, and walks to center stage, where she stops under the banner of NEPTUNE, studying the audience.

She begins.]

So gray the skies, and wash away the shame
Of heritage, deception and betrayal;
Of all we’ve done, and all we’ve come to blame
On nature in the telling of this tale.
So gray the skies, and bring at last the rain;
Let all the heavens weep at what they’ve seen.
The innocence we’ve lost, we can’t regain,
And bloodied hands shall nevermore be clean.

[A spotlight comes on under the banner of MARS, revealing KEITH.]

Now gray the skies, and let the past be past;
Put paid the debts of all we leave behind.
These bitter years have gone so very fast—
Cling now to what redemption you can find,
For good intentions pave the road to Hell,
And our intentions were the best of all.
We leave one tale untold for each we tell.
Now gray the skies, and let this city fall.

[A spotlight comes on under the banner of ECHOLLS, revealing LOGAN.]

What, gray the skies? There’s nothing left to save,
No way to wash away these scars and stains.
The wounds we bear, we’ll take down to the grave,
To sleep at last, when nothing else remains.
Was pride our sin, or heritage alone,
Original, incurable as blood?
Let he who’s sinless cast the final stone.
What, gray the skies? That’s never done us good.

[A spotlight comes on under the banner of HEARST, revealing WALLACE.]

We can’t return to what we’ve left behind,
The vaunted innocence of days gone by.
The dreamer’s glass that lingers in the mind,
Reflects the past, and makes of truth a lie.
Were our hands cleaner then? They must have been.
We’d had far fewer chances to go wrong…
Yet I believe we’re stronger for our sin.
An angel never falls, but can’t belong.

[A spotlight comes on under the banner of KANE, revealing the empty stage. VERONICA and LOGAN turn towards it. LOGAN clenches his fist. VERONICA closes her eyes. Both turn back towards the audience.]

How many days have passed since first she fell,
Since days to years transformed, with her still gone?

This bitter tale she did not live to tell,
But left us here, to live, and carry on.
Remember her. She was the Queen of May.
She left us with a lily in her hand.

They say that nothing good can ever stay—
So what says that of us, who have to stand,
Who grow more tarnished night by passing night?
She lived so fast, she fell just like a star,
And could not stay…

And would not stay…

Or fight.

[WEEVIL enters, and walks to stop between WALLACE and KEITH.]

It’s us who have to live with what we are.

We’ll never end the tale of Lilly Kane;
It echoes on forever in our hearts,
And in the end, when only ghosts remain,
Let all men yet recall, we played our parts.
But do not think that Lilly was the last—
Her death was but the first step on this road.

What’s past is never truly dead, or past.
The bill will come for everything that’s owed.

[MAC enters, and walks to stop between KEITH and VERONICA.]

This tale began without me on the stage;
I came in Autumn. Lilly died in spring.
Yet I have been a rat in Neptune’s cage,
And dearly paid, who did not do a thing.
When love turns cold, and lover’s hands to ice,
When infant lives are minted coin to burn…
I’ve paid enough. I’ve made my sacrifice.
What now I know, I never asked to learn.

We bear our ghosts like wounds that will not heal.

Their phantom kisses linger on our lips.

Their sweet embraces, aching and unreal,
The loss with which we cannot come to grips.

The golden girl whose bridal veil became
The shroud to bear her downward into sleep;
Her daughter is another ghost, in name,
The treasure of an exiled prince to keep.

The trophy bride who never had a chance.

The broken boy who fell to dust at last.

The teacher caught by jealous circumstance.

The servant of the law who died so fast.

[PIZ enters, and walks to stop between LOGAN and VERONICA.]

I am a stranger here, will always be;
I do not chart my course to Neptune’s tides,
Nor find my peace within this sounding sea,
Nor wish to see the things which Neptune hides…
But tarnish does not change that gold is gold,
Nor past events deny the future’s grace.
Their ghosts are in the past. That tale is told.
There’s nothing but the future left to face.

Where fathers lie.

Where mothers break their vows.

Where lovers leave.

Where villains take their bows.

Where leopard’s spots can never truly change.

Where hearts betray, and love is never fair.

Where truth is more than fiction can arrange.

[VERONICA looks towards the KANE banner; the spotlight goes out.]

Remember, she wore lilies in her hair.

What, now I start in death, and end in dark?
No fitting monument—this tale was mine.

[The spotlight comes back up, revealing LILLY KANE standing beneath the KANE banner. She laughs.]

It’s true, I only sketched a single arc,
But in the end, all arcs will intertwine.
Had I but lived…ah, wishes are for fools.
What’s in the past, we never can undo,
And time has come for life to start again,
Release the past, let all things start anew.
So live! Move on! And just…remember when.

[LILLY turns, walking off the stage.]

My wounds will heal.

I’ll leave this place behind.

I’ll never go; this town will be my tomb.

We’ll cleave to all the comfort we can find.

We’ll hope for life to finally resume.

[MAC and WALLACE break from their places and walk to VERONICA. The three embrace; MAC and WALLACE exit.]

What Neptune owns, it never will release.
What Neptune claims, it never will let go.

Yet in the end, I pray we will find peace.

The light is dim.

Hope lingers even so.

[KEITH and WEEVIL break from their places and walk to VERONICA. She embraces KEITH, hesitates, then embraces WEEVIL. KEITH and WEEVIL exit.]

What wrong we’ve done, I ask that you forgive;
What wounds we’ve dealt, I ask you set aside.
Remember that our virtues will outlive
The failings we have tried so hard to hide.
We end our tale today, in bitter rain—
Are you content with how this story ends?
I leave you with this bittersweet refrain:
There was a time when all of us were friends.

[LOGAN and PIZ both look to VERONICA. PIZ looks away first. VERONICA shakes her head, and both walk off the stage, leaving her alone. She turns once more to face the audience.]

I’ve been a thief to catch a thief before;
No shame in stealing from a man who steals.
So as I show you to the final door,
Another’s words will finish our ordeals.

[VOICES ring out from offstage, shouting.]

The King rises!

Give o’er the play!

Give me some light: away!

[VERONICA joins them, and they shout the last in unison.]

Lights, lights, lights!

[The spotlights go out; the stage is black; silence.


(The final lines are from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act III, Scene II. Shakespeare was a famous thief, and regularly swiped bits he liked from other poets and plays. A fitting end.

Ladies and gentlemen, goodnight.)

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Shout out to Wallace Fennel for being the best friend of best friends. Everyone else might feel bad for you, but Wallace is the one who actually thinks to go turn off the sex tape video instead of standing there with a blank look and a gaping mouth.

(via jaggedwolf)

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#WE NEED TO DISCUSS THIS DEEPLY UNDERRATED DYNAMIC OKAy #amidst all of these corrupt authority figures #who give into the class warfare of neptune and hatred of the mars family #we have [king] clemmons here who doesn’t give into that #he values veronica and is def impressed by her #when p much no other authority figures are #HE JUST APPRECIATES HER SO MUCh #principal of neptune high school you say? #more like prinicipal of the veronica mars fanclub tbh (via veronicamars)

(via doctorbee)

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I love this. 

This is part of why I loved Veronica Mars, and I love to see her actress celebrating it.

I see a lot of criticism of wit, particularly the wit of women—in writing, acting and comedienne-ing. For one thing, comedy is just seen as less deeeeeep and important and needful-of-talent than tragedy. Which is a clever PR job by some dudes who had no sense of humour way back when. (Turns out that thing we can’t do is dumb! Suuuure, whatever you say.) For another, a woman’s wit is much more likely to be described as not funny and rubbish.

(Critic: Has it ever occurred to you that *you* are rubbish?

Sarah: No, never, I’m too amazing, I am the only human being in this world who has ever existed completely free of self-doubt.

Sarah: … Yes of course it’s occurred to me that I am rubbish. But it’s never occurred to me that *all* women are rubbish.)

People bring up realism as an argument against free-flowing wit in a story: and I do agree that a character is more likely to whip out a witty retort than a real person, because writing is consciously crafted and people can go back and make conversations better and more fun. I also agree that a character is less likely to go to the bathroom than a real person, but I see very few readers clamouring for more pooping scenes.

But *how* unrealistic is it to say that real people aren’t very funny? I do talk like I write (allowing for obvious differences in content and due to characters). My characters joke around like me and my friends do, and like me and my friends always did. My BFF can retort in a trillion languages and half the people I know were on debate teams. Some people are word Jedis with word light sabers. (Some people, like the person who wrote that previous sentence, are nerds.)

Sure, some people are inarticulate. Sure, we all have inarticulate times. Definitely, each character in a book/show/movie should have different humour. (Veronica Mars is an amazing example of people having different humour, actually—Veronica, Logan, Mac, Weevil, Dick Casablancas, Keith and Wallace, to name but a few, all had very different ways of joking around: and the way their humour overlapped showed the ways in which they were similar and how they fit together or didn’t.)

Humour is like language, to me—you find people who speak yours, and have great conversations and teach each other new ways of playing around with words. You can learn someone else’s humour, and that helps you understand them better.

I see humour is an essential part of writing.

It’s tricky to pull off, of course, as people resist the idea of women as witty, and decide witty women are unattractive:

In one study, participants were asked to rank the humor in various cartoon captions. Half of the captions had been written by men, and half by women. When not told who wrote what, the participants judged them almost equally funny. In fact, based on the scores given in this experiment, men are just 2.2 percent more likely to be funny than women. Yet 90 percent of the participants agreed with the stereotype that men are funnier. Talk about a mind-bogglingly huge difference in perception versus reality.

Read more:

More than half the men who took part in the survey revealed that a witty woman was not what they were looking for in a partner.

That’s why people resist funny writing in books or movies or TV shows (especially when said joking is done by women): they don’t believe in it, not because it isn’t true, but because they’ve been trained to believe a lie.

Even though comedy is considered less smart than tragedy, wit is still associated with intelligence.

Teenagers, girls especially, are meant to be dumb. And they’re not at all. They’re trained to hide how smart and funny they are—and they shouldn’t be.

So I loved seeing a girl who was whip-smart and always whipping out the repartee—seeing her blaze, unashamed, and be adored, who could inspire and entertain. And I wanted to write characters who did that, too.

(Source: smurfettebell)

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