Rated M for Monica
Fake-script style is simple.
We find Monica sitting on the living room couch, flipping through a photography book showing the architecture of Shiru Castle. She is wearing black gauchos, a purple dress shirt, and black flats.
Monica is also sitting in the lounge chair on the other side of the room, in a blue bath robe, filing the callouses off the pads on the bottom of her canid feet.
She is ALSO standing at the front window, wearing gray sweat clothes and flip flops, her white tail flipping in irritation.
MONICA: Looks like it'll rain again.
MONICA: The news didn't say that it'll rain- OW, damn file.
MONICA: They won't cancel the flight if it rains. Humans are dumb.
Monica steps away from the door and sits on the arm of the lounge chair next to Monica, who is sucking her thumb, nail file pinned between her big and middle toe claws.
MONICA: Did it again, eh?
MONICA: Shut up
MONICA: Look, you should just let me do that for you.
Monica leans close to Monica, but Monica sets her hand on Monica's chest.
MONICA: Hey, stop! I want to do it myself.
MONICA: Haha, sure, come on let me get that.
Monica leans into Monica's lap, reaching for the file.
MONICA: Stop it.
MONICA: Give me.
MONICA: No, stop.
MONICAL Gimme.
MONICA: I said, don't touch my SHIT!!!!
Monica's maw splits and her eyes roll back as she bites into Monica's neck. Monica rears back, her neck tearing open as she withdraws. Enraged by the wound, Monica bristles her back, sets her feet and hands and claws around Monica's waist, and begins to rip and strip clothes and fur and fat from Monica's belly.
Monica looks up from her book and glares at them.
MONICA: I'm not in the mood, okay. Go somewhere private if you're gonna do that.
To add insult to blood-soaked massacre, Dick's voice echos from the kitchen.
DICK: Monica? You in there?
Monica rolls her eyes. She shoves her face closer into her book, trying to ignore all the titillation dumb things happening.
DICK: I can hear you gang-banging in there, or whatever.
Monica cringes at his choice of words. She glances at the pile of gore in the middle of the living room- bared teeth and skinless feet and stripped tail still writhing in a grotesque display of slaughter- trying to put his comment out of her head.
MONICA: What do you want, Dick?
DICK: I need help.
MONICA: Story of your life.
Completely flustered by the twin snapping meat cocoons, Monica sets her book down, sighs, sits up on the couch on the balls of her feet a little, and slips her middle finger down the front of her gauchos. She slides her middle finger between her pussy lips, using her thumb and forefinger to massage her-
DICK: Please?
MONICA: Shut up, Dick head.
DICK: ... Please please please please please please please please pleas-
MONICA: MOTHER FUCKER!!!!1!
Monica rips her hand out of her mons, surges up from the couch, and flicks the moisture from her hand onto the pile of ribs and jawbones and organs bleeding all over the floor. She stomps from the living room, through the hallway, and into the kitchen and dining room.
MONICA: I'm going to fucking strangle you.
Dick is standing behind the kitchen table. He is wearing shitty clothes. His face is squat, his forehead gross, his hair black and oily, and his body teeny and lanky and gross and when you look at it for too long you go blind and fear for humanity and know why you led Japan into that war with Korea and you pray for death.
MONICA: Wha? Jesus, I'm not thinking that.
There is also a pie on the table.
MONICA: ... Eh?
DICK: Heya there.
MONICA: That pie better have fucking gold in it for you to bother me.
DICK: You can masturbate anytime.
MONICA: What do you WANT, Dick?!
DICK: I like pie. So I made one, and wanted to show you.
MONICA: Yeah, but... wait how?
DICK: Want some? Please eat some. Please.
MONICA: How did you make that pie? You don't know how to cook.
Monica walks from behind Dick, wearing nothing.
MONICA: Aw, sweeety, why'd you have to make it a crowd?
MONICA: GOD DAMN IT!
DICK: Please help me.
Monica points at Monica.
MONICA: I thought you were getting ready for the tour?
Monica smiles, splays her hand across Dick's chest and melts along his shoulder, groaning in delight.
MONICA: Oh, but we diiid get ready.
Monica rubs the rim of the pie pan with a seductive finger.
MONICA: ... Pft... we- Fuggin' PIE!??!
MONICA: Mhm, sexy pie.
MONICA: THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE!?!
Monica points at Dick angrily.
MONICA: Dick, you know better than this!
DICK: I'm sorry. You're very persuasive... and sharp, when you want to be.
MONICA: Yeeah, and he's just so biiig, and meaty-
MONICA: HAHAHAhahahahahahahaaa-
DICK: ...
MONICA: -hahahhahahaaaa, okay, he is NOT.
DICK: ... Hey.
MONICA: He is medium-to-chode at least.
DICK: Hey now-
Monica withdraws herself from Dick and glares at Monica.
MONICA: Don't ever insult my man again.
MONICA: Fuck you!
MONICA: Pff, fuck you.
DICK: Heeey, yeeaah, ya'll should maybe just love on each other instead of always bothering me-
MONICA AND MONICA: SHUT UP WHORE!!
Monica leaps onto the table, steps in the pie, and lunges at Monica, who withdraws her hand from Dick and crouches low. Monica tackles Monica, but Monica slaps Monica across the face and grabs Monica by the collar, as Monica bares her claws and begins to tear into Monica's exposed body, just as Monica bites Monica's breast through her shirt.
As Dick watches Monica and Monica tear each other into bloody pulp, Monica walks up behind him. She has a fork and knife and plate in her hands. She slices a blob of pie from the smashed pan, sets the piece on the plate, and pokes it with the fork. She sets the bite in her mouth and begins to chew.
MONICA: What's this all about?
DICK: Wait, you can't tell?
MONICA: *chew chew* Meh.
DICK: It's a lover's spat... I think.
MONICA: No, ass, what sort of pie is it?
DICK: Oh, uhm, cherry.
MONICA: Mhm, the fuck fruit.
DICK: WHAT?!
MONICA: HAha, just kidding.
DICK: Woah... oh God, thank goodnes-
MONICA: Seriously though, get on the table, bitch.
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