#foreignbodies

[georgedawnay]

#foreignbodies #19x24 #contemporaryart #women #fracturedreality #onpaper #worlwide #sodomino

[polaxred]

Buttons

Autumn 1890.

____________

INT. GROWLER CAB - NIGHT

A closed cab rattles through the streets of Whitechapel. Thomas and Ellen sit side by side on the rear bench. Ellen is soaked to the skin and shivering uncontrollably beneath her own coat and Thomas's greatcoat, both left open.

Ellen presses her keys into his hand.

ELLEN: Upstairs. First door on the right.

THOMAS: Why?

ELLEN: I'm shaking too much to unlock it.

A pause.

ELLEN: There's a lamp on the table.

A pause.

ELLEN: Mind the stove. The damper sticks. You'll have to force it a little.

THOMAS: Understood.

A long silence.

ELLEN: My dress.

She tries to undo the buttons down the front. Her fingers are too stiff, and she can't stop shivering.

THOMAS: Let me.

He shifts to the bench opposite her and opens his reefer coat. He takes her hands.

THOMAS: Keep them here.

He tucks them against his sides.

By feel, he finds the first button at the collar of her dress. The fabric, heavy with water, resists. He pulls, tries again. The button finally gives way. Then the next. His movements are slow but steady.

ELLEN: You're good at this.

THOMAS: Dolls' dresses have even smaller buttons.

ELLEN: Then I'm grateful to them.

He keeps working in the darkness despite her shivering and the jolting of the cab. He parts the soaked bodice just enough and rests his palm against the top of her sternum.

THOMAS: You're far too cold.

ELLEN: As long as I'm shivering, I'm all right.

She closes her eyes.

ELLEN: If the shivering stops... Don't chafe my arms or legs.

She looks at him.

ELLEN: It could kill me.

He draws the greatcoat around her.

[polaxred]

Circumlocution

Offcut.

____________

INT. DISPENSARY - OFFICE - LATE AFTERNOON

Thomas steps into the office.

Ellen is sitting on the cot, her feet drawn up beneath her. Her boots are on the floor in front of her. She holds a cup of tea she seems to have forgotten. Her gaze is fixed, unmoving.

He takes a chair at a slight angle to her. Between them, a low table holds a teapot.

THOMAS: Are you cold?

Ellen looks at him.

THOMAS: Is your tea still warm?

She doesn't react.

THOMAS: Your tea?

She looks down at the cup in her hands, just noticing it.

ELLEN: No.

THOMAS: Give it here.

He takes the cup, tops it up with fresh tea from the pot, and hands it back. She takes a sip and presses her lips together.

THOMAS: Too bitter?

ELLEN: Warm. Just right.

She smiles faintly.

ELLEN: Good for the hands.

He smiles back.

ELLEN: I thought...

A pause.

ELLEN: You'd gone.

THOMAS: I was working.

ELLEN: Are you finished?

THOMAS: No.

A long pause.

ELLEN: Am I your work?

He doesn't answer.

ELLEN: They told me. What happened.

A pause.

ELLEN: I was... there.

THOMAS: Yes.

She studies him, searching his face.

ELLEN: And you?

He nods. She lowers her eyes to her cup.

ELLEN: I'm not sure anymore.

She closes her eyes.

THOMAS: You need rest.

He gets to his feet.

ELLEN: So do you.

THOMAS: Miss Egan.

He inclines his head and leaves.

[polaxred]

Foreign Bodies - Project Index

Foreign Bodies is a historical fiction project set in Whitechapel, London, in 1890-91.

I'm currently exploring the characters and their relationships through short scenes, dialogues, and character studies. Themes include care, belonging, class, institutional violence, and the quiet ways people show up for one another.

LIST OF SCENES

------------

Summer 1890

Sir Emmett

Autumn 1890

Rain

Ships

Elsewhere

Buttons

Winter 1890-91

Snow

Posture (From Ellen's Journal)

Light

------------

Offcuts

Circomlocution

Sheets

[polaxred]

Ships

Autumn 1890.

------------

EXT. LONDON DOCKS - QUAY - LATE AFTERNOON

Thomas stands, eating a meat pie bought from a street vendor. He watches a group of sailors working aboard a three-masted ship. Ellen notices him as she passes.

ELLEN: Sergeant Rowe?

He turns, mouth full. He greets her with a nod before finishing his bite. He lifts the pie slightly.

THOMAS: Lunch break.

ELLEN: Bon appétit.

THOMAS: You're done for the day?

She nods.

ELLEN: I needed to clear my head before heading home.

Thomas and Ellen stand side by side, looking at the Thames. She follows his gaze to the three-masted ship.

ELLEN: What are they doing?

THOMAS: The rigging. Replacing a worn halyard. They're almost done.

ELLEN: You talk like one of them.

THOMAS: I was one of them.

A pause.

THOMAS: Those days are behind me.

ELLEN: You never know.

THOMAS: I have a daughter.

ELLEN: She might like it.

THOMAS: She certainly would.

He smiles.

THOMAS: She'll end up like you.

She laughs.

ELLEN: Would that be so terrible?

THOMAS: No. Not at all.

A pause.

THOMAS: She'll do whatever she wants.

He chuckles softly.

THOMAS: She already does.

A pause.

THOMAS: Have you always been moving?

She doesn't answer right away, looking ahead.

ELLEN: No.

He says nothing. She glances at him.

ELLEN: Go on.

THOMAS: What happened?

ELLEN: Life.

A pause.

ELLEN: Bennett.

THOMAS: Henry?

ELLEN: He told me he needed me. For the new hospital.

He smiles.

THOMAS: Is he pleased? With how things are going?

ELLEN: I thought you knew him better than that.

His smile widens. They continue to watch the ships in silence.

[polaxred]

Posture

From Ellen's Journal

------------

I've noticed that when I sit down, I no longer shift or straighten myself. I stay just as I’ve settled. My body no longer protests even the smallest discomforts. It simply accepts everything.

[polaxred]

Light

Winter 1891.

------------

EXT. DISPENSARY - SERVICE DOOR - LATE AFTERNOON

Thomas steps outside. His hat and tie are gone. His jacket hangs open, and a fine layer of dust covers him from head to toe. Brownish stains mark his hands and wrists.

Nearby, a stretcher bearer crushes out his cigarette and heads back inside.

A little farther down, Ellen sits on a low stone wall, smoking. Her apron is stained. Her sleeves are rolled to the elbows. Her hands are red and raw from disinfectants. He drops down beside her.

THOMAS: Got one for me?

She hands him her cigarette case. He takes one, lights it, and draws on it. He starts coughing.

ELLEN: Do you smoke?

THOMAS: No.

They both burst out laughing. He is still coughing. She turns away, trying to regain her composure. It doesn't work. Neither of them can seem to stop. For a moment, they are reduced to muffled laughter and failed attempts at breathing quietly. Eventually, Thomas looks down at the cigarette.

THOMAS: What's in it?

ELLEN: Mullein. Thyme. A bit of mint.

He takes another drag. He doesn't cough.

THOMAS: It clears the chest.

ELLEN: That's the idea.

They smoke in silence.

THOMAS: The light is beautiful tonight.

A pause.

ELLEN: It's the cold.

A pause.

THOMAS: On days like this, everything seems sharper.

The hint of a smile crosses her face.

ELLEN: Yes.

A pause.

THOMAS: And you?

ELLEN: Still standing.

A pause.

ELLEN: I've seen worse. Doesn't help, though.

She finishes her cigarette.

ELLEN: Many left?

THOMAS: Yes. I'm heading back.

She looks at him.

ELLEN: Have you eaten?

He doesn't answer.

ELLEN: Go to the kitchen. Get something.

He smiles at her. She gets to her feet.

ELLEN: If there's any cake left, have two slices.

She heads back inside. He lingers, finishing his cigarette.

[polaxred]

Rain

Autumn 1890.

------------

EXT. DISPENSARY - FRONT DOOR - DAY

Thomas steps out. Ellen stands beside the door, smoking. The rain is beginning to pick up. He lingers on the porch.

ELLEN: The rain isn't going to stop.

He looks at her.

THOMAS: How do you know?

ELLEN: Everyone's already taking shelter.

THOMAS: You have a keen eye.

ELLEN: Do you think I have a future in the police force?

THOMAS: I'll recommend your application, Miss Egan.

ELLEN: You're very kind, Sergeant.

THOMAS: At your service.

He turns up the collar of his coat. He touches the brim of his hat and steps out into the rain.