c11 script

Pan: ...so he spilled it all, and I felt so stupid. Like, I had my head so far up my own ass the whole time, I never stopped to consider he had his own stuff going on.
I was going around trying to play it mortal, when that was the opposite of what he wanted. Turns out two weird messes are perfect for each other.
Mog: Haha, aw.
Lillith: How about you, Mog? Anybody interesting in your life right now?
Mog: Pfsh, nah. I'm cool with what I got right here.  I don't need that kind of complication these days.
Pan: Hrmm.
--
Mog: What's up, dude?
Lillith: Pan.
Pan: Nothing.
Mog: Haha, I know I drive you crazy, right? I just don't have the, uh, same drive as you guys. It's fine.
Pan: It's not that.
Lillith: Pan.
Pan: Rgh. It's been nearly two hundred years, dude. You have to get over Gabrielle.
--
Lillith: Oh, good. Alright. Sweetie, we're leaving.
Mog: Whaaaa-haaat? Haha you think it's about that?
Pan: Mog, look at yourself. You've been in this-...this weird foggy rut ever since she left you. It was okay at first, you needed a break, but this is getting crazy.
Lillith: Pan.
Pan: No, listen. I care about you. I want you to be happy, but you're not happy. You're a mess. Playing this undercover mortal game isn't good for you, you're...losing yourself.
Mog: Hey, people change. You don't get to tell me I'm not me, just because I don't live the same way you do any more.
Lillith: We're leaving.
Pan: I can't keep handling the forests for you. People are starting to call me a woodland god now. Me. I can barely keep a house plant alive.
Mog: I never said this was going to be temporary.
--
 I told you I was done with the cosmic thing, even before I lost Ria. You were fine with it then.
Pan: Because she made you crazy! I thought you'd play mortal for a decade, maybe two. I didn't realise she made you this crazy.
Mog: Hey. [A beat. Pan flinches a little as if expecting Morgan to retaliate physically. He doesn't.] I told you, it's nothing to do with her.
Pan: [Regards him for a beat by the door.] You were always better at being worshipped than loved.
--
Morgan sits on the windowsill smoking in the late afternoon light. The cat jumps up beside him.
Cat: So that was intense.
Mog: Family, right?
Cat: Sure.
A beat. They both bathe in the golden light.
--
Mog: Am I really that pathetic?
Cat: What d'you mean?
Mog: I came into this world with the forests. I feel every root, every feather, every whisker under the shade of their leaves. And here I am running away from myself to jam with basement bands and eat takeout.
Cat: Ah.
Mog: But don't I get that? Don't I get to be a nobody if I want?


--
Mog: Just because I have a purpose, am I obligated to spend all my time on earth doing that thing?
Mog: What kind of shitty elitism is it to say this life is fine for people with no other choice, but degrading for me?
Mog: Don't I get to be small too?
Cat: Friend, let me be straight with you. I am a cat. I know rooting in bins and peeing on ferns.
Mog: Dude, I asked you to stop that.
Cat: My point is-
--
The difference between you and the rest of us small guys is that you chose this life. So...why?
Mog: I made a bad god.
Cat: Not cut out for it, huh?
Mog: No, I was very good at being a god. But I was bad. Bad for my worshippers, bad for the people around me. I'm not somebody who deserves power.
Cat: You were, like...a bad guy?
Mog: The way Pan looked at me right before he left. The same way he always used to look when he knew he'd crossed a line. Like he expected me to turn around and tear him apart.
Cat: .....figuratively?
Mog: Really not.
--
Cat: Eesh.
Mog: The responsibilities, the power, the feel of it...they made me vicious. And selfish. And reckless. And despite all that, people looked up to me. They obeyed my whims and tried to guess at my desires, just because chance made me bigger than them. Once I realised who I'd been, I had to remove myself from that picture.
A lull in conversation.
Mog: Sorry, I shouldn't lay all this on you. You're just a cat.
--
Cat: Any cat may be a king.
Mog: [laughs] That old chestnut? Dude, you're adorable.
Cat: Come on. Maybe I'm royalty slumming it too. That's what a cat king does.
Mog: Well, it's not what a god does, unfortunately.
Cat: [looks at him]
Mog: What?
Cat: [Looks at him harder]
Mog: What??
Cat: You are a god, Morgan. Whatever you do is what a god does. That's what it means.
--
Mog: Huh?
Cat: Any cat may be a king. So whatever a cat does is what a king does. And our king does as cats do. So we all have the same responsibility, to be the greatest of our kind.
Mog: I do not totally get what you're saying.
Cat: It's real simple, guy. If you want to be the the person you are right now, you can be that person. If you want to be the old you, sure, go back to being him. Or, if you want to be the kind of god that deserves to be a god, you can do that too. Whatever you do will be what a god does. That's all your birthright means.
Mog: You think I should go back and do a better job?
Cat: I think you should do whatever the hell you feel like.
--
Mog: Immortality is kind of a bitch, y'know. Doing this was the closest I could come to disappearing. But I'll never really disappear.
Cat: Nah.
Mog: I think I have to go back. I think I have to stop waiting for anyone else to make up for me.s
Cat: Gods are still allowed to play bass in shitty bars and feed their cats, though, right?
Mog: [laughs] As long as I'm the one writing the rules.