[Setting: Claire and Elliot’s Apartment]
It’s late afternoon, the sunlight slanting through the cheap blinds they still haven’t replaced. The apartment has that “recently moved in” charm—half-unpacked boxes, mismatched furniture, and a faint odor of suspicious carpet cleaner that lingers like an unwanted houseguest.
Claire is sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through an old paperback while Elliot wrestles with an IKEA lamp, swearing softly under his breath.
Elliot (muttering): “If I ever meet the guy who invented ‘assembly required,’ I’m throwing him out a window.”
Claire (smirking, not looking up): “Maybe Sable can help you with that. Seems ironic enough.”
A Knock at the Door. Sharp. Purposeful.
Elliot freezes mid-screw. Claire sighs, snapping her book shut as she stands.
Claire: “If that’s another ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ flyer, I’m flipping a table.”
She opens the door to reveal Sable, the God of Irony—fittingly, or perhaps too fittingly—standing there with a grin that practically sparkles with malicious charm. He’s holding a box with air holes in it—something alive—and he looks far too pleased with himself.
Sable (cheerfully): “Ah, Claire, Elliot. Congratulations on your new abode! Nothing says ‘home sweet home’ like… responsibility.”
Elliot (from the floor, suspiciously): “What’s in the box, Sable?”
Sable steps inside uninvited, placing the box carefully on their barely assembled coffee table.
Sable: “A gift. The sort that makes you question your life choices but ultimately adds character.”
Claire eyes the box warily. There’s a faint, rhythmic thumping coming from inside.
Claire: “If it’s a bomb, I’m not cleaning it up.”
Sable (offended): “Please. I would never. Bombs lack finesse. No, this little fellow is something far more ironic—and adorable.”
He opens the box with a flourish, and out hops a three-legged rabbit. It blinks up at them, unfazed.
Elliot (staring): “...It’s missing a leg.”
Sable (nodding solemnly): “Precisely. Its name is Tripod.”
Claire (gaping): “You brought us a three-legged rabbit?”
Sable (spreading his arms like a showman): “It’s perfect, isn’t it? A little hop, a little limp—yet it gets where it’s going. A shining example of overcoming adversity while being an excellent conversation starter. You’re welcome.”
Stolen story; please report.
Another Knock at the Door. Rapid, insistent, almost jubilant.
Claire groans. Sable smirks knowingly, as though he’s already guessed who it is. Elliot, still processing the rabbit, mutters, “I swear, if it’s Conundrum drunk again...”
Claire swings the door open to reveal the God of Coincidence. He bursts into the room like an exuberant child, a grin stretching ear to ear.
Coincidence: “Elliot! Claire! Ah, Sable! How fascinating to find you here!”
Claire (dryly, crossing her arms): “It’s our apartment. We’re usually here.”
Coincidence practically dances into the room, pausing only to shoot a pointed look at Tripod, who stares back blankly.
Coincidence (grinning): “Oh, I see Sable brought you that. Classic.”
Elliot (still sitting on the floor, exasperated): “Okay, I’m just going to say it. What is going on? You’re both acting like... like cats who ate canaries.”
Claire (muttering): “More like peacocks who ate fireworks.”
Coincidence (laughing, throwing himself onto the couch): “Claire, my dear, you get it! Secrets are such delicious things, aren’t they? Especially the ones no one is supposed to know... but everyone kind of does.”
Sable (raising an eyebrow, crossing his arms): “Is this where you monologue again?”
Coincidence (ignoring him, launching in): “Let me tell you a story.”
Narrative Sprawl: The Tale of the Vanishing Secrets
Coincidence leans back, his hands lacing behind his head, as though he’s about to unfurl the mysteries of the universe—or a particularly bad sitcom plot.
Coincidence: “Once, there was a man—call him Victor—who fancied himself the best keeper of secrets in the world. He locked them in vaults. Whispered them to no one. Hid them beneath mountains of misdirection. He was a fortress, untouchable, uncrackable.”
Claire (deadpan): “Did he also have a rabbit with a limp?”
Coincidence (nodding): “Metaphorically speaking, yes. But the universe, you see, loves irony—and so it gave Victor a nosy neighbor. The kind who noticed things. Little things. Like when Victor went to the post office twice in one day. Or when he bought fifty pineapples for ‘no reason.’”
Elliot (frowning): “Fifty pineapples?”
Coincidence (grinning wider): “Oh yes. The neighbor grew obsessed. ‘What’s with the pineapples?’ they wondered. And so they investigated. They followed Victor. Deduced his routine. Tracked his deliveries. And do you know what they found?”
Claire: “That he just really liked fruit?”
Coincidence (pausing, then shaking his head): “No. They found nothing. Victor wasn’t hiding anything. The pineapples? A coincidence. The trips to the post office? He forgot stamps. But by then, the secret had become something bigger than Victor—bigger than the truth. The neighbor was so certain of a mystery, they created one.”
Elliot (slowly): “So… the secret wasn’t real?”
Coincidence (smiling mischievously): “Oh, it was real. Because people believed it. And what’s more delicious than a secret everyone knows—but no one understands?”
Sable (rolling his eyes): “Sounds exhausting.”
Coincidence (turning to Tripod): “Tripod gets it. Look at him. Three legs, and still perfectly balanced.”
Tripod thumps a foot, unimpressed.
Claire (pinching the bridge of her nose): “You’re both insufferable.”
Elliot (muttering): “And now I’m craving pineapple.”
The Aftermath
As Coincidence finishes, he stands and dusts off his coat, as though he’s completed a great task.
Coincidence (to Sable): “Lovely seeing you, old friend. Do try not to overthink this one.”
Sable (coolly): “Who says I’m overthinking anything?”
Coincidence smirks, then heads for the door. He pauses, turning back to Claire and Elliot.
Coincidence: “Enjoy your new pet. Sometimes the answers hop in when you’re not looking.”
With that, he’s gone.
Claire looks at Sable. Sable looks at Tripod. Tripod thumps again.
Claire (flatly): “Why do I feel like I just missed something important?”
Elliot sighs, picking up the three-legged rabbit.
Elliot: “Because we probably did. Want to order pizza?”
Claire: “Yeah. Let’s pretend this never happened.”
Outside, somewhere in the dark, a delivery guy on skates zooms past, a box balanced precariously in one hand.
[End Scene]
[retcon:1]