Scene 1: A Dimly Lit Office

[Setting: Sable’s office—or what passes for one. A single desk lamp casts a dim halo of light onto a battered desk, cluttered with papers that likely haven’t been read and a bottle of whiskey that’s seen too much action. The room feels like a place where promises go to die and sarcasm thrives. Sable, the God of Irony sits in his chair, leaning back with a grin that’s both disarming and infuriating. He spins a coin between his fingers, its glint catching the light just enough to annoy. Across from him, Elliot slouches uncomfortably, a man who doesn’t know why he’s here but knows it can’t be good.]

Sable: “So. You decided to show up.”

Elliot (muttering): “Not like you gave me a choice.”

Sable: “Choices, Elliot, are illusions dressed as inevitabilities. You walked through that door because you couldn’t resist asking ‘why.’ And here we are.”

The room hums with tension. The only sound is the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall, though, upon closer inspection, the hands aren’t moving forward—they’re circling backward.

A shadow shifts in the corner. Coincidence, God of Coincidence, steps forward, his silhouette sharp against the slatted blinds, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his ever-grinning face.

Coincidence (voiceover):

“It was one of those nights. The kind where the city feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to go wrong. Rain dripped off the edges of gutters like the universe had a leaky faucet, and the streets were slick with the kind of reflections that make you wonder if the world above is any better than the one below.

Sable was in his usual spot—playing God with a deck of cards and an unlit cigarette. Elliot was there too, looking like a man who just found out the punchline to the joke of his life wasn’t as funny as he’d hoped. And me? Well, I was the storyteller. The one who strings the coincidences together like mismatched pearls on a frayed thread. You can call me Coincidence. Or don’t. Names don’t stick to me anyway.”

Scene 2: The Setup

Elliot (leaning forward, frustrated): “Why am I here, Sable? What do you want?”

Sable smirks, flipping the coin onto the desk. It lands on its edge, impossibly balanced.

Sable: “Not what I want, Elliot. What you need.”

Elliot: “Great. Cryptic answers. Very helpful.”

Coincidence (stepping closer, his voice smooth, like a jazz saxophone at midnight): “Ah, but don’t you see, Elliot? That’s the beauty of it. If the answers were clear, you wouldn’t need us. You’d just bumble along, thinking you’re the protagonist of your own little noir flick, until the credits roll and the audience realizes the twist is that there was never a plot.”

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Elliot (rubbing his temples): “Is it too late to leave?”

Sable: “Far too late. Because you’re in the middle of it now. And the only way out… is through.”

Begin long sprawling narrative: “The Case of the Missing Umbrella”

Coincidence slides onto the edge of Sable’s desk, his grin sharp enough to cut glass.

Coincidence: “Let me tell you a story. A little tale of love, loss, and—of course—an umbrella.”

Sable sighs, but doesn’t interrupt. Elliot looks like he’s regretting every decision that led him here.

Coincidence (voiceover, spinning his yarn):

“There was a dame—because there’s always a dame. Red dress, redder lips, eyes like twin questions you didn’t want to answer. Let’s call her Felicity. She walked into the wrong bar on the right night, carrying a black umbrella that wasn’t hers but suited her anyway.

The bar belonged to Greg—he’d tell you he’s just a bartender, but the way he polishes glasses like they’re the last hope for redemption says otherwise. Felicity sits at the counter, orders a drink that doesn’t suit her, and leaves the umbrella behind when she disappears into the night.”

Elliot: “Wait. What does this have to do with me?”

Coincidence: “Patience, my dear mortal. Stories aren’t served up fast like burgers; they’re simmered slow, like secrets.”

Coincidence (continuing):

“Greg notices the umbrella—how could he not? Black as betrayal, with a silver handle shaped like a question mark. He decides to hold onto it, not knowing it’s the key to unraveling the mess that’s about to unfold.

You see, the umbrella wasn’t just an umbrella. It belonged to someone. Someone powerful. Someone… ironic.” (He gestures grandly toward Sable.)

Sable (rolling his eyes): “You make it sound like I planned the whole thing.”

Coincidence: “Didn’t you?”

Sable doesn’t answer.

Scene 3: The Absurd Twist

Elliot (throwing up his hands): “Let me guess. The umbrella ends up causing a chain of events that no one could predict, but somehow it all circles back to me.”

Coincidence (clapping): “Now you’re catching on! The umbrella gets stolen by a goat—because, of course, it does. The goat runs through the city, knocking over a cart of pineapples, which roll into the street and cause a delivery truck to swerve. The truck crashes into a lamppost, knocking it down just in time to block a man from getting mugged. That man? Your father’s poker buddy from twenty years ago. The man who gave you your first job. Without him, you wouldn’t even exist in this story.”

Elliot stares at him, mouth open.

Elliot: “You’re kidding.”

Coincidence: “Am I?”

Scene 4: The Resolution

Sable leans forward, his voice low and deliberate.

Sable: “Here’s the thing, Elliot. Life’s not a straight line. It’s not even a circle. It’s a knot, and every thread is tangled with the next. That umbrella? That’s just one thread. And you’re holding another. The question is: what are you going to do with it?”

Elliot: “I… I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”

Coincidence (grinning): “Exactly.”

The room falls silent, save for the backward ticking of the clock. Outside, the rain starts to fall, washing the city in streaks of silver and gray.

Elliot stands, uncertain but strangely lighter, like a man who’s been handed a puzzle piece without the rest of the picture.

Elliot (quietly): “I guess… I’ll figure it out.”

Sable smirks, leaning back in his chair.

Sable: “You will. Or you won’t. Either way, you’ll be interesting.”

As Elliot steps into the rain, Coincidence watches him go, his grin softening into something almost genuine.

Coincidence (voiceover):

“And just like that, another thread wove itself into the fabric of the city. A man, a mystery, and an umbrella—because what’s life without a little absurdity? Some might call it fate, others chance. Me? I call it… coincidence.”

[End Scene]