Shakespeare in Crescent

Places are those found in Shakespeare's plays and the people that may be hanging around.

And so it begins...

• Inkspot - A favourite opening for me A heath near Forres, don't like the look of those three old bints in hoodies, declaring home Athens.
• Three Old Bints in Hoodies - Toil and Trouble declared.
• Tuj - Well, under T&T I'll have to open with the standard Venice, home at Elsinore.
• Projoy - Forest of Arden
• Raak - Another Part of the Forest. We seem to be in a Forest of Arden loop already.
• Chalky - Not if I counter with Verona - doubled
• Inkspot - Not wishing to name drop, Caesar's house maintaining Italy and giving up two red tokens to a passing servant.
• Martin - From Italy, the obvious move is to the Bohemian seacoast.
• Juxtapose - I'm not much good at MC so I'll restrict myself to the axiomatic. Illyria.
• Néa - I'm not sure of this. An indistinguish'd space of woman's will might be sufficiently vague. Home near Dover.
• Tuj - Muddying the waters with Cyprus, and dropping a handkerchief in lieu of a podume.
• Projoy - Alexandria
• Kim - London, the Tower, home at my second best bed.
• Néa - Birnam Wood.
• CdM - [Néa] Hey! Stop moving when it isn't your turn!
• Néa - *menacing rustle*
• Projoy - Dunsinane, shunting Néa.
• Valentin - On a ship at sea, home at Troy
• Chalky - The Boar's Head Tavern in Eastcheap invoking a pox on all swarthy rascals
• Kim - *The same, an hour later*
• Botherer - Exeunt. Is that in Devon?
• Néa - Norway. (where, coincidentally I'll be from tomorrow until Tuesday.)
• Néa - Sorry, I should have said. That's Norway the place, not Norway the person.
• rab - The Blasted Heath, home at Bottom
• ImNotJohn - Aleppo mastering a tiger
• Néa - Capulet's orchard, quietly.
• Inkspot - In prison and also keeping quiet, should the gaoler hear me.
• ImNotJohn - In a cowslip's bell
• ImNotJohn - (Actually I was lying).
• Raak - Antigonus, hazard of pursuing bears.
• Néa - Prison, shunting Inkspot to a nunnery.
• Projoy - a nutshell, counting myself King of Infinite Space
• Tuj - A sea of troubles, shunting the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune to Raak.
• Inkspot - Black and white is just not me, but Ephesus shoud wreck Néa's chances of recovery for a couple of moves.
• rab - Popping back in, peering through the chink in the wall.
• Robin - The battlements of Elsinore Castle, putting in a hasty call to Ghostbusters.
• Néa - [Inkspot]
  I shunted thee to a most pleasant place
  where maidens fair would surely round thee flock
  Thy turn would there have seem'd to pass apace
  and yet thou placed'st versus me a block!
  But I will blight thee, and with thee thy house
  And every body who against me jeered
  A pox upon thy oxen and thy cows
  And may thy cousin's mother grow a beard!
  Thy tokens' colours all will change to pink
  Thy summers will be frozen, winters mild
  Thy quadrants shall be wobbly, and I think
  That all thy river-crossings will go wild.
  Old Ruttsborough could ne'er so vengeful be
  So as to wreak what I have wrought on thee.
• Blob - [Tuj] I oppose your sea of troubles, thus ending them. This means I can open at Bosworth Field home at London, The Tower.

  Poor Inkspot hath young Néa's hackles raised
  And vitriol doth spurt from ev'ry pore
  'Twould be a miracle if he unscathed
  Return'd with visage fair as 'twas before !
  Me fears he'll gaze in woe upon his flank
  And see his podumes stricken with the pox
  Diagonally blocked and placed in frank
  His striles averted; straddles placed in locks
  His chances now of winning ? Not a prayer
  'Tis never counsel wise to cross young Néa !
  

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• Néa - A Street, with torches.
• Raak - Summer's Day, comparisons denied.
• Inkspot - A churchyard with aright pair of clowns playing Mornington Crescent.
• Audience - *shouts, screams generally goes wild for Inkspot*
• Blob -

  Well strike me dumb ! Despite my warnings dire
  And Néa's verbal lamming of the chap
  Young Inkspot hath cross'd first the blessèd wire
  And wrought himself a vict'ry free from hap.
  Pure skilful play; A coup de grâce serene
  Hath brought him to this situation pleasant
  Such moves delight the audience unseen
  Who echo, scream and shout "Mornington Crescent" !
  And so the game is done; And though 'tis hard
  We must bid fond adieu unto the Bard
  

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This is the end of the line. There is no more.