The Compound of None
When compound words mysteriously dissolve across Sala City, Flops hears a baffling newscast and realizes everyday language has split into awkward “of” phrases. Dook, delighted by the dreamlike logic, joins Flops to survey the chaos, from traffic jams to banks misreading “compound interest” and hospitals misrouting “bloodwork.” With Odie Yotie's legal theatrics, they argue in court that language is society’s compression algorithm and lead a citywide “Affirmation of Hyphen” to restore compounds. The ritual works, signs snap back to normal, and life flows again, while Dook keeps one label: “Crystals of Sweet.”
Interior - Dook and Flops' House
Flops is sprawled on the couch flicking through TV channels while Dook is making art out of ferns. When Flops reaches the news channel, he stops to listen for a second, and realizes that something is not as it should be.
Anchor of News on TV: Our story of lead tonight, Officials of city report that work of road on the street of main has caused jams of traffic stretching for blocks of city. Drivers of motor are advised to use routes of alternate during hours of rush. The project of construction, which includes new lights of traffic and walks of side, is expected to continue through the end of week.
Flops (slumped on the couch, remote upside down like a wand of cheap): What in the thirteen layers of bureaucracy was that? "Walks of side"? Did the anchor eat a thesaurus of broken?
Dook (padding in with a mug of steaming of cocoa of hot): Maybe the anchor of news took a class of language where words married words of other and then filed papers of divorce.
Flops (eyes flicking to the TV of flat and then to Dook): You mean words of compound. They didn’t just divorce. They split the house of hyphen and sold the pets of meaning.
Dook (tilting head, listening as the TV drones about routes of alternate): I like how it sounds. Timey of old. Like proclamations of town. Also, I brought you a cup of chocolate of hot for feelings of comfort.
Flops (accepts, sips, burns tongue of fragile): Ow. Good. Pain of good. Wait, did you say “chocolate of hot”?
Dook (blinking of even): I said what the world is saying, I think. Thing of some is happening of language.
The TV cuts to a graphic: “Breaking of News: Ban of Compounds of Word.”
Anchor of News (on TV, smile of practiced): We interrupt story of lead with an update of urgent. A phenomenon of linguistic has been observed across city of Sala. Compounds of word appear to be... functioning of not. We ask citizens to remain of calm and to follow directions of officials of city.
Flops (sits upright, remote of plastic clattering to floor of living): Functioning of not? That’s not a bulb of light. That’s how we think. Out of with compounds, the brain of lizard in my head needs a glossary of constant!
Dook (peering at the label of his tin of cocoa): Look, the label changed. It says “Powder of drinks of cocoa.” Language is molting!
Flops (points at the window of room of living): Even the signs of street. “Main Street” now reads “Street of Main.” That’s... poetic of mild and fully catastrophic.
A thrum of distant machinery of road filters in. Outside, a sign of neon across the corner store flickers from “Kiosk” to “Place of sell of small.” The world is translating itself into a syntax of medieval guide of tour.
Flops (standing, pockets of hoodie collapsed with crumbs of snack): We need to see how deep this goes. Where’s my phone of smart?
Dook (produces a glass of rectangle): Phone of smart became “Device of palm of talk.” Also, the app of map says “Route of alternate.” Handy.
Flops (half-grin of feral): Ok, funny is happening. But also society of system is made of cuts of short, words of inclusion. This could jam the brain of city worse than the jams of traffic.
Exterior - Dook and Flops' House
They step outside. A worker of road yells at a colleague of fellow through muffles of ear.
Worker of Road: Cones of safety go there! Machine of lay of asphalt is heating of over of bad!
Flops (aside): He means: put the cones of safety, the paver is heating of over. I hate that I stood of under that.
Dook (mildly delighted): It is like when I visit the lands of Dream and thing of every is named by function of purpose. “Chair of sit.” “Cup of hold.” “Hat of hiding of bald.”
Flops (squinting down the street of main): And we got jams of traffic stretching for blocks of city. Right, we’re walking.
Interior - The Place of Sell of Small
They arrive at the kiosk, no, the Place of Sell of Small, where The Stoat stands behind a sign that now reads “Clerk of store of small, specialist of syrup of maple.”
The Stoat (leaning on counter of laminate, accent of Canada turned up notch of one): Ey, you two look like customers of potential. Want a bottle of sugar of tree? It’s, uh, premium of premium, eh?
Flops (grim): We’re here for information of vital. Compounds of word are gone. When did you notice the change of weird?
The Stoat (shrug of unaffected): Seen it like, minutes of twenty of clock ago. Guy of delivery brought boxes of snack that say “Taters of crisp.” I say, that’s fine of fine, eh? Label of fancy. But then the drawer of cash says “Holder of coin and paper.” That’s... too literal of literal.
Dook (finger to chin of green): If compounding is an agreement of mind to pack meaning into bundles of small, then the agreement is broken. What breaks agreements? Contracts of legal.
Flops (groan of knowing): You’re thinking of Odie. Of course you are.
Dook (nod of bright): We should ask the coyote of law. He will find the clause of hidden in the grammar of city.
Exterior - House of Practice of Law of Odie
Cut to the firm of law: “Yotie & Loophole,” which now reads “House of Practice of Law of Odie.” The glass of door labels him “Attorney of coyote, twister of statute.”
Interior - House of Practice of Law of Odie
Odie Yotie (sliding from office of back, tie of thin crooked like a grin of sly): Ah, my friends of frequent and chaotic. Do you require services of counsel specialized? I am offering a rate of promotional until the end of day.
Flops (arms folded of fox): Words split. No more compounds of word. City’s in a state of pickle of jar.
Odie (eyes of green glint): Aha. Crisis of not, merely a re-licensing. Compounds are mergers of semantic requiring filings of implicit. Now the commission of language has... revoked them. We must operate under rules of phrase of phrastic of peri. Contracts of legal rely on definitions of precise. This could blow open holes of loop of new the size of barn of red.
Dook (eager): Can we file an injunction of emergency against the ordinance of... grammar?
Odie (tapping a folder of thick labeled “Words of compound: et al.”): I drafted, for fun of weekend, a petition of ordinary of extra relief: “Motion to Re-join Words of Compound in the Interests of Efficiency of Public and Clarity of Common.” It argues that breaking of compounds imposes burden of undue on commerce of daily.
Flops (one eyebrow of skeptical): You did that for fun?
Odie (wry): I collect laws of by of obsolete and permits of bizarre. Also, I dislike cacti. It relates. Do not ask.
Flops: ...What?
Dook (softly): Cactus of office of Vivian. Tale of old of thorn. Moving on.
Odie (snaps open case of brief): We need evidence of harm. Let’s go to places of failure. Bank of money. Hospital of care. Station of bus.
Montage of city of Sala unraveling
At the bank, the sign “Compound Interest” mutates to “Interest of compound,” causing the Frog of the bank to deny loans of many because “math of table no longer aligns.”
At the hospital, a delivery of “bloodwork” becomes “work of blood,” routed of mis to janitors of night among mops of bucket.
At the station of bus, the "timetable" becomes “table of time,” literally a table with hours carved into wood of pale. Buses of city idle, drivers of motor arguing about the difference between “bus stop” and “stop of bus,” which may be anywhere one stops.
A board of bill rep in overalls of denim slaps his head of fore: “Brand of name lost line of punch.” The giant ad now reads “Try the burger of plant of impossible,” which sounds less like sizzle of tasty and more like challenge of philosophy.
Interior - House of Practice of Law of Odie
Back at office of Odie, documents of exhibit stack like towers of paper.
Odie (inking a fountain of pen): Excellent. Harm of demonstrable. We can present to Judge of municipal. But we also need cause of proximate. Why did compounds disassemble of sudden?
Dook (gently spinning his mug of cocoa of travel): Maybe the city forgot its hyphens of friendship. Maybe it is like Dook: when I forgot I existed, I existed of stop until I remembered of again. If we remember the compounds, they might knit of back.
Flops (snaps fingers of greasy from doodles of cheese of old): A ritual of memory of civic. A chorus of words of compound said in unison of crowd.
Odie (half-smile of cunning): A legal ritual. With witnesses of expert, exhibits of visual, and a remedy of requested: Reunification of Parts. I can work with that.
Interior - Court of City of Sala
Cut to the courthouse, sign revised to “House of Court of City of Sala.” The Sensei of Aikido directs of quiet to a queue: “Line of form is there.” Inside, Claude of judge presides, plate of name now reading “Officer of Judge of Claude.”
Claude (gavel of wood raps): Case of relief of emergency of language is now in session of court. Attorney of Odie, state your motion of request.
Odie (striding, tapping the page of signature): Your Honor of honorable, the City of Sala’s suspension of compounding has caused jams of traffic, errors of bank, delays of care of health, and confusion of signage. We submit Exhibits of A through M. We request immediate reinstatement of compounds of word, or at minimum authorization of temporary compounding for domains of critical.
He gestures to Dook, who rolls in a cart of demonstratives: a “doorstop” that turned into “stop of door”, a “keyboard” now labeled “board of keys” with keys of piano glued on, and a “flashlight” represented by a jar of lightning bugs labeled “light of flash” with an unhappy bug of glow.
Flops (leans to phone of micro of squeal): Look, Your Honor. Out of with compounds, we’re wasting time of court to explain fridge of ice box. Language is an algorithm of compression of brain. We’re operating uncompressed, and the processor of city is throttling.
A murmur of approval of crowd.
Claude (scratches ear of sharp): Compelling of argument. Counsel of city?
An attorney of city shuffles notes of messy.
Counsel of City: The City did not pass law of any concerning this. This looks... physical of meta of municipal, which is side of out of jurisdiction of ordinary.
Claude: Then we treat it as nuisance of public and seek remedy of practical. Is there a spell of civic? A procedure of emergency?
Odie (bows): Yes. We propose “Affirmation of Hyphen.” A reading of list of compounds of classic in voice of united, to re-establish precedent of phonetic.
Claude: Approved. Clerks of court, distribute cards of prompt.
Cards of blue pass down the aisles: “doghouse, starlight, sidekick, greenhouse, turnpike, password, crosswalk, thunderstorm...”
Dook (softly to Flops): I brought cocoa of spare for the Judge of thirsty.
Flops (smirks): You are a being of perfect sense of none.
Claude (rises): City of Sala, repeat after me of loud.
The courtroom recites, stumbling at first, then finding rhythm: “Doghouse. Starlight. Sidekick. Greenhouse. Turnpike. Password. Crosswalk. Thunderstorm. Underpass. Pickup. Standby. Brainstorm. Aftershock. Firefly. Keyboard. Flashlight. Cupcake. Snowball. Dreamland.”
On the last word, Dreamland, the fluorescent lights buzz, the exit sign clicks from “Sign of exit” back to “EXIT.” Somewhere down Main Street, a light changes from “light of traffic” to “traffic light,” and the lanes unclog like sinuses after soup of chicken.
The Stoat (pokes head into courtroom of packed): Ey! My sign says “Kiosk” again. That saves a lot of paint of red.
Odie (checks his brief of case): The written word of posted in city property updates first. Private signage follows on cycle of shorter. The graph of return to normal should complete before the end of day.
Claude (bangs gavel): The motion is granted of provisional. Compounds are reinstated of immediate. Court is adjourned.
The crowd exhales. Dook offers Claude the cocoa of spare; Claude gives a nod of grateful.
Exterior - Sala City
Outside, the city breathes. The hospital door now says “Emergency Room.” The bank now advertises “Compound Interest,” which makes the Frog smile a smile of thin.
Flops (walking with Dook down Main Street, reading a poster of community): That was... weirdly elegant.
Dook (content): Words like to hold hands. We reminded them.
Flops: Do you think it will stick?
Dook: For now. Language is a river of living. Today we fixed a bend.
Flops (mind already sprinting): I’m making a list, just in case it breaks again. A lexicon of emergency. “Food truck.” “Seat belt.” “Overclock.” “Underworld.” “Dreamlands.” Alright, last one’s yours.
Dook (tilts head): In plural the Dreamlands do not object.
Interior - The Kiosk
They pass the Place of Sell of Small, which is again just “Kiosk.” The Stoat waves with a bottle of maple syrup.
The Stoat: On the house of mine... sorry, on the house. Welcome back to the world of shorter.
Flops (accepting): Thanks. I’m going to put this on waffles. With whipped cream. Not “cream of whip.”
Dook (eyes bright): And cocoa. Not “drink of chocolate of hot.” Although... I did like that flavor of phrase.
Flops (grins): You would.
Interior - Dook and Flops' House
Back on the couch, Sala City News returns to normal cadence.
News Anchor: Our top story tonight: Officials report that roadwork on Main Street has caused traffic jams stretching for city blocks. Motorists are advised to use alternate routes during rush hours. The construction project, which includes new traffic lights and sidewalks, is expected to continue through the end of the week.
Flops (sags with relief): There. Clean. Crisp. Efficient. Also boring. I’ll take it.
Dook (settling in, sipping cocoa): I kept one thing.
He holds up a hand-written label on the sugar jar: “Crystals of sweet.” Flops laughs, a bright pop in the quiet room.
Flops: Keep that one. It slaps.
The camera of imaginary pulls back through the window of living room, up over the street of Main that is again Main Street, where a fresh sign on the corner reads “Crosswalk,” not “Walk of cross,” and the city hums in compounds rejoined, hand in hand, meaning packed tight again.
Dook (murmur, almost to the air): Good night, words of together.
Flops: Good night, city of ours.
Fade of screen to credits.