What is life?
Quoi?
AYE, WOT?
Nous sont un alligator, non? Donc, nous faisons les mêmes choses que tous les alligators — as an alligator, we do alligator things.
Surely, pal.
Donc, la vie c'est devenir grand et manger les poneys — to live is to get big and eat ponies.
We're jumbo enough to 'ave a little nibble now. Starting with this sweet, purple pork chop.
Oui, elle s'assoit sur le bains — she sits in the bath. Elle attend pour nos dents — and waits for our teeth.
Sitting duck!
Oui oui! Nous sommes d'accord — we agree.
Just thinking about it makes my gut gurgle.
These thoughts please me. Yet, they are empty.
Pourquoi ne les mangeons-nous pas — why don't we eat? Sommes-nous végétariens?
A vegan croc?
La Vegan? Mon dieu! Mon grand-père, il n'en croirait pas ses yeux! Grandpa would not believe ‘is eyes!
Can we stop speaking out of our rear?
Quoi?
I’m calling us a tosser for wussing out of an easy meal.
Oui, nous sommes pathétique — we are pathetic.
We can’t even make up our mind to munch.
Elle nous est servie sur un plateau d'argent — she is served to us on a silver platter.
We regard our heritage from our dull perch in the present, written in the flesh of the past.
Ahh, oui, dans le passé — in the past. Le règne de l'alligator!
We've been an apex predator for donkeys years.
Oui, parce qu'on a tout mordu — because we bit everything.
Snapping our chompers. It’s what we live for.
Mon dieu! Si pourquoi ne les mangeons-nous pas — so why don't we eat?
This nosh is practically begging us to taste.
And yet, there is something deeper than this body's history — an earlier code, from a source only a future mind can comprehend.
Plus profond — deeper? Les orteils — toes?
In the bath? The plug?
L’émail — enamel?
Floorboards?
Le terre — earth?
Magma?
Le Loch Ness Monster?
What? Have you gone crackers?
En Ecosse!
Scotland is not beneath us, alright. It's just different.
Does the future lie inside us, or do we fall into it?
I'm looking forward to dying of hunger...
Nous sommes maigres et affamés maintenant, imaginez l'avenir — we are thin and ‘ungry now! Imagine the future.
We're a skinny little runt because all we do is think about champing.
Oui, et ne mords jamais — yes, and never actually biting.
Do we will the fall or are we both mover and moved, verb and noun, doer and thing?
Quoi?
SOL'S SCRUFF. We’re still rabbiting on...
We speak of our purpose…
How’d we even nab one? They swim faster than a minnow can swim a dipper.
Pas un 'marsouin' — 'not a porpoise'! Notre but.
Our butt?
Oh, ferme la bouche, toi idiot. ‘But’ c’est ‘purpose’ en francais, et 'mais' est 'but' en anglais.
Oi! I've been trying!
Quoi?
To ‘ferme’ our ‘bouche’ around the violet lass in our tub, while all we've done is speak gobbledygook.
Ah, oui. Mais, Gummy est un existentialiste. Ce n'est pas un prédateur de viande, mais le concept de viande — for Gummy, as an existentialist, zhe prey est not zhe meat, but zhe concept of meat.
Sounds like we're just pants at being a croc.
Alligator, mais oui. Gummy est trop compliquer. C'est plus simple de manger de la viande. Gummy over-complicates — it would be simpler to just eat meat.
‘See meat, eat meat,' so the saying goes. Not, 'See meat, then natter about claptrap 'till the cows come home.’
Our purpose shouts ‘freedom’ and yet we are its prisoner…
Liberte de mourir de faim! — freedom to starve.
What’re we on about now?
Ahh à l'espirit. Gummy se sent vide — we feel spiritually empty.
Screw our spirit. Why not fill up with vittles!?
And when the cold world greeted us, we realised our mistake, too late…
Le froid est mauvais, c'est pourquoi nous nous asseyons dans un bain chaud. Err… zhe cold is bad, so we sit in a warm bath.
I do like a long soak in the tub. Like me mam did when we was a bairn.
Aussi, de plus, il est plus facile de piéger la proie — also, it's easier to catch our prey.
Yeah… hide under the suds. BUT THEN—!
LA VACHE! Nous les avoir dans notre bouche — the cow! We have them in our mouth!
Cow?
N'ose pas — don't you dare. Ton langage est ridicule.
And what of the poor gator?
Nous somme désolés que nous soyons si bavards — sorry we’re so talkative.
By gum, yes! We could chunter for Westminster.
Nous somme pas un alligator. Nous somme un crocodire — we're not an alligator, we're a croco-speak.
A WALLYGATOR.
Oui, un longuement, interminable lézard — long-winded lizard.
CROCOLOGUE.
Flank forever blank, destined to an existential swim down the river of life to... an unknowable destiny?
Why’re we talking about our arse?
Le destin des poneys est sur leurs derrières. Nous voulons avoir un destin de poney derrière. Um... we want to have the destiny of a pony’s behind.
Why? Is it funky?
Un peu comme le derrière d'un poney… a bit like their behinds—
Sounds funky.
Funky, c'est-bien, non?
Naw, man, it means it smells proper rank. Uh, very bad.
Notre mère rose a un derrière qui sent bon. Err... our pink mother has a nice-smelling behind.
Oi! She's not our mam. And... that's gross!
Our cutie mark is but a constant reminder that we're all only one bugbear attack away from oblivion.
C’est la vie.
We have a problem with 'asstiny'?
Oui, nous sommes hantees par la mort. We are ‘aunted by death.
'Don't get scared, get scarred,' pop always said.
Am I to be merely a saurian plaything of warmbloods?
Non! nous désirons entendres des poneys crier — we want to ‘ear zhe pony screams.
Carpe diem, Gummy! Seize the day!
Par le gorge — by the throat.
This cursed awareness gnaws at me…
Alors ronger ses jambes — so gnaw its legs.
I’d love some grub.
Premier meurtre — first kill, et puis—next—le nomming.
—on the purple delight.
Oui, pas le rose pony. Elle est trop forte — not zhe pink pony, she es too strong.
When we nip her, she chuckles.
Elle est terrifiant — terrifying.
ONE WACKY SLAG.
And we mourn the loss of peace, when our unthinking tooth tore away the shell…
La oeuf? Mmmm. Brouillé, frit, poche — scrambled, fried, poached.
I'd kill for a quiche about now.
Mmm, avec la saucisse — sausage.
Aye, a cracking idea. A pony banger! Swill her down with a pint. Anyway, what were we saying?
Ah! Nous disons 'nous avons cassé notre œuf' — we were saying we cracked our egg. Fuire — to escape.
EGGXIT.
Une parodie.
I dunno. Lots of dosh to be made outside the oeuf....
C’est l’ovaphobia.
Oh, ferme your bouche, you frog. THE POINT IS, WE’RE FAFFING!
Oui, toi rosbif — yes, you roast beef.
Is it nothing more than the endless search for a cutie mark?
Oui, oui! Nous désirons les jambes sous leur destin. We want the legs under zheir destinies.
ACTIVATE OUR GOB.
Oui, activer les mâchoires — the jaws.
Place our chops on her lovely pair of pins.
Pose notre bouche sur ses jambes — place our mouth on her legs.
And open wide.
Ouvrez grand!
Our freedom forces us into an un-nature that is, yet, our nature…
La liberté ou la nature sont bien jolis tout ça, mais il y a un but— all very well, but zhere is one purpose.
Focus! We mustn't let our purple quarry abscond!
Oui! Boire ses sang comme du vin. Drink her blood like wine.
GRIND HER BONES INTO A SESAME SEED COB.
Consomme ou etre consomme! Consume or be consumed.
Chomp or get chomped!
Consomme!
Chomp!!
We have found our destiny.
Nous avons trouvé nous destin.
Aye, took our bleedin' time about it, though.
“Aieee!"
Author's Note
NOTE ON SITE RULES:
- Script: since everything is dialogue, speech marks seemed redundant. I hope that's OK.
- Language: while there is a French 'character' speaking that language, the other characters speak only English, and even that character is multi-lingual and frequently explains what they say in English. No French reading ability is essential to understand this fic, and no French words that affect the tagging are included.
Also, I am very far from a french speaker 
so sorry about that, too.
