New Dogs, Old Tricks

New Dog, Old Tricks

https://www.pablopicasso.org/images/...for-parade.jpg

There was a time when Leopold enjoyed spending days in a small cramped room discussing the finer points of life with dense rhetoric and puns. It had been the foundation of his empire and the source of his many mercantile successes. It, as he was sure to remind his wife at every opportunity, was what paid for their lifestyle and maintained their status in the noble houses of Scara Brae.

“Those were the days,” he mumbled to himself.

Six heads turned to him, a pastiche of disgust and surprise that told him all he needed to know about his behaviour.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was just thinking out loud.”

“The last time you did that you brought an orc army to our doors.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “Is something bothering you?”

Leopold thought about it for a moment.

“Look around you.” He gestured to the room. “We’re surrounded by texts containing the collective theatrical legacy of at least three continents.”

The troupe nodded in agreement, oblivious to the merchant’s point.

“And?” Ruby rested her hands on the table edge and pouted, a gesture Leopold had swift come to learn meant he was trying her patience.

“Don’t you think it’s a little ironic that we’re struggling to decide on an opening performance?”

“I mean,” Wainwright weighed in haphazard, “it’s not as simple as just picking a book and running with it.” He went to laugh but stopped when Ruby raised her palm to silence him. “Oh. Err, never mind.”

“If our deliberations are bothering you, why not take some air?”

“I think I might.” Leopold pushed his chair back and buttoned up his waistcoat. “I’ll be on the veranda when you decide on a play.”

The troupe watched him leave in tense silence. When the door closed behind him Ruby stood and approached the northern wall. As Leopold had indicated, it was laden with tomes from across the world the troupe had collected, and sometimes help write. She browsed the spines wistfully, her smile concealed by her position in the room. Though he was ever the crass, blunt instrument, Leopold had a way of seeing their problems and finding solutions.

“He’s right.” She tapped a blue spine and pulled it from the shelf. “We’re overthinking this entirely.”

“You can’t be serious…” Wainwright frowned. “This is the start of something grand. We must leave an impression. We can’t do that just pulling something out of the hat and running with it.”

Ruby returned to the table with the book at set it onto the pile of opened texts they had weighed, considered, and discarded over the course of a long evening. She opened to the first act and smiled.

“Deadly. Our first performance as Fated Circle will be of Madrigal Falls.”

“Oh dear god, I’m not putting on that damned wig for love nor money.” Arden scoffed. “I’m itching just thinking about it.”

“Steady on, Arden. I didn’t say we were just going to perform it as is. We’ll meet my sometimes-better half in the middle. We do this play, but in a way nobody has ever seen before.”

“But they already haven’t seen it before. Did you not understand the spell we cast? Nobody remembers anything about us.” The silent swordsman reached forwards to pull the book closer. “This may as well be a love joy’s whittling from too much wine.”

“Then let’s make it something they will never forget.” Ruby held her palm out, facing down, and waited for her siblings to join her in a pledge.

One by one, Arden, Wainwright, and Lilith weighed in and lifted in unison.

“Opening night is one month from tomorrow.” Ruby pointed to the door. “We have a lot of work to do, so let’s get out there and find ourselves a playhouse!”

Leopold lent against the railings serving to safeguard him from tumbling into the street below. From his vantage point he could survey most of Radasanth, with the imposing sandblasted towers of the Citadel imposing on the horizon. He sighed. Though he was just as eager as the rest of the troupe for this new venture, a proverbial turning over of a new leaf…

“I do miss the good old days.”

Much to his chagrin, the good old days were only a week or so ago. He dreads to think how much he would miss them as the days turned to weeks turned to months. He guessed, as with all trials and tribulations and other such metaphors, he would just have to come to terms with it as ever they did.

“What do you think, Rook?”

A small spectral bird flickered into view, hopping back and forth along the peeling paintwork of the railing as though he had always been there. It cocked its head at him inquisitively.

“Thought so.”

“Hey. Don’t put words in my beak. I was thinking.”

“Which is good enough for me. I don’t like this either.”

“You don’t like not being me, which is to say not being you. Always toying with darker things you can’t control.”

“Darker things with a penchant for metaphors.” Leopold glared at Rook.

“Since we share a mind, I’m going to let you have that one. What’s really wrong anyway?” Rook flapped his wings, toying with the idea of taking flight and making a swift exit. Violet feathers loosed from his body and spiralled downward into the gloom below.

“This acting business was never my scene. It was Ruby’s empire.”

“Ah.” Rook would have laughed if he could. “You don’t like being side-lined.”

“Side-lined is one thing. I feel like I’ve been put out to pasture.”

“Look around you chap.”

Leopold did. The crooked spires of Radasanth and its many varied districts was not too dissimilar to Scara Brae’s blanket of streets and styles. The house they had rented for the summer, to get their bearings and find a more suitable and permanent home for the troupe was of a similar design to their now sunken house in Scara Brae. Leopold felt a twinge of remorse for selling it knowingly before the island disappeared beneath the waves. He rather hoped the owner never found them.

“I guess it’s not so different. But what about us?”

“You know you hate it when I use your own lines against you?” Rook chirped.

“Yes…but you’re going to do it anyway…” Leopold sighed.

“You can’t teach a new dog old tricks.”

The merchant rolled his eyes as he swatted the Rook into a whorl of purple mist. Then, once again, he was alone. He listened to distant clocktowers chime and the six o’clock cannonade sound out evening’s fall to the city.

“I’m not that old…”

“Ha.” A familiar voice joined him.

Leopold bolted about and smiled when he saw Ruby walking towards him. The smile dissipated somewhat when the rest of his siblings joined her, emerging into the last dying rays of sunlight to shed the stuffiness of the library.

“Ha?” He hugged her.

“You’re so damned old, Leopold Rook. But like a fine wine you get better with age.”

Leopold pushed her away playfully.

“You insult me, but it looks like you took this old dog’s advice all the same?”

“We did." Wainwright answered on his sister's behalf. "She just picked any old shite off the shelves and bam, we have a play. Problem is though…” She darted him a glance that suggested he shut up, quickly.

“Yes. Yes, I know. I haven’t brokered a deal for a playhouse yet.” Leopold turned back to the panorama and waved his hands over his newfound playground. “You lot crack on with the rehearsals and leave the business of our new home safely in my hands.”

“I’d love to, but a week’s criminally small when you’ve got a million things to do. You and Arden will go the realtors now. And I mean now, Leopold, not in a hour, or after three drams of whatever gutter whiskey you’re drinking to save the best stuff for your damned cribbage games.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to rainwater if it got me drunk.” Arden chuckled. “Shall we head over to the docklands first to see if the taverns have any tidbits?”

“No. We’re not buying a house off some pissant with a spice habit. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” Leopold gestured for Arden to follow him as he climbed precariously onto the railings and conjured two great wings. They flapped to steady him, casting a cooling shadow over the remaining three as Arden dove over the edge. With a trio of wingbeats, Leopold followed, rising momentarily before diving out of sight.

“You spend a decade teaching a man to be a gentleman and he still refuses to use the bloody stairs.” Ruby rolled her eyes.

“Let’s hope they’re that dramatic on opening night,” Wainwright chuckled. “What do we need to do now then?”

“Oh, come on Wainwright. What do we always do when we rehearse for a new play?” The redhead ushered Wainwright and Lilith back towards the door and into the cool innards of the summer house.

“Duh. How could I forget you’re a massive piss-artist? Fine, I’ll get the gin. You two meet me in the dining hall with glasses and we’ll get right to it.”

“Perfect,” she said with a bounce in her stride.

“If the first thing I regret doing in this new life if cleaning up your vomit, Mrs Delacroix, I’m retiring early.” Lilith’s tone suggested playfulness but sincerity.

Leopold righted himself and immediately regretted not taking the stairs. His feelings of regret were compounded when Arden appeared silently at his side, seemingly unphased by the dizzy heights they had just tackled.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” The swordsman winked and made for the crossing to the east. “Not my fault you’re old.”

“Hey, I might be a quadra-millennial but I’ve the body of a…” Leopold trailed off, the throbbing in his knees intensifying to prove a point.

“Come on, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Leopold followed diligently, and they covered more ground in an hour than Leopold wanted to on an empty stomach and a sober mind. They strolled onto the dockland in a mix of confusion and heat stroke. Noticeably, Leopold was confused how Arden remained untarnished by sweat or sign of life.

“I’ll let you take the lead. This is more your port of call.”

“Good. Any more sea puns from you and nobody will sell us a house.” Leopold adjusted his head, determined to look good even if his clothes were adding to the sweltering humidity of the busy lowlands of Radasanth. Down here there was no breeze.

“I make no promises. I’m awash with humour.”

“Ha-ha.” Leopold pointed to a tavern on the eastern front, which he knew was a hot bed of gossip and the best place in the city to buy things owners didn’t necessarily know were being sold.

“Have you ever been in there without losing an eye?” Arden frowned.

“Hey, it’s not just you amongst us who knows their way around a seedy backwater. I’ve made some of my best business decis-”

“Pissed out of your skull?”

Leopold sighed. “Okay. You know me too well. Just, come on.”

They marched towards The Dumb Bell in tandem, top hat and tails in stark contrast to the red scarf and loose slacks, and not much else Arden wore. Before they’d crossed the threshold half the tavern were gossiping about who they were, and why they were together. It was probably best neither of them got to hear the insults thrown their way.

“Barman’s called Jack. Loves a pun, not so much love for people who leave blood stains.”

“He’ll love us, then.” Arden smirked. “After you?”
“Fine, fine, I watch a master at work.”

Leopold sauntered to the bar and sat on a stool, trying to not seem like he’d just jumped four floors off a roof without proper footwear. The barman, who to Leopold was a friend, took awhile to notice a new arrival. Unlike his patrons, Jack paid attention only to two things: money and mischief. Arden sat next to Leopold without so much as a word.

“Evenin. ‘Eard you might be the man to talk to.” Jack heard words but only walked along the bar to stand opposite Leopold when he produced a gold coin. “Need two bourbons and a house.”

“A house? Jeesh, you’re in the right place but for the wrong reasons.” Jack took the coin and tended to the order. “You can’t buy that sort of thing with any old tat.” He pocketed the coin and patted his pocket. “Gold talks. Favours shout.”

Leopold rolled his eyes.

“So if you have a lead, what can we do in return?”

Arden and Leopold watched Jack decant two bourbons of uncertain quality and set them opposite his new gentleman. He sized them up carefully.

“Tell me who the fuck you are for starters.” The matter of fact tone put a smile on Leopold’s face.

“Oh, good, you do understand me.” Leopold picked up the glass and drained it. “A funny story is funnier with a stiff drink. I’m Leopold, and this ‘ere’s my right arm Arden.”

“I-”

“We’re new to Radasanth and looking to settle.” Leopold expertly cut Arden’s protestation off and grinned from ear to ear. “No questions asked.”

Nary a second after they’d all sat, and Ruby appeared with gin as promised. She was welcome with a chorus of whoops and obscenities of the sort only friends could muster. The room they chose to rehearse in was less a choice, and more a matter of logistics. It had once served as an ossuary for wealthy do-gooders in the days of yore, it’s religious overtones visible in the baroque columns at each compass point holding up a crumbling, splendours all the same alfresco. The moment they’d acquire the keys they’d hauled all the furniture up into the attic and left the room spacious and empty save for a circle of ridiculously plump pillows at its heart.

“I don’t think we’ve done this in…oh, how long?” Ruby shrugged as she sat at the head of the circle (if such a thing were possible), her back to the ceiling high navel windows which lined the eastern walls of the house.

“I make it four years minimum, though that time we were too drunk to do any actual rehearsing.” Lilith smirked.

“Yes. Well, we won’t repeat that shambles tonight. Our future depends on this performance or we’ll end up eating Rodden pie crumbs in the gutter.”

“Some of us still do,” Wainwright snorted, glancing at Lilith coyly.

“Oh, but just because I’m sober doesn’t mean I’m putting up with your shit, either.” The assassin stuck out her tongue in reply.

“Use this energy, channel it into your characters and not at each other.” Ruby set the bottle onto the worn floorboards and clicked her fingers. A silver tray laden with cut crystal gin glasses appeared as though it had always been there.

“We know what method acting is, dear. We’ve been doing it for…” Duffy counted on the fingers of his right hand mockingly. “Long time yes.”

Without looking up, the matriarch uncorked the gin and poured two ample measures. She slid one forward for Lilith, who moved to take it and rolled back into her seat without a sound, and then smelt her own glass to enjoy the lavender aroma. An awkward silence filled the room.

“Oh, did you want some too?” Ruby raised an eyebrow which Wainwright saw without her needing to face him. “Keep that up and see where it gets you.”

“I’m being ganged up on again, I see.” Wainwright pouted but acquiesced. A serious tone washed away their frivolities and they got down to business.

“Madrigal Falls. Can anyone remember it?” Ruby asked half-hearted, too hopeful they would just fall back into it after so long.

“A dramaturgical whimsy about two families at war in Autumnal splendour, trying to marry off their oldest child before winter’s fall and they become pariahs.” Duffy surprised himself. “Oh, hey, I do remember!”

“Which gets you gin, good boy.” Ruby poured him a glass finally.

“What does ‘describe all the characters and their lines’ get me?” Wainwright drained his glass.

“A hangover, probably, but slow down.”

“Please do, there aren’t many bottles of that left now Scara Brae’s…” Lilith trailed off, her anecdote not as humorous as she’d hoped.

“True. Let this be the last time we drink Ambrosia and reminisce. If we don’t take off as we’d hoped, we’ll not miss being poor if it’s all gone anyway.” Ruby corked it again to save as a toast for their successful evening, which would go on until she was happy no matter how unconscious they all got. “Before the players, let us think of the stage they are in.”

“We could relocate it to Scara Brae for an edge?” Wainwright thought, brow furrowed with comical concentration.

“I’m not sure anyone in Radasanth even cares, they spent the better part of a century trying to overthrow the Queen or kill her. They’ll be rapturous that mother nature did it for them.”

“True. So, Corone, then?”

“Hold on, you two.” Lilith interrupted. “Every play ever is set in Radasanth. There are plenty of other locations to consider.”

“Such as?”

“What about Akashima?”

“Oh typical, she gives up her political career only to keep on as her homeland’s tourism board.” Wainwright chuckled.

“Too familial for us all, and not exactly tasteful if Akashimans are played by distinctly un-Akashiman actors.”

“Speak for yourself, sister.”

They looked at one another in an awkward knot of silent stares, trying to think of an alternative that would excite, not offend, and not be too alien so even they wouldn’t get it.

“Ruby, there’s always Salvar?”

“Rook will shit his breeches all year if we do that. He’ll be insufferable.” Ruby pouted. “For not too dissimilar reasons as why it’s a no to Akashima.”

“I wasn’t offended,” Lilith sighed. “I was just offering alternatives. We don’t really have much choice but to go with Fallien or Dheathain.”

“Lords not Dheathain, if I so much as see another pit of glitter or paper fairy wing, I’ll punch a hole in the nearest mid-30’s bard I see.” She smirked at Wainwright, who flinched.

“Fallien sounds nice!” He offered hesitantly. Memories of all the times her boot had caught him in the knackers came flooding back.

“Hmmm…Fallien. Sand. Sun. A sultan or two…”

“Sultana, actually, she has breasts and everything.” Lilith rolled her eyes.

“Either or, and merchant families run the bazaar which could be our backdrop for the opening scene.” Ruby’s eyes sparkled, for once, it was with excitement and not hellfire.

“Is that a plan, then?” Wainwright reached out a hand and into the Aria, plucking from it a pair of overly loose-fitting silk pantaloons. “I’ve been saving these for just such an occasion.”

Ruby stared. Lilith stared. Then, as the gin finally went from warming to riotous, they all burst into laughter that filled the house.

“To settle, aye?” The barman raised an eyebrow that spoke more about his demeanour than his myriad tattoos and scars.

“What happened to no questions?” Arden rolled his eyes.

“It’s a saying, Mr Janelle, and one Jack knows all too well.” Leopold nodded to the barman and set the glass back onto the bar. “In these particular circles it suggests the origin of the ownership of prospective purchases needn’t be discussed.”

“I ain’t a hawker, Rook.” Jack thawed. “But I might have something up your street.”

“Tell us, we’re all ears.”

“You know Teeter Street? Runs east off Albany Road and curves into a quaint little cul de sac of miscreant nobles not fit for purpose on the upper hillside.”

Leopold strained to remember the map of Radasanth he tried to keep vivid in his mind, and when he saw the cul de sac, and it’s decaying boulevard he smiled. He had spent many a misbegotten night there entertaining some bastard or another in the game of cards he had played to keep his business afloat too many moons ago to remember.

“It’s not too bad a neighbourhood, for this time of year.”

“Well, on the corner between Teeter and Albany there’s a corner house, stands tall over the crossroads with bay windows that self-righteous housewives would kill to look out of.”

“Oh, the Priory? Or whatever it’s called.”

“Priory Manor, the former owner wasn’t one for imaginative naming.” Jack smirked and refilled their glasses.

“Isn’t that where that vicar went mad?”

“Not quite mad, Mr Janelle, just a little deranged.” The truth of it was he had gone well beyond mad and into demonic. The cackles still haunted the nightmares of the former clergyman’s neighbours to the point where they were positive, he was still living there. “Last I heard he was in Lornius, but I guess the jury’s out on that now after the eruption.”

“It’s on the market. For once, it’s on the market legitimately, but nobody wants to buy it because of all the commotion about ghosts and an abattoir in the basement.”

Arden took the whiskey and mimicked Leopold’s enthusiasm for a quick, warm, hit of strong liquor. Though his stomach was sturdier than the rest of the troupe, the thought of taking Ruby’s boot to the groin when she discovered they’d brought a haunted house terrified him.

“She won’t like it.”

“My wife wanted a playhouse, so a playhouse she will get.”

“It’s grand for that sort of thing, four stories, high ceilings, and you can use the roof if you sort of the pigeon coops.”

“Let’s worry about the décor after, how much?”

Jack nodded. He remembered Leopold was a man of action. He looked around the bar at his patrons and waited for a suitable increment in the cheering and banter.

“Four thousand.”

“Four thousand what?”

“Never mind what, that sounds suspiciously cheap.” Arden did some math and didn’t like the answer.

“Four thousand scorners.”

“Ah, that’s more like it.”

“Jack. That’s a pretty penny and then some. Whose selling?”

“Leopold, scorners aren’t that hard to come by if you have the right connections.” Arden had a hand in the black market of Scara Brae for decades. Scorners, as they were affectionately called was the underhand currency of people who wanted to sell things outside the purview of the tax collectors. “Seems a fair price.”

“We’d need time.” Leopold wasn’t sure how much time Ruby would tolerate. “What’re our options?”

“I was about to tell you It’s being sold by Lord Regent. Acquired it in a game of cards, as everything he owns. Talk to him if you want to try and bargain.” Jack shrugged. “It’s your neck if you do.”

“Who’se Lord Regent?” Arden knew in asking he’d be disappointed. “Is he big news?”

“He’s the Radasanth equivalent of…well, of you. Right hand man to the Broker, a shadow figurehead people seem to think is one of the Senate.”

“Politics doesn’t belong in petty crime.”

“Tell him that when we see him.”

Jack scoffed. “Good luck with that. Nobody talks to the Broker, not even Regent.”

“Jack. You’ve known me for what, thirty years?” Leopold smiled warmly. “I have an excellent penchant for finding myself in company that would rather not have me. We’ll sort out the deal, and you’ll get your fair share as is custom.”

As Leopold stood, Arden followed, and they bowed politely to their host.

“Usual method?”

“Of course. I can’t get my hands on Salvarian fire water any other way.”

With business concluded, Jack returned to his rounds and Leopold and Arden left quickly. This pub, as with any in Radasanth was not somewhere you lingered after conducting business for fear of a dagger in the ribs and your hard-earned leverage pried from your dead fingers. When they were safely out of sight, Leopold let out a long, desperate breath.

“That wasn’t too hard.”

“Oh shut up, you practically shat yourself when he started to size you up.”

“Tosh. He does that, got to look brave in front of the spies who were watching us from the north corner.”

“I saw. Anyone we know?”

“Lord Regent is by now already preparing for our arrival. If you see a cosh swinging your way let it happen, it’s his polite welcome wagon and you’ll only be out cold for an hour or two.”

Arden grit his teeth, wishing once again he’d asked all the right questions before agreeing to being complicit in another Winchester prorogue.

The laughter in the house soon returned to bitter composure. The troupe, for the first time in many a year did what it did best: bring ancient diatribes to life with theatrical flare (note flare, not flair, as it inevitably ends up with someone burning the house down literally). As they gathered momentum, the chill in the room turned quick sharp into stuffy humidity more akin to a summer evening. Ruby loosened her garments. Wainwright unbuckled his belt. Lilith took a moment mid stride to adjust her fringe, sweat pouring from every orifice of the edifice of their art.

“What time is it?” Ruby asked wistfully.

“I feel like you want one of us to say gin o’clock, but it’s nearly nine all the same.” Wainwright rolled his eyes.

“But nine o’clock is gin o’clock, Duffy dearest.”

“…”

“Oh, sorry, Wainwright. I’m still getting used to that.”

“How many names have you had, Ruby?” The bard pouted, and his siblings knew that a pout often preceded a put down.

“Save your breath. I’m sorry. Its been a long day.”

It had. Very. And somehow, they had pulled through one of the hardest things the troupe had ever had to do: start over.

“Despite that we’ve made excellent progress.” Lilith rested her hands on her hips, seizing the opportunity to steal the spotlight whilst their supposed leading lord and lady hissed at each other cat like. “How’s everyone feeling about their parts?”

It wasn’t hard, the play. They had done it hundreds of times to hundreds of different crowds. From the most erudite gentry to the slum pit provincial stages across the world. But what made this harder than any other was that they had no clout to their performance. This would be their first, for all intent and purpose. Nobody would excitedly whisper their names when they first came on stage. Nobody would throw roses before they’d muttered nary a line.

“I’m fine,” Arden nodded. “If there’s a sword in my hand,” he gestured to the wooden sparring stick, “I’m in my element.”

“Good.” Lilith smirked. “Ruby?” She looked to her older sibling with genuine interest which disarmed the spell singer utterly.

“I’m in my element too, damsel in distress that gets to kick at least one set of testicles.”

“Not my testicles, not again.” Wainwright flinched.

“I can take your part if you’re up for the falsetto in the opening scene?” Arden smirked.

“Perhaps I do need the kick then…”

The troupe chuckled collectively. They exchanged ideas and poured over the tattered pages of the opening act to finalise who was playing whom and why. By now, the sun kissed afternoon had turned swiftly to nearing witching hour, and the city was overcast in midnight’s imminent arrival. Realising there was a chill in the room, Ruby pushed herself upright and sauntered to the fireplace, a grandiose tiled affair long abandoned but keen to be reignited.

“It’s funny how all our grand adventures start with gin and grand words and a cold hearth.” Her wistful nature brought the troupe’s attention to the iron wrought grate at the centre of the fireplace.

“You’re forgetting vaudeville misery.” Lilith smirked. “Right on cue.”

“Yes, yes, I bring the tone up and down like a ship in a storm.” Ruby sighed. “But someone has to.” She raised her hand and clicked her fingers. The snap sucked up all the cold air in the room and sent it into the logs and charcoal awaiting life.

The fire roared to life and was greeted with cheers and whoops. The flames spiralled like a nightmare’s mane until they settled not a dancing sea of orange and violet. Lilith and Wainwright pushed themselves upright with a little more enthusiasm than their sister and stood next to her, one to each side. Gently, softly, and slowly they embraced one another and warmed themselves by the fire.

“You do it well, Ruby. We are the embers in the flames of your heart.”

Ruby jabbed Wainwright in the ribs.

“Don’t ruin it,” she chuckled.

Placeholder

Principles are funny things. They hold a mirror to society as much as they hold a match to a candle. They ignite emotions where none once existed. They incite rebellion where tyranny rules. For the troupe, they also ignited passions none of them could quell. As they stared warmly into the burgeoning heat of the flames, they remembered what passion had brought them: ruination. Heartache, still painful in their hearts had led them to a decision none had yet to truly, unwaveringly accept. They chose to give up their lives, much of their power, and all their standing in every circle they had ever danced in to claim back a small fragment of the only thing that truly mattered to them: each other.

Centuries ago, before the Thayne Tantalus was born and the excruciating saga of the Forgotten Ones reared its ugly head in the crowds of history; teeming with bigots and zealots and every other type of ots there was a playhouse. It had no name for the longest time, yet everyone in Scara Brae knew its beams and terracotta tiles as though they themselves lived there. Its occupants were infamous for all the right reasons. They were the Tantalum, long before they had a name. Ruby. Duffy. Lilith. Arden. Pete…the ever-increasing supporting cast and every hanger on and near-do-gooder too. As fame weighed down on them, they became other. They forgot the lazy summer days rehearsing, their long, long parties that seemed to last for months, and of course, endless arguments over pronunciation and dress colour. What began as a practiced idolatry through the range of human experience became a living, raging, nightmare.

Once again, they found the days long and their troubles short. They had only one thing on their mind, the very thing that gave them all their truest power: the stage. It didn’t matter if they had no playhouse. It didn’t matter if they had no sway, no swagger, and no fame. They could reach either side of them and rest their hands on a friendly shoulder without fail. As the fire flashed ochre, gold, and crimson, so too did their hearts. They burnt and beat so brightly and loudly it formed a rhythm undying. They were connected again and would remain so no matter how far apart war and peace prevailing divided them.

“We’d best stop.” Ruby said softly.

“Why?”

“I’m going to cry.”

“Going to? I already am,” Lilith wiped the tears from her cheeks with a hastily produced silken handkerchief.

“I didn’t know you could cry,” Wainwright chuckled.

“You will be in a minute,” Ruby replied dryly.

They dispersed, keeping well out of one another’s arm and boot reach and returned to their circle of pillows, plays, and pint measures. Wainwright did a double take.

“Where did those come from?”

“Oh, the tankards?” Ruby sat first. She clicked her fingers and the tin tankards filled with frothy ale. “I’ve picked up a trick or two. This house has a cellar you could drown an army in, so I thought we’d try it’s other delights.”

“Ruby Winchester does not drink beer.”

“She bloody well does now.”

Before the others could so much as reach for their drinks, Ruby drained hers and belched so loud the bats in the rafters woke.