Demiurge grins. Okay. What day/time is this?
Pat says "Morning, Day two?"
Demiurge nods.
You say "What time of morning?"
Pat says "Ten, eleven AM?"
You say "Okay."
You say "Going round the main front entrance and asking one of the attendants if you can see the manager or someone, or through the back stage door?"
Pat says "Front door."
Pat walks up to the front door of the Opera House, looking around briefly for any evidence of the previous night.
You say "There's no evidence of the previous night that you can see offhand. Make a Perception roll."
<
Pat . o O ( AUGH! I'm blind! )
You say "Nope, nothing at all strange."
Pat hrms, and checks to see if the front door is locked.
You say "The main door at the front is open. Inside is the reception area, with posters,
programmes, and booths with a couple of people selling tickets."
Pat looks around the lobby for the briefest of moments, then walks over to one of the ticket
booths. "Excuse me."
You say "The young woman gives you a cheerful morning smile. "How can I help you, sir?""
Pat says "I was wondering if the manager was available? There are some business matters we need
to discuss."
You say "She says, "Certainly, sir," and picks up an internal phone. "I'll see if he's free. Who shall
I say is calling?""
Pat says "Patrick Murphy. I represent the Concerned Spinster's Council."
She blinks, then nods, and begins to speak quietly into the phone. After a minute, she looks back
at you. "I'm afraid that he's in a meeting at the moment, sir, but he can see you afterwards if you'd
like to wait."
Pat nods. "Do you know how long he will be?"
She says, "I'm afraid I'm not sure, sir. You can wait in the anteroom if you like."
Pat says "Thank you. Which direction is it?"
She rattles off a set of directions, pointing to one of the exits. "He shouldn't be too long, sir."
Pat nods. "Thank you." He heads for the anteroom.
The anteroom is easily found. There are magazines, there are soft chairs, and there is a discussion
of some sort going on in the manager's office. Faint sounds drift from behind the door. The opera
funds clearly don't go on the manager's comfort.
Pat opens a magazine, for appearance's sake, and strains to hear anything through the door.
You say "Try a Per roll."
<
You say "You hear drifts of conversation. Two male voices, with the occasional female subdued
intersection of "Yes, sir." Something about investments, and a review of the opera's current status
and staff and procedures."
Pat flips a page without looking at it, listening to the snippets and commiting the voices to
memory.
You say "After about quarter of an hour, they come to a halt. Chairs creak as people rise, and
steps come over to the door."
Pat looks up, peripherally, waiting for people to emerge.
You say "The first out is a balding elderly man, a touch plump, who holds the door for the other
two: first a well-dressed man in business suit with some folders under one arm, black hair and thin
eyebrows, and then a young woman who's clearly a secretary."
The second man pauses to shake the first's hand. "I think that this is going to be a very profitable
arrangement for both of us, Mr Guther. I'm sure that our investigations won't bring out anything
unusual, but you know how it is with standards."
Pat resonates, seeking the man in the suit, his feelings on the turnout of the meeting.
The young woman gives you a glance from under her eyelashes, shyly, but with something of
flirtation to it.
<
From afar, Pat gulps.
Long distance to Pat: Demiurge grins. That roll was for the young woman. Your roll now.
<
You say "Pat, you sense that the man's current emotional state is one of satisfaction, having got
just what he wanted, with just a hint of gloating and contempt. There's also a subdued urgency
to it."
The young woman glances away from Pat, eyes half closing. Her fingers tighten round the handle
of her briefcase.
Pat rises, setting his magazine aside and trying to catch the plump man's eyes.
The plump man nods to the second man, and says, "I'm sure of it." He glances to Pat. "Can I help
you, sir?"
Pat says "Mr. Guther? I'm Mr. Murphy, I represent the Concerned Spinster's Council. I was
hoping for a moment of your time."
He blinks. "Very well, Mr Murphy. I can spare you some time, but I warn you that I'm rather
rushed at the moment." He glances to the other man and the secretary. "I hate to be rude,
Michael, but if you and Miss Namar could show yourself out?"
The well-dressed man nods. "Certainly. We wouldn't want to delay other business of yours." He
nods to Pat.
Pat nods to the suited man, politely.
The well-dressed man and secretary leave, heading down the corridor towards the distant sounds
of rehearsal. The first man turns back to Pat. "What can I do for you, Mr Murphy?"
Pat gestures to the office. "Privately, please? I'm afraid it's a rather delicate situation."
He raises his eyebrows, but nods, walking into the office and moving round to take his seat at the
other side of the desk.
Pat closes the office door after entering, then sits opposite the desk. "I'll be frank with you, Mr.
Guther. The council I represent is composed of a number of Washington's older society ladies.
They feel that Fiat Justitia is...improper, perhaps."
The man looks entirely surprised. "I am shocked, sir. I have yet to hear any complaint concerning
the opera, or any suggestions that it is indecent."
Pat says "These are elderly ladies, Mr. Guther. As such, they are more than a bit conservative.
However, they are also more than a bit influential. I came here hoping to find some way to soothe
their concerns."
He spreads his hands. "Well, if I can help in any reasonable way, I will be glad to do so."
Pat says "Something I could show them, perhaps, that would ease their objections?"
He thinks. "I could supply some copies of the programme, perhaps. It contains photos from the
opera."
Pat considers that for a moment. "They've seen the promotions, already. This was the cause of
the concern. The theme, they feel, is not presented with the respect due it."
He shakes his head. "I'm afraid I don't understand at all."
Pat says "Content, Mr. Guther."
"What about it?" he asks.
Pat sighs, heavily. "I'll be direct, Mr. Guther. The Council as a whole intends to be present on the
opening night of the show. If they are offended, they have stated their intentions to not allow a
second night."
The manager is beginning to look less and less happy. "You will accept that I have never heard
of such a Council, Mr Murphy. I'm sure that you can produce some sort of membership card or
the like?"
Pat shakes his head. "I am not a member. Merely a representative. It was decided that we could
speak more professionally, rather than marching a gaggle of elderly women in to berate you for
your immoral behaviour."
He reaches out to square a set of black and gold folders. "Well, that's very good of you, but I
really don't see what we can do, short of giving you some programmes, sir, or letting you watch
the dress rehearsal."
Pat's mouth opens in revelation. "Dress rehearsal...perhaps, instead, a copy of the script? Allow
them to read over the content, which will assuredly calm them."
He blinks. "Certainly not, sir. The scores are controlled property at the moment, and will not be
on general release till after the opera's first night. Standard precautions. I'm sure that you've heard
the old Trovatore story."
Pat says "Trovatore?"
He leans forward slightly. "About Verdi's Trovatore. He didn't even teach the lead aria to the
tenor till the afternoon of the first night, it was that cut-throat then. Pirates, pirates everywhere."
Pat says "Oh my."
Pat says "But, wouldn't allowing an audience at the dress rehearsal amount to the same thing?"
He leans back again. "But the principle remains the same. I'm afraid we can't allow any scores out
of the theatre." He blinks. "No, no. Entirely different, I'm afraid."
Pat says "Even if one of the audience was a skilled stenographer?"
He shakes his head. "My dear sir, I think you are overestimating the skills of a stenographer
against modern opera." He pauses. "If you wish, we could allow you to inspect a score on the
premises, if you feel your account would satisfy your, ah, clients."
Pat says "I am here because they trust my judgement, Mr. Guther. My word would suit."
He nods. "In that case, perhaps you could examine one of the vocal scores. I take it the orchestral
scores do not interest you?"
Pat shakes his head. "I cannot read music, I'm afraid. It would make little sense."
He nods. "Then I'm sure we can arrange for you to have a look through one of the vocal scores,
and watch the dress rehearsal. Would that be sufficient?"
Pat nods. "Of course. May I say, Mr. Guther, that your cooperation is greatly appreciated."
He says, drily, "I'm sure that your spinsters will find their suspicions unfounded, sir." He rises to
offer his hand.
Pat rises, taking the hand, resonating at the same time.
<
You say "He's currently worried about the opera, mildly annoyed by you, glad that the investment
stuff seems sorted out, and generally trying to stay positive. You get the feeling that he'd probably
agree to quite a lot if he could pass you off to someone else."
Pat says "Will the author be present at the rehearsal? Perhaps he would be able to address my
concerns a bit more fully, espescially in terms of intent."
The manager's eyes shadow as he withdraws his hand. "I'm afraid that he's dead, sir. A tragic
accident."
Pat says "Oh dear. That's terrible."
He nods somberly. "A loss to all of us. A very gifted young man."
Pat says "Did you know him personally, then?"
He nods. "We discussed the opera and his plans for it."
Pat says "Ah. A double loss, then. You have my sympathies."
He nods again. "That's very good of you." The business look takes over his eye again. "If you'll
pardon me, I'll take you down and leave you with one of the staff, who can get you a score and
wait till you've finished with it."
Pat says "Of course."
You say "The manager does, indeed, escort you downstairs, and find you an usherette, who finds
you a score and looks prepared to sit around while you read it."
Pat sits down with the score, reading it carefully, memorizing as much as possible.
You say "Plotline : Young man lives in region tyrannised by despotic overlord, and falls in love
with said overlord's innocent daughter. When her eyes are opened to her father's injustice, she
joins her lover and the countryfolk in rebellion. Her lover is captured, but she releases him from
imprisonment and defies her father openly. He appeals to Heaven to witness his daughter's
betrayal and lack of virtue, and is struck down by a convenient heart attack while praying for
thunderbolts. The villagers cheer the lovers, who resolve to govern justly."
You say "While you are reading this, you notice the well-dressed man from before making his way
along the row of seats towards you. He pauses to murmur to the usherette, who nods and steps
back."
Pat turns another page, reading intently.
The man coughs politely, as he comes closer. "Excuse me. Could I have a word, sir?"
Pat looks up. "Michael, yes?"
He nods. "Michael Focals, at your service."
Pat nods. "Sit?"
The man nods, and takes a seat. "I hope things are going well for you?"
Pat says "Well enough."
He folds his hands. "I'm glad to hear it."
Pat says "And yourself?"
He smiles. "Doing reasonably well. Actually, you know, I think we're both in the same line of
business."
Pat says "Representing rich old ladies?"
He chuckles. "On occasion. I really meant that we were looking for the same sort of thing,
though."
Pat says "Oh?"
He makes a vague gesture. "Well, not to put matters too bluntly, I believe that we both hunt the
same sort of thing - among our own people, if you know what I mean."
Pat lifts an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't."
The man smiles cheerfully. "Let's not beat about the bush. It's bad for business. I'm here in order
to remove some people from the area, and believe me, your cause will only be served by getting
rid of them - back to my Prince's jurisdiction."
<
You paged Pat with 'Will roll, please.'.
<
Pat pages: Um. Nope.
You say "Pat, this man is so right. It makes perfect sense. If he is an Asmodean, then handing over
any local demons will get them off the Earth and out of your way. It's perfect sense. Optimal."
Pat says "Ah. Of course. And which people would these be?"
He regards his fingernails. "I and my associates take an interest. We don't want matters fouled up
by clutter any more than you do."
Pat says "Associates. I see."
He looks up from perfectly groomed nails. "I'm very well aware that you don't care for my Prince
any more than I care for your Archangel, but then, they don't work in the field. We do. We don't
have to conflict in areas like this."
<
<
Pat pages: AUGH!!!!!!
You say "Yeah, this guy is right. This guy is being honest with you. This guy _understands_ how
difficult it is to work on Earth with an Archangel hanging over your shoulder. This guy only wants
to help."
You say "Pat, you are entirely convinced that this guy has been sent by God to make things easier
for you. You should clearly use him."
Pat says "Well. How may I be of assistance, Mr. Focal?"
You say "You're sure Dominic would understand, even approve. Dump all the nearby demons to
this guy and get them out of the way. It's optimal! It's ideal!"
He reaches into a coat pocket, and brings out a card with a name and phone number on it. "If
there is any trouble - you know what sort - or you get some positive IDs, just let me know. I'm
not asking you to put your friends into danger." He offers the card. "But if you let us handle
things, it keeps them _out_ of danger."
Pat takes the card. "Of course."
The man nods, and begins to rise. "I won't suggest that we shake hands. I don't think that you'd
want to. But I hope that between us, we can get this sorted out."
Pat nods. "I think that would be best for everyone."
The man hesitates. "You might find things easier if you follow the normal procedure, and don't
mention our cooperation to your friends. They probably wouldn't take the long view that our
Superiors do."
Pat says "They never do."
Pat says "Especially the Gabrielite."
The man shrugs, and half smirks. "Here's luck to the hunters, then." He turns to leave.
Pat nods.
He pauses, glancing back. "A Gabrielite?"
Pat nods.
He frowns. "I hope you won't be called on to deal with him, then."
Pat says "Doubtful."
He nods, and turns away again, retreating.
---