Cuetzpalli nods along to the conversation, pretending to understand. He frowns at Eben's description of Mahuudril. "Who's the thin guy with her? He looks suspicious."
Astraden nods, looking away from Mahuudril. "Probably one of the folk she brought with her when she came to Alhaster. There's supposed to be a big one, too. The way Eben described them deffo doesn't ooze safety."
"Oh, thaaat Mahuudril. She suddenly seems a lot less cool. Hey, Korush, why don't you go talk to her while we slip out of here?"
Korush gives an exaggerated gulp. "A-all by myself? B-b-but...
"Consider it done!" He grins and saunters off towards Mahuudril, moving with a speed and confidence that alarms other theatergoers a little. Mahhudril herself seems startled as the janni cuffs her on the shoulder. "LADY MAHUUDRIL! Such an honor—an absolute privilege to make your acquaintance! And who's this lovely fellow? Madam? Hooded individual?"
Behind his back, his hands are signalling the group to get a move on.
"...do I know you?" they hear Mahuudril ask.
"Ah, well, you might know of me..."
Carina doesn't waste this opportunity to make herself scarce, and takes Tanith's hand as she gets up.
"Let's go."
"What a man. What a golden, noble man. He's too good for you," Astraden says to Tanith and Carina as she hustles towards the exit.
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Not at all in disagreement, Tanith allows himself to be lead to safety.
Eben somewhat confusedly allows himself to be bum rushed towards the exit. "Wait, why are we leaving? I figured we could get in some social schmoozing time. Is it because of Mahuudril? We're having dinner with her in a couple nights, it's not like we can avoid her indefinitely..." Still, he steps out of the theater alongside the rest.
"I'm curious too. She seems like she'd be a good ally to have in this place."
"Part of making good plans is to just run with the luck you get. I had no idea Korush would actually go for it."
"I hope they have more popcorn at the dinner. I like that stuff."
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As the group is ready to go, Eben is rudely run into by a gangly hobgoblin wearing a particularly stringy blue wig. The hobgoblin continues on his way at a brisk pace, growling a Goblin slur at the bard who 'got in his way'.
“Oi! Hold it blue-top!” Cuetzpalli cries, pointing at the hob.
"Hey, try and open that thing in your pocket when we have some privacy," Astraden tells Eben a moment after. She nods towards Cuetzpalli. "Maybe once he's got a little distance away."
Farrukh rolls his eyes and sweeps the leg.
“Oi! Hold it blue-top!” Cuetzpalli cries, pointing at the hob.
The hobgoblin ignores the group and keeps walking.
That makes it pretty easy to trip him.
The hobgoblin hits the ground with a thud. There are muffled sounds of surprise and confusion from other theatergoers, some of whom probably didn't even see what just happened. The hobgoblin glares up at Farrukh. "Ooh, that's nice. That's nice for subtlety. What's that for, eh?"
"Okay, let's try not attracting too much attention." Astraden purses her lips, gesturing vaguely towards where she last saw Mara.
Mara has moved since then and is now chatting with a pair of sweating nobles, but she is unmistakably watching the group over their shoulders. Her eyebrows arch.
Farrukh bends down and lightly grabs the hob's arm.
"Give the book back and I won't yell 'pickpocket'."
Astraden waggles her eyebrows some in return.
"...I'd give back what you stole without a fuss, sir." Carina sighs. "I'm not sure what the Angels are inclined to do to pickpockets."
"Eh, anyone who gets into an event like this wearing a wig like that probably has enough connections to wrangle their way out of any repercussions."
The hobgoblin glares daggers, fishing out the journal and handing it back to Eben. "Gods, you're thick. I'd check your bags, if I were you—you keep 'em exposed enough that I bet I'm not the first to try it." He jerks his arm away from Farrukh and stomps away.
The party overhears mutterings of, "Wasn't that Kelvil Grin? The co-director?"
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Things happen rather quickly, and Eben isn't the quickest on the uptake as they do. "Hey! That hobgoblin stole... huh? Thing in my pocket, Astraden? What are you..." He quickly inspects his pockets while Farrukh manhandles the pickpocketing offender. "Oh. That." He looks up, leaving the envelope where it is, and looks around at the angry hobgoblin, the curious erinyes looking on from a distance, and the gossiping theatergoers. Then he laughs. A high-pitched, giggling titter of a laugh.
"Why, how delightfully outré!" he exclaims, loudly enough for all nosy onlookers to onlook, at the peak of his shrill laughter. "Why, it was only yesterday morning I offered my services as freelance playwright to Ms. Miomay! She said they would evaluate my writing on their own schedule, but I had no idea", he throws his hands up, palms out, in a gesture of universal surprise, "That they would do it so... stealthily! Why, the scandal, it's just... brilliant! Leave it to Miomay's Playhouse to turn something as simple as a job interview into public performance art!" He gives an enthusiastic quiet round of applause at the departing hobgoblin's back, though he does slip his journal back where it belongs.
"You've not truly experienced it until you have seen it in the original Goblin,"" sniffs a bewigged hobgoblin noble passing by.
Astraden puts a hand to her mouth in exaggerated astonishment. "I didn't know you could write!"
The onlookers' faces light up in apparent "understanding" as Eben "clarifies" the situation, and many begin clapping softly in delight.
The hobgoblin pauses at Eben's outburst, raising a flamboyant false eyebrow. "Oh, he's quite inventive," he says to Astraden. "We've got high hopes. Really, though, callin' out the display as fiction seems a trifle amateur to me, but hey, he's got his own style."
Mara seems to lose interest in the hobgoblin, returning to her conversation.
"He'll have to share samples with our group before he publishes," Astraden says, smacking fist against palm with an overserious look and then a laugh.
"Amateur? Hey, I'm not the one whose bump-and-lift got spotted by at least six people... including the mark." Eben mutters, a little irked.
Once everyone hustles out of the theater, Eben directs them off to the side of the road and then positions them around him to partially block him from sight. "Okay, keep an eye out for anyone watching us, if anyone looks suspicious, Tanith, Carina, start making out to distract their attention."
He pulls the letter out of his pocket and teases it open.
Tanith stands ready to serve.
While the thought of 'making out', as Eben so eloquently put it, with Tanith sounded appealing to Carina, the current environment didn't do much to get her in the mood.
But she stands, self-conscious, nevertheless.
Cuetzpalli is confused by Eben's explanation of the pickpocketing, but he keeps his mouth shut. Outside he wonders, "What is that thing? I saw the hobgoblin put it in your coat."
"Wouldn't it be funny if it really were an invitation to help them out with a play in some way . . ." Astraden says as she raises her cloak around her shoulders like wings.
"Then why go through all the rigamarole of slipping it in my pocket unnoticed?"
"Well, you know how those theater fruits are. No offense Eben."
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"Huh? This is a nice theater. Not one of those places where rotten fruit gets thrown..." Eben says, managing to completely miss the point.
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"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot I had this." Astraden pulls a handful of squished-looking plums out of her backpack and throws them to the side of the road.
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At whatever point you are reading this, you have likely just Ascertained the Abstruse Absence of your personal manual of Recollections. Rest assured that we have no Untoward Designs towards your text, nor towards your privacy. Rather, my good man Grin has simple Endeavored Upon Himself to receive your Desirable Intentions through a small Game of Unlikely Chances—an unexpected meeting which, for our purposes, shall prove Most Hopefully Fortuitous.
I am a woman of Concise Words and Brevitivous Thoughts, and so, to avoid a Spurious Novel sprouting from this Mean Missive like the antlers from the head of a until-then forgotten deity of the hunt, I shall cut to the chase. I have of late Taken an Interest in meeting with Spiny's Six and Adopting Their Unique Narrative into a Masterpiece of the Highest Caliber.
I believe that this arrangement will doubtless prove Uniquely Beneficial in a Mutualistic Capacity. My enterprises can present many forms and quantities of payment to Tickle the Interests of even the most Gray-Beardedly Cynical of Dungeon-Delving Entrepreneurs. Additionally, it will bestow upon your Industrious Company a certain measure of Glossy Prestige, should you seek to attend any Formal Occasion where failing to impress the host might be regarded as a Suboptimal Failure Akin to the Catfish Swimming in Rapidity.
If this Everfescently Luminous Offer of Partnership holds any meaningful glow in your heart, please seek to stop by my Playful House of Theatrics at your Most Advanced Opportunity.
To your health, and the Eternal Goodwill of Olidammara's Twinned Grin,
Lady Miomay Aristatli
Purveyor, Sponsor, Producer, and Gatekeeper of the Creative Lens for Miomay's Playhouse
The name is different, but the hand is the same. Whether or not she remembers Eben is another story.
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Astraden very obviously reads over Eben's shoulder and immediately starts mumbling to herself. "WET TERM . . . FAR HUGE CAGE . . . What can it mean?"
Her eyes widen. "Wait, no . . . FAR HUGE RUDD HA DIG! She's sending us a message!"
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As Astraden speaks the secret codephrase, the text of the letter swirls, and a massive demon of pure inky blackness with glowing crimson eyes and dozens of claws dripping with the blood of a thousand suns bursts out of the parchment with a roar. "H HA SMoNe RD Ŕ͖͓u̮D̳̗͉̘d̻͚̙ͅͅ ̨͇̼h̼͓͎͞A͎̳̣̞͠ ̟̺͖͜D̠̥̰͜I͖͕̜̳̙̼G̬̝̗̘̻̱̠g̬̳͔̺ Om thE ieR PIt o e?!"
At least, this is perhaps what someone imagines happening in an alternate worldscape.
Eben takes a long, slow deliberate time opening the letter. The anticipation, indeed, feels like it stretches out for weeks, but when pressed he tut-tuts, "Hey, this is a nice envelope, you don't just go shredding it like a four year old brat getting a birthday present..." Upon opening it, he reads it silently, and seems to be pausing and considering a thing or two before relaying the message. (So that those rude over-the-shoulder types have likely already finished by the time he speaks up.) "Long story short, Miomay wants to meet with us and see about adapting the story of Spiny's Six to the stage." He glances at Tanith and Carina. "I wonder what it's going to be rated..." he murmurs, then presses on. "What Astraden is going on about is that Miomay has a very interesting take on where one does and does not capitalize words. It could be a code. Or just a pretentious way of writing..."