The Salvation Hunt

VIII. Folly of Wands

The night went by without so much as a whisper from any of the three. Even the ever boisterous Wyatt had been eerily sombre for the rest of the evening. Nova felt almost guilty. Did she do that? She didn't mean to dampen the atmosphere with her feelings. In fact, she would have never brought it up if she knew that they were going to–

Volta held up a hand to gesture for her and Wyatt to stop.

"We're close to the Teatro," he said plainly. "Keep your head down and eyes closed. Put away that goddamn sword, Nova. Try not to startle the audience. Or actors. Or anyone actually."

Wordlessly, Nova nodded and shut her eyes before taking several cautious steps forward. She collided with a very small wall and nearly toppled it upon impact.

"I...meant the eyes on your wings," said the wall, "But I appreciate the gesture."

Wyatt stifled a grin and fought to maintain a neutral face as he sauntered towards the small tent and what appeared to be... an open air stage?

"Looks like it's pretty quiet over here," said Wyatt thoughtfully as they trudged through several seats of elderly halflings and small children who sat cross-legged in front of an empty stage. The village they had walked through was no bigger than what one would expect from a settlement located on the cusp of a mountain range. It was cosy, but pitifully uneventful as the three made their way towards the attraction.

"Oi," said Volta as he pushed his way into a tent, "I'm looking for the director–?"

"Ah, sorry!" A short, jovial looking satyr nudged them back out of the tent and stood apologetically at its entrance. "This is a staff-only area. Guests aren't allowed past this point," she pointed to the small barricade that they had Nova pick up and move effortlessly, "So I'm going to have to guide you back to the audience seats–"

"Are you a stagehand?" asked Volta.

Nova furrowed her eyebrows. She had no idea what was happening, but it seemed more than likely that perhaps they had stumbled into a private event–or, at least, one that they were not a part of hosting. She had raised her hand to gesture for them to leave, maybe even towards a quiet spot where she could properly ask questions, but the satyr suddenly blinked and changed her tone from a peppy, professional smile to one more laced with uncertainty.

"I'm looking for your director."

"Um, sir, I'm sorry, but–"

Wyatt tugged on Volta's sleeve. "You gotta say the secret password!"

Volta turned to the satyr. "We know the secret password."

She only smiled dumbly in response.

He sighed. Clearing his throat, he turned away from Nova and Wyatt and half-mumbled out something indecipherable.

"I'm... sorry?" The satyr smiled. "What was that?"

"A-ahem." A faint tint coloured Volta's cheeks as he tugged awkwardly at his collar. He repeated himself, with pronunciation clearly seeing better days. "Questo è il teatro, vero? Io sono amica con Chelsea."

A sudden smile and flash of recognition appeared on the satyr's face. "Ah, tu sei l'ex ragazzo di Chelsea!"

"Ah–Mm. Well," He winced, not even fully understanding what she said but getting a terrible feeling already gnawing at the back of his skull. "I just know her. I'm from Jo&Co Tech. An associate of il Teatro. She just told me to say that if I need to get to business. I can't really talk to you in... that."

Wyatt leaned up towards Nova and put a hand up to the feather-like protrusions where her ears presumably were. "Chelsea said it's some sort of secret thief language."