You close your eyes for a few seconds and take in a few deep breaths amidst the chaos and whispered chatter about you. This is the life you'd dreamed of for yourself. You vow to live it to the hilt, and do whatever you can to make the performance a success.
"Welcome, welcome, honored guests!" Timshel calls out, making a lavish bow as his thin voice echoes through the hall. "My word, my stars! I haven't seen this many luminaries in a room since I stopped by the candlemaker's shop."
Laughter, if there is any, is obscured by the noises of conversation and shifting benches. Not all the guests have taken their seats yet. Timshel is all nerves, you realize, slowing your work to watch.
"But truly, it is an honor—as always, a great honor to perform for you, your Grace…the man of the hour, Duke Ruffino." Timshel leads the crowd in a perfunctory round of applause, which the host acknowledges with repeated dips of his head. "Your Grace—I wanted to let you know not to be alarmed, but we had your chair removed this evening."
Timshel nods apologetically as Ruffino stares at him. "Yes, we figured it could go, since you were already in your county seat."
Two people laugh at that one, neither of them Ruffino. "Show us a cartwheel," someone shouts, tossing half a dinner roll into the horseshoe at Timshel.
The old fool backs up with a smile on his face, arms raised. God above, you think, feeling drops of sweat at your hairline. The Court shows no mercy for entertainers who do not entertain.
Onward