As you strip off your previous clothes to change, your unusual birthmark stands out like a thumbprint on your shoulder against your
You arrive at the theater, play in hand, and deliver it to an errand boy who promises to show it to Matty right away. You are left cooling your heels in the theater's courtyard, pacing the flagstones. The stands where vendors hawk their wares during the shows are mostly unoccupied, although a stack of clay cups has been left behind at one of the tables.
Eventually, the boy comes back out. "Matty says she wants to see you," he says.
You make your way inside confidently. Matty, the Odeon's owner, has her office above the box office, a small room that's surprisingly neat and tidy, with two windows. One looks out over the box office gate to the street. The other looks inside, and you realize that it must be one of the small windows at the top of the house, overlooking the audience and stage alike.
Matty herself is no-nonsense, dressed in a conservative skirt with chemise and bodice above it. She motions you to the only other chair in the room besides hers, an uncomfortable caned chair with no cushion. Clearly she doesn't like people to waste her time.
"Master Osberht. I've read your play," she says. "It'll do. But some of these effects sound expensive. We aren't made of money, you know."
"I was hoping we could talk over what I had in mind," you say.
She leans back in her chair and fixes you with a skeptical expression. "So, talk."