You find Nichol onstage, paging through an old script and making notes. Possibly considering how to stage it, if it's ever brought back into the company's repertoire. Possibly just trying to keep his mind off recent events.
"I've finished the play," you say. You hand over the manuscript. "The Fall of Atlantis."
"So what is it about?" Nichol says, holding the manuscript gingerly as if he fears it might burst into flames. At this point, you wouldn't be surprised. "And don't say 'the story of the fall of Atlantis,' I'm not in the mood."
"Matty says the actors are worried."
"Things have become worrisome," Nichol says crisply. "That is difficult to deny. But unless we're planning on fleeing the city to put on theater from the back of a cart in some small town for the rest of our days, we had better start producing some kind of play, not brooding on whether we're all cursed. So, the play. What is it?"