11. Thin Soup and Bread

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"What do you mean, half-full?" said Alistair in blank disbelief.

He, Godwin, Edwin, Maeve and Shirley -- all the current acts at Royston's Dinner Theatre -- were assembled in managerial office on the second floor, their faces displaying varying degrees of concern.

"Just what I said," barked Royston from where he was seated behind his desk. His collar was unbuttoned and his hair in a rare state of disorder as he'd been running a hand through it almost constantly for the past four hours. "We're only half-full tonight. The bloody telespeaker's been dinging all day with people cancelling their reservations. It's that damned octopus! Scared to leave their homes after dark for fear they'll be mistaken for anchovies in waistcoats. The sooner the police capture the damned thing, the better. Until then, we may have to tighten our belts."

"But...but we've never played to a half audience before," stammered Edwin, nervously fingering his silk neckerchief. "I have no idea how Susie will react to less than a full house."

"As long as she gets her pre-show apple, Susie won't notice a thing. It's the rest of us that are going to be on thin soup and bread," mumbled Godwin.

Edwin turned to scowl at him, eyes narrowed to slits and an angry snarl curling his upper lip. "What would you know about the sensitivities of real artists, Mr I Read The Seating Chart?"

"More than one might imagine, pig boy," Godwin scowled back, drawing himself up to his full height. "I'm a mind reader, remember? And I'm mindreading that this is going to cut heavily into revenue, and not just for our impresario here. For all of us."

"Jones is right," Royston interrupted before Edwin could get in another jab. "One night we can weather. Maybe even two without any significant damage. But it this drags on, say, for a week or more..." Royston shook his head.

"What about tonight? I mean, will we be getting our normal pay?" asked Maeve, a scrawny woman with an acrobatic routine consisting of a unicycle and the juggling of everything from teacups to lit torches. "I got mouths at home to feed."

"Tonight, yes," said Royston, with a nod. "Tomorrow...ask me tomorrow."

"Do my ears deceive me?" Edwin shouted. His eyes bulged and his index finger stabbed the air in Royston's direction. "You can't possibly be considering closing. That's absurd! No respectable theatre ever closes. The show must go on!"

"You mean Susie must go on," said Maeve, earning herself a grin from Godwin. "Why the worry, Edwin? Behind on your child support payments?"

Edwin turned his dramatic scowl on Maeve. "I'm a professional. I understand how professional theatre operates, unlike some people. So you can take your jealousy with you when slink back to your hovel in Whitechapel, Maeve. I am above such things."

After a moment of collective silence, the air in Royston's office caught metaphoric fire as Maeve and Godwin jointly and loudly speculated on everything from the marital status of Edwin's mother at the time of his birth to the size of his ego in proportion to parts of his lower anatomy, plus some.

Shirley, a comedy ventriloquist, said nothing, but made it sound like Edwin was farting an off-tune version of Rule Britannia while Alistair contributed with searingly vitriolic comments on Edwin's stage wardrobe. Most especially the unforgivably poor matching quality of his waistcoat- sock combinations.

Edwin volleyed back a few terse responses, but was largely drowned out, so he contented himself with merely crossing his arms and glowering at his stage mates. 

Before the meeting thoroughly disintegrated, Royston intervened, waving his hands and demanding quiet. "People! Let's not have that now. This is a crisis situation but we'll get through it without needing to close, I'm sure. Now, we've got two hours until opening curtain - that's you tonight, Shirley- so I want all of you get back to your dressing rooms and wait for your cues. And for the love of Cogmaster Wilkie, don't murder each other in the meantime, you're all still under contract. Dismissed."

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