I knew him, Horatio

[Erika Leroux]

Erika...she...he...is still struggling with the sudden Lupercalia development...masks themselves into the expected appearance they use around the theatre. The woman still lives in her brain, but she is beginning to feel the draw towards the masculine...the difference in sexual encounters provides her with too much temptation and yearning to throw herself fully into the body she possesses.

She shakes herself. Tonight, she will be Erika, and enjoy it. She's brought in a number of exceptional players for this evening's performance, and the usual box has been made more welcome than normal. Now all she needs do is wait with Christine until those invited arrive.

[Lady Grace]

Grace tentatively pushes the door to the box hoping they have been directed to the right one.
Once again She has dressed carefully in the latest fashion even if she is still getting used to how to move in.
Best jewels and smile on despite everything. Her crying was dine over events at the Salon and decisions were made.
Everything had been so hectic now a evening of enjoyment was here at last.

She smiles as the Prince and Christine come into view and she pauses to make a polite curtsey of respect and waits to be recognised before approaching.

[Jean-Jacques]

Following Grace, the silhouette of Jean-Jacques comes into view, stood behind her,.

He is, rather incongruously , dressed in I’ll fitting evening wear, clearly not made to fit.

He spots the Prince and bows deeply maintaining its depth for a few seconds before rising and casting his glance downwards.

[Laurence]

Laurence enters with Grace, the familiar small smile playing about his lips as he does so. Dressed in fine fitted evening wear, Laurence stands tall with an aura of confidence and gratitude. It pleased him to know that the staff at the theatre were well trained and capable.

Stopping next to Grace, he bows to the Prince and gives a nod of acknowledgment to Christine.

[Christine Daye]

Christine is dressed in her customary green, bareshouldered for the evening but with long green gloves coming to the middle of her upper arms. Her skirts rustle occasionally as she shifts position in slow swaying movements, almost akin to dance.

Her eyes are bright, almost too bright and she's dreamy and unfocused, humming to herself just on the edge of hearing. But when the others arrive, she smiles at them brightly, before fading back into her music.

...Hickory, oak, pine and weed
Bury my heart underneath these trees
And when a southern wind comes to raise my soul
Spread my spirit like a flock of crows...