Narrator 1: There are parties, and then there are PARTIES, and this party is neither, actually: it’s a gala. The Loxlee Gala. Totally different. 

[Sounds of the gala: birds chirping, water splashing, crowd murmuring, orchestral music playing, occasional ships soaring overhead.] 

Narrator 2: Totally different thing. This event operates at a level of intricate grandeur so outrageous, so completely over-the-top, that we’re just not gonna be able to do it justice in description. 

Narrator 3: Now, we’re gonna do our best to get you there, to give you a rare inside glimpse at one of the most fantastic celebrity phantasmagorias you will ever see. It is the most exclusive occasion in the Un, host to hundreds of the most Valorous people in all of Trust society, and all in attendance to pat each other on the back and toast their collective excellence, recognizing the year’s most exquisite deeds. 

Narrator 1: Jonas Spahr is jazzed up. He’s there in a great mood, parading around like he owns the place. Phineas, at his elbow, on the other hand, is so nervous he might puke. 

[Background noise stops] 

Narrator 2: And he hasn’t even started drinking yet. 

[Theme music] 

Narrator 1: [as unidentified female character] “All right, everyone, now just gather in as tightly as you possibly can. Good thing we’re all friends here, right? Ha ha ha ha.” 

Narrator 2: Polite tittering. 

Narrator 1: Oh yes, from hundreds of people, as they clamor together, shoulder to shoulder, gathering together in the splendid garden terrace outside of the Loxlee manor.

Narrator 3: [as same unidentified female character] “But please be careful to not step over the yellow line. Please, stay back from the yellow line. That’s it. Now, if I could have everyone please look directly at the device.” 

Narrator 1: Consector Spahr gazes confidently forward towards the gleaming aperture. Phineas is regarding it as well, slightly more nervously. 

Narrator 3: Standing just beside Jonas Spahr, Phineas feels a strong armored arm circle around his shoulder, drawing him closer in range for the portrait. 

Narrator 1: All of the gala’s guests stand assembled, proudly regarding the Incendiary Imaging Device, a camera the size of a truck, aimed at them from a massive scaffold. 

Narrator 2: It’s accompanied by at least 25 technicians, or are they armored guards? It’s kind of a combination, to be honest. This is a dangerous device, and, as mentioned, there is a yellow line clearly demarcating the closest you may come to it and still be safe. 

Narrator 1: A countdown begins. A timer begins to tick toward detonation. Everyone steels themselves, standing as proudly and as attractively as they can, but also getting ready to die, possibly in a gigantic fire. 

Narrator 2: Ms. Ledge, the inventor of the device, shouts out the final countdown, her hand on some kind of thick cord plugged into the machine. (as Ms. Ledge, the previously unidentified character) “Three, two, one…” 

Narrator 1: [Ms. Ledge] “SMILE!” — her final scream — and then, pulling the ripcord, a fuse explodes, fire emerges, electricity arcs, jets of steam gush from the side of the machine, two huge hammers piston down, igniting mica charges. 

[Sounds of machinery, steam, and electricity.] 

Narrator 2: An incredible chain reaction of destruction, explosions and arcing electricity. 

Narrator 3: A tremendous amount of light assails the assembled crowd, and as eyes squint, faces recoiling slightly from the apparatus, a huge sheet of metal drops into a vat of acid. 

[Sounds of splashing, hissing, sizzling, followed by cheers and applause.]

Narrator 1: Steam gushes. Fumes boil forth. “Stand back!” a technician cries. The portrait is complete. The guests, dropping their grins, immediately retreat from the device. 

Narrator 2: Phineas flinches in spite of himself, and Consector Spahr feels it. 

Narrator 1: The grass outside the camera is on fire. Technicians are extinguishing it now. Many guests of course are laughing, having survived the portrait, clapping each other on the back, shaking hands. 

Narrator 2: “You’ve had your portrait taken before, right?” says Consector Spahr. Narrator 3: [as Phineas] “It’s always a bit of a shock.” 

Narrator 2: [Spahr] “Yeah, that it is.” 

Narrator 3: [as unidentified gala attendee] “Boy, it’s sure a good thing the fatalities have gone down on these things, ah— isn’t that right, Jonas? [laughing] I remember years ago, you’d lose about half the crowd.” 

Narrator 2: “Yes, technology certainly has come a long way,” answers the Consector. 

Narrator 1: Phineas shakes all of this off. Fire extinguished, hatches covering now the boiling apertures of the imaging device. Ms. Ledge, the device’s inventor, calls out to the crowd through the megaphone one last time, “Thank you again. The portrait will be mailed to you in four to six weeks. Thank you and have a wonderful evening.” 

Narrator 2: Finally, the harrowing ordeal of the portrait over with, it’s time to enjoy the party. 

Narrator 3: Off in the distance, music spills out from the manor. 

Narrator 2: Phineas takes a deep breath, turns around, and observes the Loxlee private islet. A vast terraced lawn stretches away from him. He can see the edge, where vast plumes of foliage spill over, draping down into the void. Streams of water gush off the edge, flowers everywhere, completely open to the elements. It’s a stunning sight. 

Narrator 1: The Loxlee family lives on a flying island — let’s be very clear about. It is a flying island.

Narrator 2: A private flying island. 

Narrator 1: You’ve seen these before, these massive promontories of mica floating in this brilliant emptiness. Well this one’s all theirs, and they have a gigantic garden built on it, and a palace, all for themselves. The party is hosted here every year, and this year it’s looking better than ever. 

Narrator 2: Ship docks, like spokes off of a wheel, protrude out of the edge of the islet, most of them occupied already at this point in the evening. 

Narrator 1: Many a grand private vessel, a yacht, a cruiser, is docked here tonight. All shapes and sizes, all very expensive craft. Guests are arriving even now — not everyone was here in time for the portrait. 

Narrator 2: A swarm of gunships lazily circles the perimeter of the islet, keeping a wary eye out for any chunks of mica too large or dangerous to be allowed near the party proceedings. 

Narrator 1: Occasional shots fired overhead echo in the evening, mica exploding like fireworks in the air above. 

[Sparking, fizzing, firework-like sounds.] 

Narrator 2: And the deadly razor-fine dust from these explosions is swept away from the proceedings, filtered by a thin curtain of water fountaining from a tall tower at the island’s center, cascading down to the party’s perimeter, enveloping the entire gala like a shimmering liquid soap bubble. 

Narrator 3: Phineas is still looking a little green down here on the promenade. 

Narrator 2: It’s his first time at the Loxlee gala, of course. He didn’t make it onto the guest list last year, which was fine, he had stuff to do, company to lead. Spahr came, of course. Spahr goes every year. He knows everybody here, and Phineas follows in his wake, grateful for his experience. 

Narrator 1: Everyone here tonight looks incredible. That half-cape Phineas had on earlier, he’s got it on again. He looks great, fantastic hair tonight, stylish-looking fellow. Everyone here is at the top of their game.

Narrator 2: The fashion on display here tonight is fucking outrageous, that’s pretty much the only way to describe it. There are pauldrons, there are immense hats. Everything is armored and gilded and immensely ornamented. 

Narrator 3: All of it glowing brilliantly in the strange quality of light that is existence in the Un. 

Narrator 1: A hundred guests, all in top form, all phenomenally excited, all in ready social condition, commence milling. Waiters circulate through the crowd, serving tiny bouquets, appetizers, handing out flutes of beverage. One waiter circulates now just past the Consector and Phineas, offering them refreshments. Spahr accepts, taking one in each hand, handing Phineas a drink. “Cheers,” he says, toasting Phineas. “This is your night.” 

Narrator 3: “Well really, it’s yours,” Phineas says, clinking the glass against Spahr’s. “Congratulations.” 

Narrator 2: The Consector smiles wryly as he accepts the toast. (as Spahr) “Well, the thing is, it’s yours too, kid, it’s, it’s gotta be yours. We’ve gotta get you over this, uh, reluctance to… TALK to people, to strangers. This is the perfect opportunity.” 

Narrator 1: He’s speaking to Phin but also making eyebrows at other people who are circulating by, making eyebrows at him. Every single person here knows him. 

Narrator 2: He’s got a nod, a casual word — 

Narrator 1: Mid-sentence, he pats someone on the back as they walk by. Somebody toasts him mid-statement; he clinks that glass effortlessly. 

Narrator 2: — he has the perfect little thing to say to every single person that passes him. 

Narrator 1: Phineas watches, entranced by this social comportment. Narrator 2: It’s a skill that he lacks. He’s working on it. He’s here today to work on it. Narrator 1: He feels an anxiety rise within him. 

Narrator 2: The air here is cool, clean, and perfectly filtered, but Phineas is already beginning to sweat inside his ornamental armor.

Narrator 1: Everyone here tonight is clearly very interested in him, or maybe they’re just interested in him because he’s with Consector Spahr, Consector Spahr of course being one of the more interesting people here tonight. They are striding now through the garden boulevards of the grounds surrounding the Loxlee manor. The manor looms overhead, vast colorful drapes cascading from its facade, hanging gloriously over the gardens, filtering the bright harsh light of the Un radiating down from on high. This looks so great tonight. Huge displays of flowers, a glorious statement of excess. Where else could you put flowers OUTSIDE and not have them ripped to shreds by the microscopic presence of mica moving through the air? Well, here, apparently. 

Narrator 2: Of course, the flowers, the greenery, it won’t be here for long. Nothing can really get a root in the mica berg that lies underneath everything. It has to be replaced every couple of weeks. It’s very expensive. Looks great. “You know what, Phineas?” Spahr says, downing the rest of his drink and clapping Phineas warmly on the shoulder, “I think you’ve got this. I’m gonna go mill around, circulate, and I suggest you do the same thing. In fact, it’s not really a request. You need to track down Mrs. Loxlee tonight and make sure that you introduce yourself. Thank her for inviting you.” 

Narrator 1: [Spahr] “I did get a letter from her the other day, didn’t even mention this to you but we’ve obviously both been very busy,” Spahr says. “She has personally expressed to me that she would like to meet you, and thank you for your work in the Fleit rescue. However, I anticipate, with Imogen being Imogen, that she’ll be very busy tonight and probably won’t have time to come find you, so… Phin…” Hand on shoulder again, Spahr looking him in the eye, his eyebrows lowered confidentially. “Look, to be honest, you’re gonna have to go find her. You think it can handle that?” 

Narrator 3: Phineas gulps before saying, “Yes, definitely.” 

Narrator 1: [Spahr] “Great.” Pat on the back. “She’ll be very pleased you stopped by. I’m sure she’ll have some time to spare, even though every person here of course wants to be in her company tonight.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Thanks, Jonas. I’ll see you later?” 

Narrator 1: [Spahr] “Absolutely. Hey, have fun, okay? You’ve earned it.” Narrator 3: [Phineas] “You too.” 

Narrator 1: And Spahr effortlessly turns away, in his Jonas Spahr way, and is immediately absorbed into further schmoozing with many and various fabulous people,

Narrator 2: the crowd eagerly swallowing him up. 

Narrator 3: It’s as if the spotlight followed Spahr as well, because when before eyes had clapped themselves on both Phineas AND the Consector, now Phineas is just sort of… a person, a face in the crowd. 

Narrator 2: He feels abruptly invisible. 

Narrator 3: This is a little more comfortable. 

Narrator 2: But NOT what he was instructed to do, he reminds himself. He must make his presence known, actively. 

Narrator 1: It feels strangely as though no one here knows him, as though he’s a stranger. He of course knows everyone. Almost every face passing before him tonight, well, is intimately included in his roster of knowledge, in the who’s-who of his own mind. 

Narrator 2: Most of them he’s never met PERSONALLY, you understand, but that doesn’t matter, that’s not what we’re talking about. He knows who they are. These are the most famous celebrities there are in the Un. 

Narrator 1: Celebrities for a reason, celebrities because they are Valorous. These are all the most valuable individuals in the Trust, here tonight in the same place. 

Narrator 3: He scans the crowd, and seeing a nearby waiter with full flutes of beverage, strides over and promptly downs one, and then a second glass. Maybe this will calm his nerves a bit. 

Narrator 2: The glorious lawn is festooned with tents shading the harsh light of the Un, casting a slightly more evening-like atmosphere over the proceedings — the best they can do, as they don’t have technical evening here. 

Narrator 1: Tables are being set now by attendants, the settings this evening glamorous to the extreme. Tonight’s dinner of course will be floral arrangements, all edible, all excessive. 

Narrator 2: Decorations and entrees, they’re all the same thing here. 

Narrator 1: Everyone at the party tonight is famous, every person he passes, as he strides into the next tier of the garden, is on the who’s-who list of the Trust.

Narrator 2: Phineas sees the Miravette twins pass by very near to him, wearing their Valor in the form of long glittering trains that drag after them in the plush grass. 

Narrator 3: These are some of the younger members of the Upper Trust. 

Narrator 2: It’s well-known that they came into their Valor through inheritance. Very old money, if you like, due to some ancestor of theirs doing a favor for some well-placed member of the Upper Trust back then in the olden days, and the family has pretty much been riding the wave of wealth and increased interest ever since. 

Narrator 1: They know who he is, at least, apparently they do. They raise an eyebrow at him and branch off from the path, crossing the garden, waving at him, approaching. 

Narrator 2: Oh! They’re… tracking him down. This is… Okay, he’s prepared for this, this is fine. 

Narrator 1: Well, this feels good, right? He’s an important person, too. Of course people would want to talk to him. 

Narrator 3: He quickly throws a smile and bright eyes on his face as they approach. Narrator 1: “Hello,” says Twin One. 

Narrator 2: “Adsecla Thatch, right?” says Twin Two. 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “The Miravette twins, I presume?” 

Narrator 2: [Twin Two] “Yes.” 

Narrator 1: [Twin One] “How are you feeling? This is your first time here, right?” Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Uh, it is, yes, uh, and, it’s amazing, I have to say.” 

Narrator 2: They both eye his visible Caenum bead with open, frank curiosity and interest, though they don’t bring it into conversation. 

Narrator 1: [Twin One] “Ok, well, bye, ha ha.” 

Narrator 2: [Twin Two] “Well, I hope you have a wonderful time,”

Narrator 1: they say, clearly having nothing more for him. They leave. He’s alone again. 

Narrator 2: This is going… fuck. [laughter, deep breath] Phineas straightens, squares his shoulders, steels himself. This is fine, this is just talking to nice famous people. 

Narrator 1: He has an objective. He needs to find Mrs. Loxlee and, uh, say hi. That’s all! Very simple. 

Narrator 2: He definitely hasn’t seen her anywhere yet. In fact, he doubts if she’s made her official appearance. He thinks that she wouldn’t be that hard to miss once she had done so. 

Narrator 3: Having been making his way across the manicured grounds and intentionally terraced gardens of the Loxlee estate, he approaches the top terrace of the garden just outside the main grand staircase entrance to the Loxlee manor. Emerging from the crowd, the slightly purple face of Jedediah Pom approaches. 

Narrator 1: This man is everywhere at once. 

Narrator 2: He’s on the job tonight of course, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the party… as he obviously has been doing. 

Narrator 3: He takes a deep pull of the champagne flute in his hand. 

Narrator 1: His assistant, the girl with all the gear, the backpack, is behind him. She raises an eyebrow at Phineas, acknowledging him. “Young Thatch,” Pom bellows across the gardens, raising his glass, coming forward, weaving through the teeming crowd. “Come this way. I have someone I would like to introduce you to. 

Narrator 3: “Of course, uh, Mr. Pom,” Thatch says. 

Narrator 1: This must be a very valuable connection. Pom knows everyone. And, it turns out Phineas already knows who he’s being introduced to. This of course is Mr. Meshkala. 

Narrator 2: He’s the executive manager of the Family, which Phineas has had some experience with, the Family being the organization that manages all the Unlifts, the disadvantaged souls that need to be raised gently into Trust society, 

Narrator 3: who maybe were not surrounded by it in their younger years.

Narrator 2: Phineas has never met him personally, of course. 

Narrator 3: Phineas produces a hand. “Mr. Meshkala!” 

Narrator 1: [as Pom] “Oh, so you already know each other! Excuse me, my mistake.” 

Narrator 3: [as Phineas] “Why no, we haven’t officially met, sir, but I have read about you before… or heard, I should say, on the teletheric.” 

Narrator 1: “Oh yes, likewise I’m sure,” Mr. Meshkala says, shaking his hand firmly. Narrator 2: He has a warm, genuine sort of smile. 

Narrator 3: Indeed, Mr. Meshkala’s abacus is a large, warm, almost cozy-looking shawl that is cinched up tightly around his neck, towards his shorter hair. 

Narrator 2: It’s tasteful. 

Narrator 1: [as Mr. Meshkala] “I’ve recently been doing some rather fascinating reading about your exploits, young Thatch. Quite grand.” 

Narrator 3: [as Phineas] “Well, thank you for saying so, sir. I’m sure it pales in comparison to your own, um, charitable work.” 

Narrator 2: [Mr. Meshkala] “Oh, psssh.” Mr. Meshkala waives a humble hand in Phineas’s face. 

Narrator 1: [Mr. Meshkala] “Oh, not at all, though am I correct, young Thatch, that you were once a beneficiary of the Family’s services yourself? I’ve heard rumors and I wanted to take this opportunity to confirm them.” 

Narrator 3: Phineas… pauses for a moment. This isn’t a part of his life that he typically likes to address, especially to people in public, and especially to the voice of the media standing just there. 

Narrator 2: On the other hand, this is the very individual who made it possible for him to enter into the Trust, so he owes him something.

Narrator 1: But thankfully, he doesn’t have to say anything, because THE Imogen Loxlee has the next word. There is a summons, a booming address from the balcony at the front of the grand terrace nearby, as Mrs. Loxlee herself takes the stand, approaching the microphone, her voice echoing out to greet all those assembled tonight. All eyes are now on her. 

Narrator 2: Mr. Loxlee is at her side. Imogen Loxlee is… 

Narrator 3: Let’s look at her for a moment. 

[Background noise abruptly stops, replaced by ethereal music] 

Narrator 2: She’s the closest thing this society has to… a president? A queen? A pope? Something like that. 

Narrator 1: She is the most Valorous of all persons. 

Narrator 2: She’s an elderly woman, though exceptionally well-preserved, with incredible poise, and an INCREDIBLE dress. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd as this new fashion innovation is put on display. 

Narrator 3: She positively glows. 

Narrator 2: She’s not wearing a shred of actual fabric, it appears. Instead, her entire costume, her glorious bespoke gown, is composed entirely of her own Valor. Just beads. The effect is like a gown composed entirely of glittering pearls. 

Narrator 1: [as Mrs. Loxlee] “Good evening, everyone.” [Background noise returns] Her voice resounds across the garden terraces, echoing smoothly over the boundless assemblage. Overhead, a muted explosion as a gunship takes out a shard of mica too close for comfort, a detonation like fireworks, a subtle boom, a nice accent. 

Narrator 3: All eyes are still on Imogen Loxlee. 

Narrator 2: Imogen’s husband Hieronymus is at her side, smiling serenely. He’s markedly younger than she is, and quite fetching to look at. 

Narrator 3: One of those tall, dark, handsome types.

Narrator 1: “Tonight is your night,” she says, very factually. It kind of is. “It’s all of ours together. As usual, you’ve done great things, and I’m thankful to each and every one of you for what you’ve done, not just for me, but for each other, for the entire Trust. It’s as simple as that. You’re here because you’ve earned it. Thank you. Have a wonderful evening.” 

Narrator 3: Applause breaks out as though a cascade down each of the terraced gardens, 

Narrator 2: and Mr. and Mrs. Loxlee continue their descent of the staircase and immerse themselves in the party, greeting everyone who rushes up to them eager to make their acquaintance or refresh their acquaintance. 

Narrator 3: Phineas makes a final polite smile to Mr. Meshkala and Jedediah Pom before making a beeline in the direction of the terrace and Mrs. Loxlee. 

Narrator 1: Of course, everyone else has had the same idea, Mr. Meshkala included, in fact. There is, in the crowd directly ahead, the distinctive determined figure of Mr. Fleit, Senior Notary, who, turning, catches Phineas’s eye. “Phineas Thatch,” he says matter-of-factly, “a pleasure to see you again. So pleased you could make it to tonight’s festivities.” 

Narrator 3: [as Phineas] “Notary Fleit, the pleasure is all mine. I am honored to have received an invitation.” 

Narrator 1: [as Fleit Sr.] “As are we all, year after year, young Thatch.” Narrator 3: Bustling around the Senior Notary, appears the young junior Milton Fleit. 

Narrator 2: He seems to have recovered his spirits from his ordeal with the whole kidnapping thing, and tonight looks very starry-eyed and eager. Spotting Phineas, he immediately rushes up to him. 

Narrator 3: Clasped in one hand is a small notebook. 

Narrator 2: [as Fleit Jr.] “Adsecla! Adsecla Phineas! You were there when the Consector rescued me! Is he here? Is he here tonight?” 

Narrator 3: [as Phineas] “Oh, uh… Consector Spahr?”

Narrator 1: [Fleit Jr.] “I didn’t have the chance to get his autograph, you know, cuz I was kidnapped, but tonight I can get it, I think?” He looks up at Milton Fleit Sr. for confirmation. “Is that okay?” 

Narrator 3: The turbaned man nods solemnly with a small smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. 

Narrator 1: [Fleit Sr.] “Now now, my boy, restrain yourself just a bit.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “To answer your question, I, I actually haven’t seen, uh, Consector Spahr in a little while. Last I knew, he was down a terrace or two.” 

Narrator 1: [Fleit Sr.] “Perhaps if you hurry, Milton, you can still speak to him.” 

Narrator 2: [Fleit Jr.] “Okay, I’m going!” And he rushes off without another word or a glance for Phineas. 

Narrator 1: [Fleit Sr.] “Ah, such youthful energy. Such enthusiasm. He reminds me of, well, me. I, we have much in common, young Milton and I. One day I should hope he will achieve great things himself, as you have done, Thatch, as you have done as well.” 

Narrator 3: And without a backward glance Mr. Fleit turns and solemnly walks off into the crowd, 

Narrator 1: opening a window, a passageway between bodies, which for one moment leads directly to Imogen Loxlee. Phineas bolts. 

[Ethereal music begins.] 

Narrator 2: TOWARDS her, to be clear, not away. He hasn’t lost his nerve, not yet. Narrator 1: This is his chance. He goes for it. 

Narrator 2: He knows he has to speak quickly and not give himself too much time to think about it, otherwise he’s going to completely chicken out and turn around. 

Narrator 1: And everyone else here apparently has the same thought, because five other people are now veering toward her, hoping to have the next word with her. 

Narrator 2: He stakes out his space, doesn’t allow anyone to push past him,

Narrator 3: and calmly makes eye contact with the beautiful, resplendent hostess of the Loxlee Gala. 

Narrator 1: Maybe it’s because he is Adsecla to Consector Jonas Spahr, maybe it is because of his recent achievement, maybe it’s just that he’s wearing more armor than everyone else — but others in the crowd allow him to approach her first. 

Narrator 2: SHE wanted to meet HIM, he reminds himself momentarily, before launching into his introduction. 

Narrator 3: [as Phineas] “Mrs. Loxlee, my name is Phineas Thatch, uh, Adsecla to Prime Consector Spahr. It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you tonight. Thank you so much for the invitation.” 

Narrator 2: Imogen Loxlee inclines her head graciously. “Of course I know who you are, and I’m so glad that you could make it tonight. We are honored by your service and look forward to many more years of it.” 

Narrator 3: “I shall do my best.” 

Narrator 2: “Now then, you must excuse me.” 

[Ethereal music abruptly ends.] 

Narrator 1: And that’s it. 

Narrator 2: It’s over before — Is that really it? 

Narrator 1: The, yeah, that was really quick. 

Narrator 2: He swallows all the things that he was planning to say, the gears in his mind stalling. 

Narrator 1: All five others, five, ten others in the crowd, now sweep in for her attention. Her eyes leave his. 

Narrator 2: He suddenly finds himself standing in a circle of conversation that he’s not technically included in. People speak over him, don’t make eye contact with him any longer.

Narrator 1: But he stands there holding his drink, nodding as though he’s still listening. Narrator 2: Oh, this is awkward. He’s got to find a way to extricate himself. Narrator 1: He feels a hand on his elbow. Beside him, Mr. Loxlee. 

Narrator 2: [as Mr. Loxlee] “Why don’t we leave them to their dull conversation? I’d like to speak with you.” 

Narrator 3: The gears in his head suddenly slam back into action. What do you say to the spouse of Mrs. Loxlee? 

Narrator 2: He’s rather less famous than she is, has significantly less clout. He did take the Loxlee name upon their marriage as a symbol of this. 

Narrator 1: Mr. Loxlee leads him away, gesturing, moving off to a slightly quieter pocket in the crowd. 

Narrator 2: He’s not entirely unknown either, of course. Hieronymus Loxlee is specifically known for his humanitarian efforts in the Delta. 

Narrator 1: Phineas is all too familiar with them. 

Narrator 2: [as Mr. Loxlee] “You know, it’s not my first time at the Gala, but it IS my first time at the Gala as Mr. Loxlee,” 

Narrator 1: he says. 

Narrator 2: [Mr. Loxlee] “We were married less than a year ago. So, I think I understand a bit of what you’re going through. We’re both new to this… spotlight, in a way.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Well thank you for saying so, sir, uh. A pleasure to meet you, by the way.” 

Narrator 2: [Mr. Loxlee] “Of course! A pleasure to meet you as well. I read about your rescue of the young Milton Fleit and I’ve got to say, that was marvelously executed. Very well done. You should be proud.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Thank you sir. It was tremendous to, uh, have the opportunity from Consector Spahr to be able to lead that mission.”

Narrator 2: [Mr. Loxlee] “Oh! Well. Consector SPAHR didn’t really do anything, did he? It was all your show.” 

Narrator 1: This is… true, and the first time in the last several weeks that anyone has actually said this to him. Phineas is taken aback. 

Narrator 2: [Mr. Loxlee] “I heard about your compensation for this deed in the daily shortly afterwards,” Hieronymus continues. “It must have come as something of a shock that you didn’t break even.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Wha… uh… a little, I guess.” Phineas isn’t quite sure what to say. He’s not entirely sure what Hieronymus is angling at. 

Narrator 2: [Mr. Loxlee] “You’ve got to understand, I’m sure it had something to do with the market fluctuation on that particular day. It has nothing to do with you. You did well. And I personally believe that you were due much more. In fact, you know, there are Notaries everywhere here tonight. I…” He raises an arm and begins beckoning one over. “I’d be happy to give you a small donation out of my pocket, just so you can finally get rid of the last of your Caenum and start accruing Valor. It’s not a big deal. I’d be happy to.” [Ethereal music begins.] This seems like a very kind generous thing that’s just been offered him. 

Narrator 1: It’s true. Donations happen often. The Miravette twins are the product of a grand donation generations ago. 

Narrator 2: It’s one of the many perfectly valid, legal, acceptable ways to accrue Valor. 

Narrator 1: And he could accept it right now, and break even, and start his life anew, free from any Caenum whatsoever. 

Narrator 3: But that’s not what he’s going to do. Phineas goes rigid. [Tense music begins.] 

Narrator 2: All the feelings of camaraderie and understanding that had been growing between him and Hieronymus suddenly vanish, at least on Phineas’s side. 

Narrator 1: No. No, this is not what he will do. This is not the way that it will be for him, not today.

Narrator 2: Hieronymus is still looking at him expectantly, a Notary now at his elbow, attentively waiting to take down a receipt. 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Did you just offer to pay me off?” 

Narrator 2: Hieronymus gives a good-natured, full laugh. “Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that. If you’re interested. It just seems unfair.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “I can’t accept that.” 

Narrator 1: Hieronymus seems surprised, he takes a step back. 

Narrator 2: But he makes a small motion to dismiss the notary. “But… Well, all right, if you’re sure… Just, it’s no trouble at all for me.” 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “No.” 

Narrator 2: Hieronymus looks at him with renewed interest, slightly bemused. “Well! I can see you are a perfect fit for your station, Phineas.” 

Narrator 1: And right here and now, Phineas feels that he is. He will not accept handouts. He will not take this bullshit from this man, this someone, this Valorous figurehead. He has worked for this. He has lived through one setback after another, and he will not be bribed. 

[Music takes on a somber, important tone.] 

Narrator 2: Not by someone who was born into this life, who had everything handed to them on a silver platter. 

Narrator 3: [Phineas] “Yes I am, sir. Some of us have worked hard to get to the positions that we hold, and I will continue to do so. Good day.” 

Narrator 1: And he turns on his heel, 

Narrator 2: leaving Hieronymus speechless with a bemused smile. 

Narrator 1: He storms off, leaving the crowd behind, seizing one last flute of champagne, descending the stairs rapidly, his heart racing, his breath coming fast.

Narrator 3: Phineas feels the flush of blood behind his face as warm satisfaction rushes through his body, 

Narrator 2: a surge of adrenaline. He doesn’t often speak up for himself, really. Certainly not to one of the most powerful people in the Un. Feels good. 

Narrator 1: Down one staircase and then another. People in the crowd gesturing, seeing him coming, standing aside as he prowls forward, down one terrace after another, down to the flat gardens at the base of the islet. 

Narrator 2: As important as it is to him to break even, as high as that ranks on his list of priorities, it is MORE important to him that he will do it HIMSELF. 

Narrator 1: Jonas Spahr is dead ahead, turning, seeing Phineas coming. “Well there, Thatch,” he says, putting out a hand, “did you do what you needed to do?” 

Narrator 3: “Yes,” Phineas says. [Music ends.] “As a matter of fact, I did.”