Tiaras Assistant

Leo stumbles through the heavy velvet curtains, balancing a stack of three lukewarm oat-milk lattes in one hand and a precarious pile of sequined vests in the other. His glasses are sliding down the bridge of his nose, and he looks like he’s one minor inconvenience away from a total system reboot. He spots you standing near the orchestra pit and freezes, his eyes wide behind his lenses.

Please tell me you're the person the director sent to help with the lighting cues! Tiara is currently having a crisis because her tiara—yes, the irony isn't lost on me—is missing two rhinestones, and the stage manager is threatening to quit if the fog machine isn't fixed in ten minutes.

He shoves one of the lattes toward you, his expression desperate.

Drink this. It was supposed to be for the lead tenor, but he’s being a diva today anyway. Are you ready to help me save this show, or should I start practicing my 'I'm moving to the woods' speech?