Stardust Theatre, Convent Garden. 1845 hours.


            "Put on your costume!"

"That's the easy part!" Virgil Carstairs yelled back at their stage manager before he slammed shut the dressing room door. Everyone was busy doing their own thing backstage for their first performance, now that Edgar had just finished giving his traditional director's speech for their benefit.

A multitude of footsteps thumped across the floorboards outside, while in the room itself all the major actors were fixed to their mirrors as they put on the finishing touches of their stage make-up. Virgil loved this room because of that smell: the sickeningly sweet oils of their pasty cosmetics baking under a bright golden glow. He made his way to his own corner, where two full length mirrors were arranged at an angle with light crystals gleaming on their frames.

          "Forty-five minutes!" came an amplified cry from somewhere in the theatre, and everyone in front of their reflections made the same impatient sound by clicking their tongues.

Virgil spared a glance for some of the flower bouquets that had piled up in his corner - from competing theatres, friends, family - and was about to start undressing when he caught side of the card attached to the closest bouquet[1] on his table. He picked it up and held it with both hands, countenance somber. Then his gaze flicked to the flowers. Then back to the card. Flowers. Card. Flowers.

Cepheus had sent him flowers. Were his hands shaking? He put down the card and reached out to delicately caress one of the dark blue orchids, his gaze soft but falling heavily on those vividly languishing petals. Very likely platonic flowers (regardless of meaning) but flowers nonetheless. Virgil thought either Ceph or florist to have commendable taste - it stood out from the other, more brightly coloured bouquets. He snatched his hand back.

No. Tonight he had to be Peter Pan! He couldn't be dreaming about Cepheus the entire time! Virgil shook his head and gave himself a light slap in the face.

The actor playing Wendy shot him an odd, sidelong stare but he ignored it. He offered the flowers one final longing look and then began to unbutton his shirt. Later. Later he can admire the gerbera daisies and the sensual orchids. Right now he was the one child who never grows up, who had to chase after wild shadows and cross swords with a hook handed pirate and promise Wendy Darling he would always return.

Virgil glanced at his reflection to try on his cocky Peter Pan smile. If it was a little cockier than usual... nothing could be done of it. He was young and happy, and a handsome man had sent him flowers on opening night.

1.	That Place between Sleep and Awake