7:30 PM, 4th of December
<5 days and 30 minutes until departure>
Alberta “Salt” Bolton and Philomena “Pepper” Bolton, both aged 66 by virtue of being born within seconds of each other, made up the double act that headlined the now world-famous Imaginarium Britannica.
At the risk of sounding rather unimaginative, the one word Wolf would use to describe the twins was ‘inseparable’, both for their own benefit and that of others they worked with. Salt was—surprise, surprise—the grumpy one of the family, communicating mostly via grunts and snorts, which Pepper then promptly translated for the benefit of anyone unfamiliar with the sisters’ shared language (which was everyone).
For as long as she’d been part of the Wolfpack, Pepper took to her liaison role with honeysuckle smiles and unrelenting cheer. Which was why Wolf had always assumed that at least she would settle down and ply her trade as a ready-made mum-going-on-nana, just as soon as she’d washed her hands of a life of crime and misadventure. As it turned out, however, the twins were more married to each other than anyone might’ve guessed, as they leveraged their Illusionist talents into a second (and legitimate) career of touring the world and delighting paying customers.
Wolf had become the latest of such a customer, as she plopped down next to Eddie in their balcony seats. Her Tactician companion had dressed for the occasion in an elaborate evening dress that made the Assassin’s olive drab trench-coat look downright lifeless by comparison. She’d also made no effort to mask her appearance, which resulted in an endless procession of flatterers and bootlickers bending across Wolf’s seat to bask in the Hofstra glow. And when any of them thought to glance Wolf’s way and attempt a semblance of polite introduction, she invariably discouraged them with a silent glare.
“You know,” Eddie leaned over and whispered in her ear, as the crowd finally returned to their seats for the show’s opening, “it wouldn’t hurt you to just smile once in a while.”
“How are you so sure?” Wolf shot back in a suppressed mumble, even as she fought to ignore the sensation of Eddie’s breath on her skin. “And don’t test me right now. I still haven’t forgiven you for yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Whatever could you mean?”
“Don’t play coy. That business at the Inn.”
From the corner of Wolf’s eye, she saw Eddie flash a mischievous—and triumphant—grin. The very same one with which she’d revealed that she’d only booked one night at the Hunchback Inn, knowing full well, as she put it, that Wolf would come running to her long before the three-day deadline was up. The fact that Eddie had toyed with her like this—and the fact that she’d been right—woke in Wolf a long-dormant mixture of resentment, vertigo, and elation.
Just what was happening to her? Here she was, grey-haired, arthritic, and misanthropic as all hell (okay, that part hadn’t changed from when she was younger), and yet, she was acting like a giggly debutante at her first ball. Somehow, this was worse than when she’d been playing hard-to-get (Eddie’s words, not hers) some four decades past. She needed to get her act together, and fast.
As if sensing this renewed resolve—and the accompanying opportunity to disrupt it anew—Eddie reached over and placed a lace-gloved hand on Wolf’s crossed arms, an entirely overfamiliar gesture that brushed too close to an Assassin's heart for her liking.
“Hush now,” Eddie said with performative excitement. “The show’s about to start, and our girls are up first!”
The theatre darkened, momentarily filling Wolf’s world with shadows in which to blend and hide her agitation. Then the spotlights went up (with the help of some newfangled ‘electricity’ thing, no doubt), along with loud orchestral music that helped drown the conflicting voices in Wolf’s jumbled mind.
In the thirty years since the Wolfpack had disbanded, Salt and Pepper had—to put it kindly—filled out. Where before they’d been identically svelte and athletic, they were now identically plump and… still athletic. Salt started things off by taking to the stage by her lonesome, clad in a messy patchwork dress that looked to be the product of a truly deranged mind… or the perfect tool for an Illusionist’s [QUILTING] magic.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Even as the audience watched in breathless anticipation, Salt tugged at a patch of woollen fabric on her skirt, before transforming into an entirely different person—in this case, a rather nondescript middle-aged gentleman in a woollen coat. The transformation had been accompanied by clouds of smoke that shot up from the stage (entirely for show, of course) and met with whoops and cheers. Salt, in her gentleman form, then proceeded to wander about the stage in ostensible confusion, before spotting someone in the audience and waving at them enthusiastically.
One of the spotlights jumped to the audience members in question: a middle-aged couple, the male half of which happened be the spitting image of the ‘gentleman’ on the stage (because he was, of course, the [PASTICHE]’s original). And even as the wife giggled and the husband buried his face in his hand, gentleman-Salt gestured with apparent anger, the source of which no doubt being his two-timing wife and his exact replica of an accomplice.
Gentleman-Salt then pointed to the couple, as if to say “Just you wait!”, before exiting stage left. At that exact instant, a door in the back of the theatre banged open, revealing the same gentleman now sprinting down the aisle to confront his wife and her ‘lover’. This was of course Pepper, having used the same piece of fabric for her own [PASTICHE].
The crowd dutifully jeered and cheered as gentleman-Pepper engaged in an animated argument with the couple (who were, even Wolf had to admit, being very good sports about this). Then a round of laughter and applause erupted from the other side of the theatre, before a second spotlight shone upon a fourth figure that looked and dressed exactly like the wife. Now angry lady-Salt waded through the seats to chase after an apologetic gentleman-Pepper, who ran back the way he came with his tail between his legs.
And so it went. An over-the-top comedy routine that used [PASTICHE] and the twins’ unique ability to be in two places at once to full effect. For the next fifteen minutes or so, Salt and Pepper ‘teleported’ all over the theatre as they ran through various disguises and annoyed many more of their paying customers. Franzmark’s ‘home crowd’ was very much in on the joke, which made for an almost party-like atmosphere as guests shouted out suggestions or volunteered to be the next victim.
Through it all, Eddie clapped and cheered just as eagerly as everyone else. Even from the corner of her eye, Wolf could readily see that the Tactician’s mirth was genuine, and she found herself gradually caught up in the same frenzy. It wasn’t that she found the act particularly entertaining, as much as she just enjoyed seeing Salt and Pepper together and having fun… even after all these years. And if Wolf hadn’t shut off her [WILD SENSE] to protect herself from the cacophony of a packed theatre, she might’ve even noticed the small smile that had crept onto her own lips.
The act came to a close, and both twins ended up back on the stage, having returned to their plump old lady selves. They joined hands and bowed to the audience to uproarious applause, with Salt sulking for reasons privy only to her while Pepper smiled widely enough for the both of them.
“Come on,” Eddie suddenly said as she gave Wolf’s arm another nudge, “let’s go say hello.”
The two of them stood and crouched their way through the seats. The humbly dressed Assassin led the way, drawing irritated looks as she kicked and prodded for her fellow guests’ attention. These irritated looks then just as quickly turned into fawning smiles as the guests saw the second figure that followed close behind.
Backstage, Eddie took the lead, sauntering through the midst of performers and stagehands as if she owned the troupe herself (maybe she did? Wolf wouldn’t put it past her). She eventually led them to an unmarked door, which she promptly opened without knocking.
The twins had the dimly lit (by candles, thank god!) room all to themselves, presently sharing a large sofa next to a standing mirror. Apparently, the mirror too was only for show, because Pepper was the one hovering over Salt to remove her make-up, while the latter sat and knitted in sullen silence.
Seeing this, Wolf was instantly reminded of a married couple. Which was… strange, given she hadn’t spent too much of her life around married couples. Even so, Pepper looked very much the part of a kindly grandmama, while Salt was clearly the grizzled grandpapa who, erm, knitted incessantly, no doubt to ease his troubled recollections of the Napoleonic Wars.
In any case, the two of them looked up at the same time as the door opened, Salt with a stony expression and Pepper with a smile wide enough for the both of them.
“Eddie!” Pepper trilled, voice just as bubbly as it'd been thirty years ago. “And who’s that behind you? Is it—oh my!”
Wolf slowly emerged from Eddie’s shadow, feeling rather absurdly like a bashful debutante at her first ball. At first, she kept her eyes pointed to the floor, worried she might wilt under Pepper’s exuberance and Salt’s indifference… until she looked up to see that it wasn’t indifference at all.
The grumpy one’s hands had paused mid-stitch as she now fixed Wolf with a knowing sneer. It was the kind of sneer that instantly showed Wolf the truth of it: that this whole Imaginarium gig was never meant to be the twins’ ‘second career’, but merely a convenient way for them to keep their skills honed, while they waited for the perfect opportunity to come out of retirement. It was the kind of sneer that gave an answer before the question had even been asked.
The sneer remained on Salt Bolton’s face as she grunted by way of greeting. Pepper Bolton was quick to translate for her sister, though on this occasion, their language was plain enough even for Wolf to understand.
“Salt says: about feckin’ time, innit?”