The theatre should’ve felt like a workplace, not a home, and honestly, Sable had grown tired of pretending otherwise. Oh, of course, she also knew how right it felt to perform on the stage, to get that applause from an appreciative audience, to perfectly execute the lighting change on which an entire scene hinged or to improvise over a gaffe so well that no one noticed it had happened (not unless they had a downright encyclopedic knowledge of the show being staged).

But truly, the thespians at her theatre were here for a purpose. Namely, to put on the shows and make sure that they lived up to all the visions that any given director, producer, creative team, or cast had in mind for them. That didn’t mean that coworkers couldn’t like each other well enough, obviously, but pawing around the old prop closet was hardly on the same level as anything that Sable personally associated with family.

For one thing, the people here actually called her Sable without needing to be reminded that she hadn’t been Melissa in a good five years.

Grumbling to herself, but trying to keep it quiet, Sable kept studiously digging through boxes and trunks full of musty old stuffed animals, vintage children’s toys in need of a good cleaning and probably a new coat of paint, and myriad sports-balls in various states of deflation.… Ugh, none of these were what she actually needed. How had organization back here gotten so shoddy that this trash was what she found while looking around for lacy parasols? Honestly! What was the deal with that!

Probably a long-term side-effect of trying to treat work like it’s the same as family, she mused, turning some half-broken toy train over and over in her head. The more you act like we’re only here to simply enjoy each other’s company for the sheer delight of it and not get a job done? The more willing you become, ultimately, to compromise on the quality of production.… How are we supposed to know what props we have if we can’t find them on any kind of reliable basis? It’s a recipe to end up wasting our budget on nonsense instead of properly allocating it and doing right by our shows and our creative visions.…

The toy train didn’t even need to be in such a state of disrepair! Hardly the most offensive thing about the situation, Sable realized, but seriously: not only was the prop closet a ******** disaster on an organizational level, but the things inside it that were broken, according the last item logs she’d seen, were not intended to be broken.

Pity for the stupid little train, really. More so for the theatre and everyone who worked here, sure, but Sable did feel a bit bad for the ostensibly long-neglected toy. Not even the kind that would’ve driven itself around a little track, if provided with electricity. Wooden and simple, this train was the sort that children—or, if the show called for it, teenagers and/or young adults who were playing child characters—could tug along behind them with a bit of string. She could perfectly imagine it working as a prop on stage, for multiple shows.

Or at least that would have been possible, if it had kept more than one of its six intended wheels. On top of that, the piece meant to be its smokestack had gotten knocked off somewhere (apparently with quite some force, judging by how viciously the wood had cracked). Ugh, after Hello Dolly wrapped, Sable was going to need to let herself in here and just……get this place ******** organized.… Put back together.…… Somewhere even remotely adjacent to any kind of functionality as a prop closet.……… Maybe fixing this garbage wasn’t technically in her job description, but someone had clearly dropped the ball for years at this point—if not decades; that would not have shocked her—so honestly, they could all just thank her for the effort later.

Besides, she thought, lips twisting in a smirk as she heard two people approaching, it’s free real estate.… Well, free chances to drain these people for the Negaverse. Take a little from a lot of people, not too much, but ever so carefully, and everyone’s on too much caffeine and Adderall to notice.

Just another reason why the theatre deserved better than some ham-fisted comparison to family.