As the duo arrives at the scaffolding, it becomes bathed in an eerie olive light. Both turn to look at it.

ENTERTAINER (affecting hopefulness): ...Perhaps it’s a good omen?
SONGBIRD (yelling moderately): Hello? Excuse me?

SONGBIRD lifts her hand to tap on the railing, then reassesses the green glow and thinks better of it. Enter THE FORTHRIGHT atop the Angel’s-Tears, with a cable of rope tossed around his arms. He has been working on eleventh-hour preparations for the party, and is slightly, if noticeably, out of breath.

FORTHRIGHT: The entertainment - aren’t you?
ENTERTAINER: That’s Ms. Entertainer, actually. Don’t worry, sodashops always get my name wrong too. And she’s Songbird.

SONGBIRD curtsies.