Declan
Declan enjoyed his stroll through the crowd of people on the park promenades, while munching on corn first, then a savoury pancake filled with a delightful sauce. Surely here is the cream of the kingdom! Such glamourous women and wealthy, intelligent looking men. Despite his pretensions and aspirations to appear cultured and worldly in the eyes of others, Declan was still a gauche lad of 17. His subtle glances at the various bodices and shapely legs on display were almost outright stares to most who threw a glance his way.
After a few minutes of pleasant wandering, the priest came to a roped off section that was surely the holding area for interviewees. Presentation of his letter from the Grand Duke and a letter of reference from his father granted him entry readily enough. Spying a small stage nearby with actors upon it, Declan headed towards it. At the back of the standing-only audience he leant across to the unaccompanied young lady next to him and commented with an intent to impress, "This must be one of the better productions of Dryzith's works, don't you think? I wonder what the old playwright would think were he watching... You see, often modern directors seem so very keen to put their own spin on a master's work - as though they could not write a better play but seek to build on the work of others."