"Die? People die for the quality of a play here?" the Doctor asked. "Blimey, I'd hate to see the Metacritic scores."
"It's no joke, Doctor," Howard said. "It's not dramatics or hyperbole, it's just the truth."
"Why? How does that even work?"
Robert wasn't looking at anyone in the cast or crew. He just stared at his hands folded on the table before him. But at that question, he spoke up. "It's me. It's my fault."
"How so?"
"The King wanted to commission a play," Robert said. "I refused. I never should have refused."
"What are you all talking about?" Quinn asked. "I'm lost."
"Don't you read the papers at all?" Callie asked.
"We're not local," the Doctor said.
"You're from the north?"
He shook his head and said, "Very not local." He glanced around the room and discovered a bound packet of papers on the counter near him and picked it up. "The Traveler's Folly," he read from the front cover. "Sounds interesting enough," and he started paging through it at an incredible rate.
"Well I still don't get it," Quinn said. "If the King doesn't like the play he kills people?"
"If he doesn't like this play, he does." Callie said. "He insists that it be perfect."
"It would have to be, with so much Traveler rhetoric in it."
"Okay, I keep hearing that," Quinn said. "Traveler this, traveler that. What is it?"
Howard looked at her in shock. "You really aren't from around here, are you?"
"We showed up in a big box that appeared out of nowhere. Do you really have to ask?"
"The Travelers are a political party opposed to the King's regime," Howard said around a mild snort of derision - Quinn wasn't sure if it was directed at either of the political parties or to her lack of knowledge. "The King won't let anyone outside the bounds of the nation. The Travelers feel that's wrong - that we should be branching out and using as much of creation as we can, but the King insists on keeping a smaller group of people within arm's reach of the long hand of the law."
"So you mean that of the whole planet, nobody's ever been abroad? Nobody's ever seen any more of what's out there?"
"A few people have escaped but not many."
"What a waste," Quinn said, thinking of all the beautiful things she'd seen just on Earth, before she ever met the Doctor, and imagining all those things with nobody even so much as setting eyes on them ever... it was incredibly sad. She looked at the Doctor to confirm he felt the same way - surely a man who traveled as much as he did would see the tragedy in it - but he seemed to be engrossed in the script. He'd made a lot of progress, too - he was nearly halfway done already. "So what does politics have to do with the play?" Quinn asked.
"It's propaganda," the Doctor said, abruptly flipping the script right to the last page and then tossing it aside, disgustedly. "So that's the state of the arts around here? No washing the dust of daily life off our souls or laying bare the questions which have been hidden by the answers?" he asked incredulously. "What's the point of something like this?" he asked, picking the script back up and shaking it at them. "This is nothing but the endless machinations of the government dogma mill."
"I did what I had to do," Robert said.
"What, help the Crown keep people in line? Doing your part to make sure the masses behave, are you?"
"No! That's not it!"
"The message couldn't be clearer. Stand up against injustice and it'll get you killed."
"That's not what I want, not by a long shot."
"The second act is basically a bloodbath! I hardly need to read it all. There's a murder every page."
"Just stop it!"
"Why would you voluntarily be a part of this?"
"Because they have my son!" Robert yelled, swiping a cup off the table angrily and letting it crash into the wall. "They have my son," he repeated quietly. "He's nine years old and I don't know where he is, and if tonight's play doesn't meet the King's approval then they die, painfully. So yes, I wrote the play, exactly how the king wanted it, because I want freedom for the people of this country... but I want my son more."
He leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. "That goes for all of us," Callie said. "He has my husband, Josh's wife. Howard's parents are elderly but he's even taken them. Lana's father is a political prisoner, and the King promises he'll be released if he's pleased with tonight's performance. The list goes on and on. The King calls it a 'performance incentive.' If we don't do what he wants he'll have them executed."
Quinn's mouth fell open. "That's awful!" She looked back to the Doctor but he wasn't saying anything, just staring at the table the actors sat around, avoiding eye contact. "I'm... sorry," she said. If he wasn't going to say it, someone had to.
"He's kidnapped your families to use as bargaining chips against you..." the Doctor said, almost as if he were talking to himself. Then, suddenly, his head snapped up; he was back at full attention, in action mode. "Right," he said, and Quinn could feel his injustice-sense tingling. "Where is this King of yours? Balcony level, I presume, private box? I think it's time he and I had a word."
If he might have guessed how they would react to his statement - a glimmer of hope, maybe, or awed reverence - it wouldn't have been outright hostility, but that was exactly the look Josh and Clegg were shooting him. "Get some rope," Josh said. "We'll tie him up. The girl too." Clegg nodded and off he went, looking for rope.
"What?" the Doctor deadpanned.
"If anyone so much as steps a toe out of line, our families die. You're not 'having a word' with anyone, mate."
"Now, now, wait a minute. Just... wait," the Doctor said. "Let's discuss this."
"There's nothing to discuss," Josh said, but Howard and Callie started yelling at him.
"Stop being stupid," Callie said. "You can't tie them up!"
"You just watch me," Josh told her, taking the rope that Clegg had returned with.
"No, you really can't," Howard said.
"You two are only married in the play," Josh said. "You don't have to pretend you respect the bit-"
"I don't need anyone to protect me," Callie said. "But we need them." She turned to the Doctor and Quinn. "You're going to have to go back out there with us."
"Go back?" Quinn asked. "Why?"
"Because you're part of the play now," she said.
"No, way, Cal," Josh said. "No way these two are going out there, not with everything riding on this one performance."
"It's not just about the performance, though," she said. "The whole night has to go off without a hitch, and you know as well as I do that Robert's trademark is his characters. Nobody comes on stage unless they're important. There's no such thing as a bit part in one of his plays." She looked back at the playwright. "You have to write them into the play, Robert."
There was a loud, exasperated grumbling of displeasure, and it wasn't all from the actors. Quinn could get up in front of people and sing, sure. She could perform cheerleading routines with precision in front of packed audiences. But acting? Actual acting? She wasn't sure she could do that. "What do you mean, 'write us into the play'?!" she asked. "There's no need for that!"
"Oh, I dunno," the Doctor said, and she spun around and shot him a wide-eyed glare, the kind that was meant to say, 'I do NOT want to do this', but apparently it fell on deaf ears - or at least blind eyes. "It might be a good idea, y'know? Might even be fun," he said, and grinned, winking at her.
"But... but Robert, this is crazy!" Clegg said.
"Is it?" Robert asked, voice void of emotion. "The King wanted his message put into a production everyone would be talking about for years, and we're well on the way to getting there," he said. "We just pulled off the biggest special effect the world has ever seen - so what if it it wasn't scripted - and now we've got his, the King's, approval. We can run with that. But only if they'll help us."
"I'd love to," the Doctor said. "Anything to help, that's me. Ask anyone. And Quinn."
"Thank so much for volunteering me," she said flatly.
"We can salvage most of the content," Robert continued. "It'll just be a few scenes. I trust you all. You know your characters. You can ad-lib this. Assemble the rest of the cast backstage; this isn't going to be easy by a longshot but I think we can just pull it off." Nobody moved from their seats, so he stood and clapped his hands together. "Come on! Move! Move!"
Reluctantly the rest of the cast filed out of the lounge. Josh remained behind, glaring at the director. "You mark my words," he said. "This isn't going to work like you've planned."
"Yes it will," he said. And then, as Josh left and there were only the Doctor and Qunn left to hear, he whispered hoarsely, "It's just got to." He turned to face the two strangers once again. "Can you really help?"
"Yes, I can," the Doctor said, and Robert gave him a curt nod and went to join the rest of the group.
The Doctor was about to follow when Quinn grabbed him by the arm. "Can I have a word?" she said, and closed the door to the lounge before he could answer. "Acting? You want us to act?"
"Sure! What's the problem? It's easy. Besides, thought you loved being on stage."
"The problem? What's the problem? The problem is that we don't even know any of the lines!"
"I know! Great, isn't it?"
"How's it 'great'? I think the word you want is 'terrifying'!"
"They're the ones who have to ad-lib something. You, just be your normal inquisitive self. Interrogating characters should be the same as interrogating real people," he said. "Well, actually, easier."
"I'm not following."
"What's the hardest part? Whenever we go somewhere, whatever we're doing, what's the biggest challenge?" he asked.
"The running."
"Alright, that's a fair point," he said. "But it's getting to the bottom of things that's tough. Unraveling the lies and the deceit and the twists, that's hard. But if the play takes place here and now, so that the characters can be government mouthpieces, then the play has to reflect reality. They won't lie, and if they do, the audience's reaction will give it away. Finest polygraph in the universe."
She couldn't help but stare at him, a scowl crossing her features as she listened to him drone on about actors and plays and lies. "You're not thinking straight," she said. "You've been off since this morning when I found you in the study. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine, really."
"You were startled when I found you this morning. Not like I-didn't-hear-you startled... like the kind of startled Finn always got when I caught him staring at Rachel. Like I stumbled across something I wasn't supposed to see."
"I was just..."
"And then here. One minute you're practically screaming at these people, the next all you want to do is help?"
"I was wrong, I just..."
"So you can see why I'm not sure this is the best idea you've ever had."
He stood up and started pacing around the room, avoiding eye contact. She didn't move, herself, standing with her back to the door and her arms folded, staring at him as he silently inspected the cabinetry in unnecessary detail. "I've been... preoccupied," he said. "Thinking about stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Nothing, just... stuff. Stuff and things. Things and stuff. You know."
"No, I don't know. I never know anything because you won't ever tell me."
"I wasnt paying attention. I misjudged these people," he said, ignoring . "But it was a mistake. There are people in danger, and it's partially because of me. I have to help them. If you want to help too, I'll be out there." And he opened the door and went out to join the cast.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Wait!" she called, standing up to follow him, and he turned back around in the doorway. "What's this play even about, anyway?"
He smiled at her. "Now you're talking. C'mon, I'll introduce you."