poor delicate tiny scholarbaby

At $1000 per week to do menial labor, Autor is glad to work for Wilford. Autor has his own room--house, really, Wilford is rarely home, and is quiet when he is--and all expenses are paid. Autor's even learning English better, thanks to an app on his phone--which Wilford also acquired for him. He texts Wilford often, all updates about Buster, in broken English. Autor has a fake ID, a netbook, and plenty of time in between cooking for the dog--and cleaning up the subsequent barf--to study his materials to apply for medical school.

Wilford warned Autor about going out after dark, because that's when the monsters come out. Los Santos is ever so strange; the rules of polite society are fairly skewed, and people shoot each other over tiny infractions. Here, it is legal to run over jaywalkers. They all reset, so there's no reason not to go around murdering with no provocation; all except Autor, who keeps to the house, only venturing out to the supermarket two miles away. He can use his sylladex without attracting stares, as everyone has a portable inventory, which is incredibly useful.

Jim is present in the house on occasion. He's simply there, reading or watching TV or sitting by the pool. Autor ignores him, and Jim ignores him in return, not saying a word to Autor or acknowledging his presence. One night, when Wilford had crashed at the studio, Jim turned up and started playing music, much to Autor's annoyance. Eventually, they co-exist peacefully. Autor knows it won't last.

Wilford demands very little of the ex-soldier and pays him well, so Autor tries to give him his best. He keeps the house spotless--except for the kitchen table, which is covered in mail that Wilford never opens--and the dog happy.

Taking care of the house and Buster is a mindless series of tasks, so it's a good thing that Autor's studies are fascinating to him. Reading the books--anatomy, biochemistry, and epidemiology texts Guppy picked out for him--isn't easy, because he's jumpy and distracted, but he's too interested in the material to quit, a good sign.

And he can afford med school. Anywhere he wants to go. He looks up today's $1000 on an inflation calculator, and learns that in 1915, that's equivalent to 101850 in German Marks, and 21000 in American dollars. And he's earning that per week. Just for fun, he divides a million dollars by the American sum, and finds he'll be a millionaire in 47 weeks. Even less, if he invests in companies that did well in 1915 and plays the stock market--with perfect knowledge of the 1929 crash.

Unfortunately, his life in Los Santos is not all peaceful. A drunken partygoer gave him a fright when she landed in Wilford's pool after jumping out of a helicopter. She, exuberant, survived without a scratch on her. Wilford told Autor to shoot the next person who does that. Autor refused.

Thankfully, the house is quiet, for the most part, and Autor finds he likes his life here. Wilford occasionally cooks dinner when he's of a mind to, feeding Autor things he can't pronounce. After living in Los Santos, where people walk around in chicken suits for no reason and monsters roam the dark, Autor finds that he understands why Wilford is the way he is.

They get along swell.

How to Run a Theater:
-How do we choose the projects? What will be the decision-making structure?
-Names for the theater company? Is this even necessary?
-Budget for paints, backdrops, props, costumes?
-Which plays? Shakespeare possibly too complicated?
-Who will act in them? Who will direct? Will we have enough people? Stage manager?
-Auditions for all of the above?
-Staging equipment? Prop builders?
-Marketing? Bulletin board announcements?
-How many shows per year?
-Who will come see the plays? How are they likely to learn about them?

Stage:
-inside or out?
-if outside, made with earthbending?
-weather concerns?
-lighting
-budget?
-sunken stage?
-comfortable seating in an amphitheater?

[There is a decent sketch of a sunken stage attached.]

The third day is always the hardest.

It is when Autor most desperately wants to sleep, to cave in to his body's incessant demands. When he first started completing Drosselmeyer's rites, he invariably fell asleep on the third day.

Well, I was twelve, what did Father expect? he thinks, and allows himself to yawn to pop his ears. He sniffles a little, shivering; his blazer is no longer damp from the water he'd dumped on himself earlier. I'd better not be coming down with a cold.

Autor knows his friends will think he's crazy for subjecting himself to the ritual of purification and sharpening--where he cleans himself off with a pitcher of water and then stays awake, not moving, for three days--in order to commune with an oak tree. But he believes it will be worth it once he grasps Drosselmeyer's power to bend reality through the power of Stories.

The aspiring Spinner will go through the ritual as many times as it takes. As often as his weak body allows. And he curses himself for being weak in more ways than one; since he'd started coming to Milliways, he'd slacked off, ignored the rites, and lost his focus.

Autor yawns again, curling his toes in his shoes. His neck hurts, and he's groggy, bleary-eyed.

The third day is always the hardest.