Talk:Give him your dreams/@comment-175.143.150.122-20151210090813

To the opera


'Dreams, dreams, dreams. I grow tired of them, I do. You can't imagine how long I've let them run through my toes. Well, perhaps you can.' The Manager examines his fingernails for a length of time that goes beyond rude. While his face is no more than middle-aged, his hands are those of an old man. They have an olive complexion that suggests he's not a local.

'Still,' he says at last, 'I must admit that your dreams are quite weighty. Substantial and rotund, you understand. Burly. You must have worked at them endlessly. Very well. Listen now. Tristram's passion was always music. In these days of beggars and stolen paintings, he's forgotten the opera. His opera. The one he never finished. The solution to your dilemma is as plain as toast: you must remind him of his desires. You should stage his opera. Or yours, if you have that rare blend of musical talent and...' The manager looks around conspiratorially, 'cryptophilolological facility.'

To continue, you could obtain a copy of Tristram Bagley's Opera from the collection at the Shuttered Palace.