She dabbed at her eyes with a hopefully clean piece of toilet paper, careful not the stain the makeup. The shivers and the gloopy tears had all but stopped, now. She could remember a few of the jokes without even looking at the piece of paper anymore. That was a good thing. A great thing, actually. Not the best. The best would be getting on that stage without curling up into a tightly packed ball of nerves and tears again.

Mariko got up, unlatched the door, and walked out. She washed her hands, carefully, with the slightly off soap, and checked herself in the mirror. Not as good as when she'd been applying it, and maybe if you looked close you could see the puffy cheeks of her recent tearful moment, but apart from that, nothing. Not a blemish. A good thing. She shook her hands dry, and walked back out.

It looked like they were still setting up backstage. A few teachers were wheeling tables and chairs around, and most of the students seemed to be wrapped up in their own little world, practising their juggling or speaking to thin air. One group of girls were tuning up guitars, and one face she vaguely recognised was holding onto a puppet tree. That was possibly the weirdest one here. Would it be worth it to strike up conversation? Mariko wasn't exactly sure how? Would it come out natural if she just walked over and asked her what her act was? Would it come out as weird? But weren't comediennes like her meant to have a good rapport with people? She had to do it. Take the risk. Fight the power.

She walked over to the marionetteer, fists balled. The height disparity was somewhat of a problem she hadn't really expected, but she stuck through it, broke out a smile that looked more nervous then reassuring, and asked Amity;

"Hey there. What's your act tonight?"