Paul, what little patience he had left, was quickly running out of IT. Myrtle quitting was a blessing. Don't let the door hit ya'----wait, she was a ghost, so...YEAH, DON'T LET THAT GHOST DOOR HIT YA' ON YOUR WAY OUT, MYRTLE. "Thaaaaaaaank Merlin," Paul watched her float out and ignored Gaston entirely. If he had EVER been involved in a production before, he'd understand that the director usually got SNIPPETY the closer to GAME DAY they got. And Paul was at his wits' end!

At least Zoryn was happy. That was a small victory.

JESSA CAMBRIDGE. "Miss Cambridge, I said to go ahead with your line. Let's GO--" was she not LISTENING? PAUL WAS ABOUT TO THROW HIS DAMN CLIPBOARD.

But he didn't. He thought of a large, hearty drink waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks later, and he felt a LOT better. Something bubbly, perhaps. "Go go go GO--" he flapped his arms.