"Oh! Don't go too far!" Blythe scampers out of the Lobby with a water in hand, toward the rickety wooden stage they've dragged all over the Pacific Northwest with them. Most of his fellow troupe members are drunk, with the rest of them on their way there, and every time he takes his eyes off one then someone else is clambering on the stairs and hopping on the stage and just taking off for the other side of the stadium.

"Or—just drink some water!" he calls out after Bo, already well out of earshot. "I guess this one's for you, then." He hands the water over to the nearest trouper and plops down exhausted on the unsteady steps.