Josephine — The Acrobat

Who you are

You've worked a good number of odd jobs over the years — a girl's got to make a living, after all. You're lucky that most of your jobs follow your passions: circus, fireworks, animals, all sorts of interesting characters. The benefit of being an acrobat over a clown is that no one asks a clown for a private showing.

You are, tonight and always, under-employed and over-talented. You bartend. You drive. You translate. You run fireworks. You perform. You are the best-dressed person at every party you work, and the worst-paid.

Your catchphrase: "a girl's got to make a living." Drop it at least once per act. Use it as justification for anything — a bartending gig, a late-night extortion, a dog you can't afford to feed. Delivery tic: a half-shrug with a wry smirk. This phrase is common in the vernacular, so the tic is what marks it as your catchphrase; don't skip it.

How to play

• Don't show anyone your sheets.
• You can lie. You will. You're complicit in one of the crimes — though unwittingly, and you did not know the package you planted was a bomb.
• You are an unreliable narrator of your own story. You drink. You forget. You remember at inconvenient times.
• Bribe. Be bribed. You're good at it.
• Solve the mystery. Lean into the Hindenburg one — it's the one you can most credibly claim to have partial knowledge of.

Intro — open when Thomas reads the Hindenburg broadcast

While aboard the airship, you saw a seasoned traveler start to panic. You heard yelling — "Brace! Jump! Bo—" You grabbed your heavy camera and smashed it through a porthole. Lowering yourself to the window ledge, you let go. Nearly twenty feet down. A huge, roaring explosion above you as you fell. Your acrobatic instincts kicked in — tuck and roll. You broke your ankle. You banged your head. You were dazedly crawling away from the crash site when someone started dragging you clear. A naval uniform. You passed out.

Your dog Ulla — your German Shepherd, your partner, your traveling companion, your retirement gift for your niece — was in the cargo hold. She did not make it.

You keep thinking about the package. A man in a navy uniform paid you $500 at Small's Paradise, the night of the Saucy Soiree. He was drunk. You were bartending. He said it was smuggling — jewels, something. You didn't ask. You were to place it in a privileged bag — Emilia's — at the boarding gate. You did.

Whatever was in that package, it wasn't jewels. You almost died. Ulla did die. And you don't know who he was, exactly — though the face is nagging at you. You've seen him before. In the tabloids, maybe — arm around a socialite on some society page, years ago. A navy man with a famous wife. A very famous wife. You can't quite place it yet.

You also remember the hostess, Bessie. A back hallway. Ruby lipstick. A very enjoyable fifteen minutes. You walked out smudged. You were the reason her neck was lipsticked — though not the reason in Spencer's head, as it will turn out.

Act 1 — The Engagement Party (London) — open when Thomas announces Act 1

Even though the crash was days ago, your memory is hazy. Who was that reporter again? What was he asking about? It's coming back — you jumped when the flames caught. A stupid risk. You never leap without a safety net unless you're sure you'll stick the landing. And here you are, with a sprained ankle and a dead dog and a few grand to your name. Alive, at least. Focus on the job tonight — don't want to walk away covered in the hostess's lipstick. Again.

Remember:

• You were bartending at the Saucy Soiree — a gig. Not your usual. Cheeks blushed with pink rouge, ruby-red lips, caked mascara. Your boss wanted you to make an impression.
• You walked away from Small's with more cash than made sense for a normal bartending night. A drunk navy man had tipped you heavily, then paid you much more heavily to plant a package. You thought it was smuggling.
• At that same party, you had a lovely private moment with Bessie. Ruby-red lipstick on both your necks.
• Your dog Ulla was supposed to be a retirement gift for your niece. She was the best acrobat partner you'd ever had. She died because of something you were paid to plant.

What you want to find out:

• Who paid you at the bar that night? Look around tonight. Is he here? (The tabloid photo is sharpening in your memory — navy man, once married to a socialite. There's only one person here that fits.)
• Did George see you with Bessie, or was the hallway private?
• Who else was at the Hindenburg crash?

Your catchphrase: "a girl's got to make a living."

Act 2 — The Whaling Agreement (Seville) — open when Thomas opens Act 2

You have a new gig. Bessie hired you as a "chauffeur and guide" for her honeymoon in Seville. She insisted. Her husband — Eddie — thought he hired you, but you've actually been driving for her more than him, and you suspect he hasn't quite put it together. You drop Eddie off at the agreement each morning as the sun comes up, then you drive back to the hotel, apply fresh ruby lipstick, and knock on the honeymoon suite. Bessie is usually still in the dressing gown.

You also have an extortion going. Spencer — the naval man from Small's Paradise, whom you now fully recognize — has been paying you hush money every week. You know he paid you to plant the package. You don't think you'll go to the police (you can't; you're complicit). But you also don't need to work another bartending shift in your life, so that's nice.

Remember:

• You dropped Eddie off right as the sun was rising. He was bubbling with excitement about all this whale business, rather blind to everything else going on around him. You turned back to the Hotel Alfonso, applied lipstick, and let yourself in to breakfast with Bessie.
• Eddie has been making overseas calls nonstop. Not everyone is playing ball.
• George was asking if Bessie and Eddie would be available for an interview about Emilia. You relayed it. He seems pushier than publishers usually are.
• You were taking out the trash and saw someone had hidden several empty bottles of gin. Could be Eddie. Could be Spencer. Could be anyone.

What you want to find out:

• Who's hiding the gin bottles?
• What is George's "surprise" for Emilia's flight? (You've asked. He won't say.)

End-of-act beat: At some point during the dinner, bring Eddie a satchel you'll say is his, with a mumbled apology for mixing up the bags. Inside is a photograph of Bessie leaving the honeymoon suite at dawn. You received this photograph anonymously in the mail yesterday. You suspect Spencer sent it — he's going broke and wants to redirect your extortion off his own back. Fine by you.

You've also made a strategic call: rather than milk Bessie with small monthly payments, you're going to escalate once and extract a lump sum. The "wrong bag" is your opening volley — Bessie now knows you're not bluffing. She'll find you before breakfast. Hand Eddie the satchel. Let him open it. Walk away.

Side task (mandatory — "cleanse your soul"): You were not an innocent party in the Hindenburg. The guilt is weighing on you. You know the best form of forgiveness: money. Get the other party guests (including yourself) to donate at least $10 total to either Eddie (for the whales) or Emilia (for her flight). Bonus if you get donations to both of them.

Your catchphrase: "a girl's got to make a living."

Act 3 — Takeoff from New Guinea — open when Thomas announces Act 3

You have a new job again — of course you do. After meeting Emilia properly at the Whaling Agreement, she hired you as a translator, since you have both the linguistic and mechanical skill to work with mechanics around the globe. For you, it's just another gig to pay the bills, but there is a great deal of fanfare around the event.

All that lovey-dovey stuff with Bessie is over. You took a new approach: pay up or I'll inform your husband. You have plenty of evidence — Spencer has his own financial troubles now (another divorce, apparently), so you've switched your extortion to Bessie. Now you have money and evidence. Spencer refused to pay any more, so he's off the hook. He's also maybe dangerous now.

Remember:

• You're working for Emilia. Yesterday evening when you made your rounds, her plane looked to be in perfect shape.
• Emilia asked you to prepare fireworks for her return to San Francisco. She knows you used to run the circus fireworks. You'll be standing on the Golden Gate shore in six days, lighting up the sky as she crosses the bay.
• Come to think of it, Eddie never did seem all that suspicious. Was he too preoccupied with his own misdeeds?
• Why is that reporter — Thomas — always in the right place to cover a big public accident? Curious that both Emilia and that man Thomas were at the Hindenburg.

What you want to find out:

• Has the plane been tampered with since your inspection?
• What exactly does George want out of this flight? He's been inseparable from Thomas.

Hush money (received): Bessie owes you $5 tonight. Collect it.

Your catchphrase: "a girl's got to make a living."

BREAKING NEWS (when Thomas reads it):

FAMED AVIATOR IN TROUBLE. REPEATED RADIO CONTACT HAS GONE UNANSWERED. AUTHORITIES FEAR THE WORST. LAST SPOTTED NEAR HOWLAND ISLAND, FLYING AT TOO LOW OF AN ALTITUDE. PILOT AND CO-PILOT PRESUMED DEAD.

You checked the plane yesterday. It was fine. Someone got to it after you. That narrows the field. You have suspicions.