"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The applause wasn't all that great, or at least not great enough to warrant the profuse and heartfelt thanks the harlequin gave out, but it was good enough for him - especially considering at least some of the ones that were listening and watching his show were likely those that lost their previous lives two days ago. He made sure to bow especially deep for those that asked for an encore and those that cheered, directing his attention to the girl with the hooded cloak and the one standing next to her with the long grey hair - anyone could tell that those two were characters played by actual people by appearance alone, and those were the ones that needed to keep their spirits high most, after all! With a grin, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a few flowers in various colours, tossing them over the audience and in particular those two. "Where I come from, we toss flowers at the virtuoso when he finishes - but for being so great to me, allow me to extend them to you instead! Thank you all! An encore, you say? Ah, I should not..." he put a hand to his chin, scratching it as if contemplating, "but I SHALL! A one-act play, about the cruelty and injustice of the ones who banished Pyotr from performing for the king, written by YOURS TRULY! ENTER 'The Artiste', LEFT!"
With a twirl, he moved over to the side of his stage, though not changing his demeanor at all, clearly playing himself.
"AH, esteemed nobles and high folk! My day is brightened and all sorrows are forgotten when I get to perform for those who truly appreciate my art! But what do I see? It is the guards of the palace approaching!"
The harlequin danced to the right, putting on a sneer as soon as he gets there, walking with long firm strides and keeping a hand at his imaginary sword hilt, his tone angry and disgusted.
"Aha! We have found a troublemaker amongst us!"
Twirling again to the left, he put on an innocent, even shocked face.
"Troublemaker? Sirs, have I made any trouble here?"
"Yes sir, you have! We cannot simply abide and stand still while someone such as you pesters and plagues our nobles and even the king himself!
The harlequin moved back once more, falling to his knees and looking up at the imaginary guard, despair on his face and the faintest hint of tears in his eyes.
"But... but fair guards, my theatrics delight all those that see them! My art captivates young and old, poor and rich, from the lowest beggar to the highest of kings!"
Getting back into the position of the guard, Pyotr wrinkled his nose in displeasure.
"Pah! What you do cannot be called true art! Art is pompous and self-important like me! Begone!"
The harlequin threw himself to the ground rather suddenly, screaming out in a high pitched voice. "Wails! Lamentations! Injustice!"