The others groaned at the prospect, then Moth perked up to suggest, "He could make you scrub out the toilets in the Ladies' Dressing Room instead." "He'll probably just remove the desserts from the Green Room again," Peaseblossom said. "Maybe Cobalt Flame will encourage the Theater Manager to get creative with his punishment." "Maybe I should have taken Black Cherry." Bertie stuck her tongue out at the Beatrice-in- the-mirror. "Your entire head looked like it was on fire that time." "Better than Crimson Pagoda," Peaseblossom said. "I'm not getting called on the carpet with my roots showing." Bertie coated another section with Cobalt Flame liquid concentrate, pilfered just an hour ago from the Wardrobe Department. "Not the best of timing," Cobweb singsonged, hanging upside down at the end of his line, "mucking up your head right before a ten o'clock summons." "Nervous about your call to the Theater Manager's Office?" Moth asked, chasing Peaseblossom in circles. "Going in there with fairy guts on your hands isn't going to make a good impression!" Unperturbed by the threat, Mustardseed swung by her like a demented pendulum. "If you make me spill this stuff on the stage," she said, "I'll squeeze you until your heads pop off." Beatrice Shakespeare Smith, busy assessing her reflection in the looking glass and thinking perhaps she shouldn't have dyed her hair blue on this particular morning, turned to glare at them when they rocketed past the end of her nose for the third time in as many minutes. The fairies flew suspended on wires despite their tendency to get tangled together.
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