Template:Vfs figaro opening soliloquy

Don Figaro: Hark, alack: the great verbotic marauder returns
With gilded horse and painted page he takes his punt
Salved so by syrup’d phrasery
And runs it up the Grafin’s grand canal.
While meantime here that small aperture which cast its motey beam
Upon this wordwright and shone a golden beam
Had the golden chance to engrave his mark
Upon the city’s merchantry snaps brightly shut.

The threadbare figures from this careworn forge: plain and direct
And bereft of louche embroidery are scarce a ready match.
So must I yield to what constellations wilI —
And must not carp, tis true, I have a steady business, loyal patrons who value craft
E’en if they pay with coppers and not ducats
Much less the regal warrants far afield. But is this all there is?
nd yet, is this not a far cry from the life I had hoped for? The success I had dreamed of?" "Where is the acclaim, the adoration that Inago so easily garners?"

As Figaro ends his soliloquy, he notices his son Iolio working on a curious contraption: "What's this? Iolio tinkers again with his mechanical fancies..."

Figaro’s inner monologue: he wishes Iolio would offer advice about the homunculus
Flashback: Don Figaro overhears Don Inago boasting about a revolutionary wordsmithing machine
Don Figaro, driven by fear and pride, announces his plan to acquire a homunculus
Don Iolio, knowing Inago’s true nature, remains silent, torn between loyalty and truth

Iolio effortlessly repairs the malfunctioning word-smelter Don Figaro, impressed but frustrated, embarks on another soliloquy:

"Ah, to see my Iolio work! His hands dance across the gears and levers as deftly as mine once wove words into gold." "If only the boy had the pluck and initiative to help me with these modern conveniences!" "What wonders we could create together—his mechanical genius paired with my mastery of language!" "But alas, he remains silent, content to tinker in the shadows while Inago's star rises ever higher." "Oh, Iolio, my son! If only you would speak, share your ideas, push us forward into this brave new world of automated eloquence!"

Don Figaro sighs heavily, turning back to his outdated tools with a mixture of pride and resignation