Swamped

Perhaps you can pass yourself off as an overzealous fan... though the mask would be hard to explain in that case. You quickly take it off, and rather than running or hiding, try your best to look lost.

"Who in the hells are you? You're not part of the troupe."

It takes you a moment to think of a reply, mostly because you're struck by how much the man before you looks like Mortimer Flame. Is this his father?

You decide to play off your shock as best you can.

"Are you one of the actors, then? Oh, this is so fortunate. You could help me get a signature!"

He seems thrown off.

"A... signature?"

"Why, yes. A signature from one of the actors. The one playing Matilda Laikenne seems talented... though I suppose it would have to be one who can write. But perhaps you'd know which ones can and can't?"

He grumbles.

"I don't have time for this now. Just go back to your damned seat."

He then rushes off. Probably too busy to worry about some addled old man.

And you suppose you're too busy to worry about him, for that matter. After all, you've got less than three minutes to figure out what you're going to do about the fellow mixing something up inside the dressing room.