The dance of my peoples

The hosts of this maximum security cafeteria have found seats upon unpadded benches. They pull forth cutlery and wipe it down, and the people on stage pull on another layer of jumpsuits and zip them up. They're adorned with triangles. One of their number starts counting out a beat with her foot. It's soon taken up by the others once they're squared away. They walk and trudge in place to simulate a long trek. Humming is added. A dirge-like cadence falls in step with the rhythm.
Auntie walks carefully over towards the guests, her eyes smiling. Still half covering her mouth with her palm, like she's afraid of speaking in a non-covert manner. "Some of you have a staff, very good. They are so very old. From a long time ago. Perhaps you're not familiar with such things." To the side of the stage Issa is watching with a craggy pained look. He mumbles something to a young lad who sets up a ladder on the edge of the stage and ascends it. He bares his arms cups his hands together. A tattoo on the palms glows with a captured light. The day's light is enough to provide illumination into the hall, but there is enough windowless wall and ceiling to possess some shadows.
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