The performance of SCP-701 was scheduled for ██/██/1813 at London's Grafton Theatre, a date on which an astrologically significant conjugation of six stars was to occur. The Count's intention was evidently to stage SCP-701 such that its concluding human sacrifices coincided with the narrow window of time when the conjugation's anomalous properties were at their apex. Properly performed, this ritual would have opened a stable, long-lasting two-way portal to Alagadda.
The Unseen Order of St. Jude, having been notified of Count Ysbrand's arrival in London, dispatched three agents with the intention of terminating Coates or otherwise disrupting the performance.
One anonymous agent composed the following letter, translated from Italian, recording his experiences at the performance.
It did not matter that we had poison and knives. When we were near the Theatre we had no control of our actions. We sat down (the audience was a motley of people from the street, all transfixed in the same manner), and I saw the yellow-robed Count in a box seat, glancing down with what must have been amusement.
The curtain rose. I remember noticing, despite my panic, how excellent Gonzalo's actor was; his first monologue was delivered with regal pathos. But then came Antonio's arrival at the conclusion of the first scene—dressed in an oversized black-and-gold slashed doublet and silver hose, with a ruff around his neck almost wider than his shoulders, Coates looked so bizarre that, despite my transfixed state, I choked out a laugh.
I soon realized that Coates was, quite unintentionally, disrupting the Count's ritual. The cast had to be killed at the right moment to coincide with the position of the stars. But even when compelled by the play's mesmeric power, Coates remained a singularly poor actor—awful enough that he was disrupting the ritual's careful timing. When Antonio was to kill Isabella in Act III, Coates stopped mid-murder and repeated the entire preceding monologue in an even more tearful tone, in an attempt to accentuate the pathos of the moment. It was at least five minutes before he mercifully ended Isabella's life and the scene.
As the play went on, the scenery began to flicker, the back wall of the stage opening up into a world of dark towers and torchlit castles. At the conclusion of Act V, a noose descended from the ceiling to hang Gonzalo and complete the blood-sacrifice. I remember how the spectre of the Ambassador of Alagadda was standing before the throne, its presence painful to look at. Gonzalo was placed in the noose, and Coates picked up the knife to slit Gonzalo's stomach. By now the stage was like a churning vortex, the lights of Alagadda searing into our world.
But then Coates fell to his knees, dropping the blade, and began beating at his chest in what must have been an attempt to portray regret and guilt. He rampaged up and down the stage, wiping away floods of tears with his lacy cuffs. He would pick up the knife—then his nerve would fail him, and he would fall to the floor weeping again, though these paroxysms of torment did not prevent him from carefully dusting off the floor before kneeling on it.
With minutes of the conjugation of stars left, the hooded spectre of the Ambassador finally strode forward, gripped Coates' shoulder, and thrust the knife into his hand. But Coates, enraptured in his own performance, shushed the Ambassador and waved for the spectre to go away.
Evidently, even mighty demons can be surprised. The Ambassador or the Count were sufficiently amazed by the actor's insolence that they hesitated—just long enough for the conjugation's power to pass. And as I watched, the smoldering spires of Alagadda began to fade from the stage. I came to a few hours later, to learn that the Grafton Theatre had collapsed in on itself. Coates, though dazed, had retired to a nearby pub for a celebratory round of drinks.
Information traded from the Wandsmen of Kul-Manas indicates that, for the failure of the ritual and the insult to the Ambassador of Alagadda's dignity, Count Ysbrand was sentenced to perpetual torture on the planet Melveric. Upon Coates' death, the Unseen Order collected his remains for further study, and thereby discovered SCP-7623. Coates' remains were stored in a soundproofed crypt until they were transferred to Foundation ownership in 1993.
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