Part 2: Fool's Gold

From afar, she spots a hospital, a radio station, a motel, and a faint, chant-like melody drifting over the scene as they arrive to something unexpected.
Lines of people form queues outside the local shops. The town seems much livelier than Regulus had expected.
Riley: That's Gold Dust's Radio Station. Just a few steps down from the corner there.
Riley: It used to be an old Opera House back in the gold rush. Then the radio took over. So, the locals call it the "Broadcast Theater."
Riley: Sometimes, folks rent it out for events.
Regulus: Sounds like the perfect spot for a heavy metal show!
Riley: Uh ... about that ...
Riley: Further down the street, you'll figure out why we call this place "Gold Dust," the old miner's camp.
Riley: The state built a big old power plant there a while back, but lately it's been on the fritz. The power here is about as predictable as a moody arcanist.
Regulus: I thought this would just be one of those typical old west ghost towns, you know, highways, cacti, haunted inns, and piercing screams.
Regulus: Maybe throw in a couple of cowboys drawing pistols at high noon.
She points two loaded finger guns at Riley with a playful smile.
Riley: So, you're a pirate?
Riley: And this apple friend, what's his name?
Regulus: Only the fastest, coolest, rockin'-est pirate on the Thames—Regulus!
Regulus: And Mr. APPLe here, well, he's Mr. APPLe.
Her introduction is as proud as ever, though stifled a little by the thought of her still nearly lifeless crewmate.
Riley: What, like a real live pirate? I thought you were joking. It's a cool title, though, as far as pirate names go.
She smiles and waves to some boys across the street.
The kids dart over to see these new visitors.
But the moment they notice Riley and her strange companions, the kids hush, whispering amongst themselves.
Regulus: What's all that about?
Riley: Ah, nothing much, local stuff.
Riley: Hey, kiddo, find me a parking spot.
The driver tosses her keys and a few coins to the silent boy, then motions for her hitchhiker to follow.
Riley: You know, my dad told me that the day I was born, Elvis was doing a show here.
Riley: Though, I figure if he had been to this little slice of nothing, it'd be bigger news.
Riley: Hmm? You listening, Miss?
Regulus is instead fixated on a notice pinned to the wall.
Regulus: What's this?
Regulus: "Seventh Amendment of the Gold Dust Morality Act: All arcanists must register their identity within thirty minutes of entering town limits."
Regulus: Hang about? Register?! Isn't this Foundation territory!? Do they want me to up and give away my location anytime, anywhere, just so they can pop me in some cave or jail cell, soon as they like?
Regulus: "Twenty-Third Amendment: No consuming cocoa or cocoa-based products in bed."
Regulus: "Twenty-Ninth Amendment: No rock concerts or possession of 'rock and roll' paraphernalia will be permitted within town limits."
She removes her sunglasses and leans in closer to the notice, her eyes wide with disbelief at the printed words.
Regulus: Cor! Rock is banned! Banned!?
The hymns being sung suddenly gain a grating quality to her ears. The word "rock" has been printed above the notice then crossed out with a large X.
Regulus: This here is an attack on freedom itself!
Riley: Oh, yeah. Someone from the Order of Enlightenment got voted in as mayor, and not long after we had all these new rules popping up.
Riley: "Residents are not to interact privately with unregistered arcanists," "Bread must be baked for at least forty minutes," and "Must pray before dinner to ..." pray to who was it again?
Riley: Anyway, the sheriff's office and the radio are all in their pocket now, so the rest of us just go along with what they say.
Riley points out the town's sights one by one—the hurried pedestrians, the anxious customers, the thug-like enforcers on the street, and the scattered notices in between.
Riley: But my pals and I don't take the rules too seriously. Some we follow, some we don't. It's hard to make sense of them all.
Riley: Life goes on as usual. Honestly, most of these rules just feel like something your mom would nag you about.
She offers a wagging finger with a smile.
Regulus: My mum never cared about stuff like that.
Riley: Lucky you, but that ain't the point. Anyways—
Riley: Me and my friends are planning something big.
She leans in as she says it, whispering it softly.
Riley: And if you're willing to stay at the Beetles Inn, you can get in for free.
Regulus: Hah, a sneaky sales tactic, that!
Regulus: But far be it from me to turn down an invitation to a party!
Riley: Just tell the front desk you're a friend of mine; they'll set you up with a discount.
She winks.
Regulus: Righto, but first, I've got to get Mr. APPLe upright again.
Riley: Yeah, I almost forgot about your apple friend there.
Regulus: You'll find that Mr. APPLe is a talented arcanist.
Riley: An arcanist?
Riley: You probably already gathered that the rules are pretty strict for arcanists here, and worse for arcanist pirates, I'd bet.
Riley lowers her voice, gesturing subtly to the roadside.
Though the street is noisy and chaotic, what had seemed before excited now reveals a restless depth. Their piercing gazes land on Regulus and her apple companion.
Regulus: Oi! What're you gawking at? Never seen a rock star before, eh?
Riley: Some lunatic arcanists from out of town attacked us a little while ago.
Riley shakes her head and then reveals a pistol in her hand.
Riley: They were packing something like this.
Regulus: Is that a gun!?
Riley: What's so surprising? Oh, I forgot you Brits don't see them so often.
Riley: But haha, this is just a toy.
She pulls the "trigger," releasing a burst of confetti from the barrel.
Riley: Happy holidays!
The tiny pop of the confetti gun is drowned out by the sudden lifting of the music pervading the town. As if synchronized with the music, enforcers appear and begin posting new notices.
There are arguments somewhere in the distance, but the loud hymnal-like broadcast covers up the words.
Yet, for the people around them, it seems as if this was just another ordinary day, except for the new stranger and the confetti drifting in the wind.
Riley: I mean, it's not actually a holiday or anything.
Regulus: Any old day can be a holiday if you want it to be.
Regulus: I hereby declare today to be International Pirate Rock Day!
To commemorate her interrupted journey.
Regulus: But before we start with the festivities,
Regulus: we're in need of somewhere to bunk in for the night. Mr. APPLe here is looking more and more like a Granny Smith.
Her crewmate remains motionless in her arms as they stand beneath the scorching western sun.
Riley: Right, that'll be the Beetles Inn.
Riley: Take the next right, then down the street for the length of two of those broadcast hymns—they're all the same—then knock on the glass door with the star-shaped ornament.
She relays the directions to the inn, giving the distinct impression that it will be exactly the kind of place she likes.
Riley: I need to go find my friends. But I hope I'll see you later, pal!