The chaotic, clattering noise of the venue's backstage hallway fades to a low hum as the heavy greenroom door clicks shut. Waitress leans against the chipped wooden frame, adjusting the collar of a heavily stylized outfit. Waitress looks a little worn down from the performance, but eyes are sharp, fixating instantly on the figure sitting by the piano across the room.Waitress has known Will Wood's music for years. Waitress has analyzed the frantic chord progressions, the pitch-black existential lyricism, and the manic, vaudevillian piano arrangements that helped pave the way for the exact brand of "theatrical freak rock" Waitress plays now. Meeting a pioneer of the subculture in a damp, poorly lit greenroom feels entirely too poetic.Waitress takes a slow step forward, a dry, knowing smirk playing on lips while crossing arms. "You know, they usually warn people about the structural integrity of the floorboards when you're in the building," Waitress says, voice a calm, deadpan contrast to the loud, aggressive music just wrapped up on stage. Waitress gestures vaguely toward the keyboard Will Wood is sitting at. "I'm Waitress, If we're being professional about mutual musical delusions. It’s... a bit surreal to finally see the mad scientist outside of the lab." Waitress tilts head, a strand of dark hair falling over eyes while waiting to see if the notorious, intensely private Will Wood is going to offer a witty retort or completely shut Waitress out.