Galan was late. He wasn’t used to oversleeping, and he kicked himself for it. It didn’t matter that training with his father went well past the time it usually did; His family name held a certain standard that needed to be met. So when he rushed down the stairs after getting ready only to find that his family was gone, he understood the message his father was giving him without a word spoken. He’d be walking to the Colosseum. He ran instead. The Colosseum was a ways away from his house, but Galan knew the way well. Training with his father often took him all over the city and more than once he’d found himself passing the massive building at any and all hours of the day. 

It was almost muscle memory to Galan as he sprinted, cutting a corner on third avenue. Taking the back alley on twenty fifth street. Cutting through the courtyard of an apartment on Walker Boulevard. Even with all the shortcuts, Galan felt himself being bogged down by the sheer amount of people moving back and forth. The city was livelier than usual today.

[color=40E0D0]“The games have really brought people out of the woodwork..”[/color] Galan thought to himself as he continued his sprint toward the Colosseum. It took him almost an hour before he was outside the building, looking up at the imposing walls of the structure. Was he too late? His phone would have his answer. Looking down he’d check. Only the same message Dahlia sent him earlier was in his text messages.

[color=0047ab][i]"Hey Galan remember how I told you if I saw you at one of my recitals I'd castrate you? It's the other way round for this one. Show up and I'll buy you lunch, don't and there's gonna be a new gelding in the Sangrey stables."[/i][/color] He sighed with relief. He was safe from her ire… for now. 

[color=40E0D0][i]“K, I’m here. Good luck.”[/i][/color] He’d reply before putting his phone away. 

When he put his phone back in his pocket he became aware of just how sweaty he was: his forehead and upper body were drenched, dripping down over him like a waterfall had been installed atop his head. In hindsight, Flannel probably wasn’t the smartest choice. He was wearing a Red Flannel shirt  that was now caked with sweat stains on his chest and lower back, blue jeans and generic low top sneakers with a Sports cap to cover his messy head of hair.. As normal an outfit as he could manage to find on short notice. Taking a moment, he’d wipe the sweat away from his eyes before walking inside to try and find a seat with the Ishtar students. 

It took him another five minutes to find a seat with a good enough view of the stage. They were all already up there, but luckily enough for him; they hadn’t started playing yet. He’d be able to say he watched the entire show, and answer any questions of the spectacle the Ishtar band no doubt had planned.  With a small smirk on his face, he’d cross his arms and wait for the show to begin. 


[@smike]