In the end, Anemos had attended the Prince’s arrival, not out choice, but because Grout had [i]insisted[/i] upon it. [i]”What if he recognises you, pal? Invite him to the show!” “Get off of me, you greedy old reptile! He won’t recognise [b]me[/b], I was ten!” “Take your old man along with you, then!” “He won’t-” “Go!” “What about practi-” “[b]Go![/b]”[/i] But, despite having been forced to attend, he was somewhat happy to be there. His pessimism towards the Prince’s return had steadily dissipated as the morning had passed him by, replaced instead by some insoluble excitement. Perhaps he was just eager to get out of practice- which, admittedly, wasn’t a healthy attitude for a performer to have- And, of course, he was always grateful to get a few moments alone with his father. It was a leisure that’d grown increasingly rare over the years: The man often buried himself in his work these days. Arichias Seuhans was an admirable competitor, when it came to growing old with grace. He still maintained an impressive stature of 6’1- Although, it’s rumoured he was even taller in his youth- and even at the age of 60, there wasn’t hide nor hair of a hump on his back, nor a hunch in his step. His hair- unlike his sons- was respectably short, tightly curled, and had only just begun to lose its pigment, meaning its fair brown hue threatened now to transition into a platinum blonde. Even his skin, sun-kissed and dark, retained its youth, and shine. He might even have been able to pass for his mid-40s, if the features of his face didn’t betray him: And that was not to say it was plagued with flaws and wrinkles. No, his pale green eyes were what betrayed his six decades: Light pools, in which lingered every joy and regret. His lips, too, carried the faint signs of age in the lines that flanked their sides, the ghosts of laughter and of pensive frowning. He and Anemos had taken a position towards the back of the crowd, but it was of little inconvenience to the pair of them, considering their substantial heights. “Hell of a turn out, huh, Dad?”, Anemos asked, bouncing very lightly on the balls of his feet like a child, anticipating a treat. “Hm.” “Huh? Something wrong?” “No, I’m sorry. I was… lost, in thought.” “What’s on your mind?” “Work.” “Work’s always on your mind, cut loose for a change! Forget about The Rock for a half hour, won’t you?” The elder of the two fell silent for a moment, and sighed softly. “You take after your mother,” he observed. “Well, I definitely didn’t get my looks from [i]you[/i],” Anemos replied, chuckling. “True enough…” Arichias concurred, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “If you had, you wouldn’t have to wear that mask,” he grinned wryly: Anemos scowled. “Come on,” Arichias coaxed with a chuckle that was frightfully reminiscent of Anemos’, “Looks like you didn’t inherit my sense of humour.” “I did,” Anemos assured him, with a playfully indignant folding of the arms, “That’s the problem.” The two bantered back and forth for a little while more, before the steadily increasing roar of the crowd pushed them into silence. The moment had come at last, as the Prince rode proudly into through the walls of Clock Town, preceded and succeeded by the likes of his elaborately dressed royal procession. Of course, the crowds exploded into riotous applause: This was the man who’d contributed nothing to this land but the shadow of his citadel, but by the thundering of their hands you’d have thought he was the people’s [i]king.[/i] The citizens of Clock Town were enthralled by the Ikana assembly- how couldn’t they be?- all, or so it seemed to him, except Anemos Laying his eyes upon their lustrous cuirasses, and- quite honestly- convoluted headsets, he found himself overtaken by a nauseating sensation of dawning realisation. Before him stood a life he could’ve lived: All he ever was, all he is, and all he could have been. Knights, gallant and legendary, favoured by the roars of the crowd, and blessed by their decision to remain inside of Ikana’s walls. This was it. These were his worlds- his reality, and his wildest dreams- colliding. And it was… [i]Ridiculous.[/i] Although it was inaudible above all of the applause, and cheering, he couldn’t help but laugh and chortle, as he was swept by a sudden sensation of self-reassurance. These knights were no more than he: They dressed in fancy garb, played a role, and nothing more! What made them different, save for the circumstances of their alliance? Anemos, too, had heard the crowds call this way: Except, he was never stationary. He’d [i]earned[/i] those applause. [i]They[/i] had done [i]nothing[/i] for two decades, and their fanfare would be, he hoped, short-lived. They both wore ostentatious garb, as well, although Anemos’ was intended to spellbind the audience, whereas the knights simply wore theirs to assure the citizens that they were a higher class of man than them. And did they not both undo the wicked? No. They had done nothing: That had been Orca’s job. “Knights!”, he chuckled, “Do you see these men, dad? At least we have the common decency to [i]admit[/i] we’re performers! Right? … Dad?” Anemos turned his head to his left, to find his father absent from his side, and instead stalking away, towards the alleys and away from the Prince’s welcoming party. “Hey, Dad! Wait up!” Anemos called, before pursuing him.