with @aidonecs at the ampitheatre
victory is an aphrodisiac whose taste lingers on his tongue for far too long. he feels light and heaven-sent, glory-crowned even with just one victory. his mind bids him caution, lest an overeager pride come before the fall; but what else can he feel aside from elation at this, his first taste of satisfaction in what seemed like too long a time ? there will be time for training and for making preparations. for now, he is looking for a way to celebrate: taverns can be ever so crude and common, the cottina too base, but art of a higher sort might prove his soul’s solace—and what better way to cap off a victory than watching men play pretend for a little bit of time ?
it is alone that he sojourns into the amphitheatre, packed as it is by people of varying sorts and ages. in the crowd, he almost dissolves, anonymous and indistinct. perhaps he should be thankful there were no laurel leaves for him to be crowned, because he’s thinking he quite likes the idea of being unrecognised, of hiding in plain sight.
he turns his head to the man besides him—and what a curious thing, because he finds himself once more meeting that man he met in the agora. how strange to meet the same man twice over in a city so densely populated by the world twice over ! coincidences like this rarely happen, and theseus isn’t one to back away from such twists of fate. ❛ oh, hello again, ❜ he says, voice pleasant. ❛ i didn’t know you were such a patron of the arts—or else i might have asked you for a drink after we met, if only because it seems we might have much in common. ❜
