“Come on! Hurry up already!” The shorter of the two men that were currently leaving Tate Academy, albeit rather slowly, turned back to look at the taller with a frown. Anthony had been putting off going to the circus the entire day, claiming that fortunes and magic acts were silly, little, trivial things—but Chaucer loved the circus. He had seen a few small family ones throughout his travels in Europe and beyond—and frankly he had developed a certain fondness for the events.
There was just something about the entire atmosphere that entranced Chaucer—bringing out an almost childlike awe out of the man. It didn’t matter that he was almost 25 years old. He would always love circuses—and this one happened to have a fortune teller.
One that Anthony so begrudgingly did not want to go see.
One that Chaucer did want to go see. Fortune telling was another thing that had always fascinated Chaucer, and with both of these combined—there was no question at all in regards to whether or not Chaucer was going to the circus.
It was mandatory. And being Chaucer’s friend, it was also mandatory that Anthony come as well.
It was for this reason, that Chaucer was literally dragging the taller man with a vice-like grip down the road that lead from Tate towards the circus. They were going whether or not Anthony wanted to. When it came to circuses, Chaucer always got what he wanted.