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He wandered for the sake of wandering – pondering if he should take up his father’s old role of constantly perusing the grounds for something, anything, to keep him occupied. There were no monsters lurking, no threats, no impending doom (except Kaos, but no one knew what to do about it – so the enigma, the mystery, the malice remained, tight against his chest and through his blackening heart), and so he was left to merely pace along the borders, staring out into the void, pretending he didn’t see the Reaper’s fading image at the edge of his vision. He didn’t want to be a ghost, a wraith, or a phantom either – he had too many things to do, too many promises to keep.
But something else stuck out against the spring valleys as well – ivory and pink and red, bubbly, buoyant, ever exuberant, and he found himself drawn towards the outline of Johnny and his companion, searching for a diversion from guilt, agony, and melancholy. The boy and his bonded, because the conniving Orsino drifted close by, strangely, eerily silent as they wove wayfaring patterns and sculpted miscreant orders, roamed towards the loud expressions and speech (something about candy?), until they were two shadows on the edge, on the fringe, the prince pasting a warm smile across his lips. “Johnny,” he beckoned, and hoped his eyes didn’t look too despondent, that the pretenses and masks flickered easily along his features, rendered them glorious and impish, just as they’d done in his restless years. His voice took on a peculiar, intrigued, curious quality, maw extended and bending down towards unknown, foreign things resting amongst the grass, yearning to understand just what the beast had conjured now. The last time he’d encountered Johnny’s creations, it’d been to assist Ode in a rather precarious position, though it seemed unlikely to repeat in this particular venture (though it didn’t stop him from chuckling, just once). “What are you up to?”
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