A story, because I have four minutes left to break and I am sick of not writing

There's a long tail there, somewhere under all the heavy clothes, layered and strange and patched, but he's not sure where anymore. Hell, maybe it's been cut off. It has, after all, been a good ten years since they've met. Not that Adrian looks any older, not a single day. He's used to it, though, and greets his long-time enemy, longer-time friend, and everlasting rival with a hug.

"Hey there, old man," the ringmaster says with a laugh. "How's the sticks treatin' ya?"

Harold shrugs, falling into step alongside the sweeping tailcoat-- he never could keep up with Adrian's strides, and long since stopped trying-- and thinks a moment. "They're the same as ever, really. Calm, peaceful, and not a screaming baby to be seen for miles."

"Yeah, but where there's cotton candy, there's bound to be screaming kids. I just don't get how you give up the former."

Giving him a dark look, Harold snaps his fingers. "Like that. Exactly like that, except more quietly." He doesn't comment on the word choice, though he knows Adrian remembers all their old code words, euphemisms, and the like. Those are the kinds of things you don't forget.

Another thing you don't forget, the painted door, the gold stars all along the edge, and every message carved into it by long-time acquaintances and longer-time enemies.

...back to work for me! :D