It was, with heavy heart, that Celsus, Squire of Chronos, was forced to accept the inevitable:

His boots had heels on them.

He had tried to ignore this fact. Had tried to push away the very obvious detail, had tried to deny it, to pretend that it didn't exist, but now that it had been mentioned to him, it was difficult to think otherwise.

Running in heels was not very easy.

It was not as if they were even that high, but Celsus did not particularly care for them anyway. And he knew quite well what a ridiculously trivial little quirk this was, especially considering that he quite enjoyed the rest of his Squire outfit, but the heels of this uniform made him a bit self conscious.

But only a bit.

Then he decided he just needed to get over it already and proceeded about his daily routine as though he had not just had this very silly internal conversation with himself.

Nearing midnight, Celsus was patrolling along the far end of the City, his hands stuck into the pockets of his tan trousers, apparently very at ease with himself, despite the fact that he was on the lookout for any sort of danger or trouble.

He probably should have been more careful - or, at the very least, look as if he cared - but though outwardly he might have just been strolling along casually, Celsus' eyes were cautiously sweeping around the area, looking for any signs of disturbance.

He was not sure if the subtle tingling sensation was a power signature, but it felt as though it could potentially be one, a bit further down...