The twilight sun set, and the stars had just appeared in the sky that was still a pale blue, not yet turned dark.
Arthur and Eld stood at the entrance of the Royal Theater on Drury Lane in West London, surrounded by elegantly dressed upper-class gentlemen and ladies of distinction.
The constant flow of carriages blocked the road so firmly that Arthur and Eld were stuck amid the wide skirts of charming ladies, the air permeated with the sting of perfume.
Back to back, they shifted outward little by little, advancing two steps and retreating one, occasionally turning their heads to check their surroundings to avoid being pushed back by the insane crowd, resembling dancers performing the Flamenco.
Their odd behavior, combined with their ordinary attire, occasionally drew disdainful looks from the surrounding servants.
Arthur cursed, "Eld, what's with today? Was it always this congested here before?"
Eld was also frustrated, his feet screeched from the ladies' high heels.