It is quite likely that the actual Spartans would have laughed at this particular one (http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/ii162/in_arkham_ego/61159.jpg), as he is noticeably more trim than their regimen would necessitate. But that doesn't bother Evan; he'd probably go shirtless all the time if weather and circumstance allowed, he doesn't mind showing a little leg, and he also has his wand tucked neatly into the hilt and blade of his fake sword. The helmet has already come off, though. He needs to see and more importantly, he needs people to see him.

The masks and the surroundings merit some attention, but Evan is mostly enthralled by the people. Why is everyone hot as fuck. It's pleasantly ridiculous. He drifts over to Aimery in a lean, nonchalant manner designed to command attention without demanding it, and offers him a fine white envelope, sealed without any marking.

"For the man of the hour," he says, mock-grandly. It contains nothing but an absolutely filthy limerick, written in lovely script but definitely anonymous.