He came down wearing his favourite face.
He’d taken the nose from an artist back during the renaissance, but if he was honest he couldn’t remember if it had been the artist’s nose or one from a painting. Little details like that tended to get somewhat muddled.
He took his seat, the same one he’d taken since long before his nose or even the ear-lobes from that Celtic King. It was his amphitheatre and after a few hundred years of trial and error he’d found the perfect spot.
Now he just had to wait for the tourists to arrive and the show to begin.