What, the sight of so many of them doesn't just fill you with the nostalgic urge to punch one in the throat?

[Dante's smile is something close to a grimace as the next clown gets to the stage, gaudy costume jingling with the addition of a collar of bells around their neck. The clown's a traditional harlequin, the diamond patches of their costume each boasting different colors in a rainbow of shades. Still, the silhouette is eerily close to that of their shared adversary from years before. He accepts the offered glass of wine from his brother with a nod of thanks before he takes a sip. He's no wine connoisseur but this stuff's okay, fruity and rich with smoky notes. He swirls the wine around his glass, admiring the legs on it as he speaks to his brother without speaking.]

At least none of them have started raving about dear ol' dad yet.