Getting use to the Cirque was taking time, Duncan was not use to being quite so idle. He was use to moving and traveling constantly. Looking for the next great adventure and helping to lend a hand in the making and destruction of wars. Spare time was not something that he revealed in. He found it boring, as was entertaining those beneath him. But there was a goal. He just needed to bide his time for that to come to fruition.
Practicing throwing knives was not needed, not for the same reason that others would practice anyway. Duncan was more than skilled with the knives, and rather deadly with any pointed weapon. But it was somewhat cathartic to throw the knives at a board and picture them sinking into the flesh of the one he desired to destroy. Even if he was not as close to that outcome as he had hoped to be just yet.
At the sound of a voice, Duncan's head turned as the knife left his hand. He spotted a face from his past, leaning against a pole with the same goofy grin that it possessed those many hundreds of years ago. As the knife sunk into the board with a thud, Duncan's lips turned up into a smile. His body already in motion, taking him closer to the fae. "Aye a cat perhaps, but what beastie happened upon your body to get ye here?"