[AW] little ghost, so forgotten and small

[Acton]

Acton whatever you feed me I'll feed you right back   It had been a long time since he’d heard his name spoken like that – no inflection of knowing, whether humor or anger or long-suffering distaste. On her tongue his name sounded new, and he liked it, the same way he liked how she pressed her nose against his skin as if he was trustworthy. The liking made something deep inside him twist. He if were better at self-reflection – if he were given to it at all – he might call it worry, or maybe shame. But he is not. Instead he grinned, and leaned into her brief touch, and inhaled all the wild scents of the night market, smoke and spice and perfume that always tasted old (like home) and new (like trouble) all at once. He was not sorry when she bumped into him, and he did not feel guilty for the way his gaze sought hers even as her eyes danced away. Acton was too bold himself to let her seek out the shadows: they were only for hiding when you were on the hunt. The girl’s answer sounded honest enough, when it came, and he did not find it so strange. Acton cocked a hoof in the semi-darkness and considered her. “I see,” he said, and though there was a dark edge to it, it was not a lie. He remembered running. He remembered not knowing if anyone was coming after him – he remembered wondering if they were, long after the smell of smoke had faded from his coat and the ghost of it was gone from his nostrils. Long after he stopped seeing flames when he closed his eyes. They were not things he enjoyed remembering. Maybe that is why he bared his teeth at the idea that he should forget her; maybe that is why his amber eyes flashed bright in the dark mask of his face. It was not directed at her, and the black look faded quickly; Acton leaned forward, neck arched, and breathed a warm breath onto her cheek. Here was another thing he liked: she did not smell perfumed like the rest of them, sweet and soft and sly. “Not even my friends get to tell me what to do,” he said in her ear, and then he pulled away, the grin re-conjured, and turned back to the market. There was no fear in him, no matter the black seawater beneath her words; he was too careless, too arrogant to be afraid. He looked back only at her question, and he tried to think nothing of the flicker in her eyes blue as chips of sea-glass. “I know this city as well as myself,” he said as the night breeze kissed his cheek, his shoulder, and ran its fingers through his hair. “And it knows me. If anyone touched you they would pay in blood.” It was not quite an answer for the question she had asked, but Acton didn’t mind. He only rolled his shoulder in a shrug and added, “Stay here.” He didn’t think she’d run in the brief time his back was turned – not when he was coming back with food. For the moment, at least, she’d looked more hungry than scared.   @Isra <3