There came a point, with his new and gnawing worry, where the press and noise of the castle became too much for Acton. 

This was a new and foreboding development in his character. Normally he thrived in the center of the chaos (thrived even moreso as the cause of it), loved the limelight like a moth loved the flame. The chaos of a good party - and this was setting up to be a good one - was usually his ambrosia. 

But tonight, with the Ghost still heavy on his mind, he slipped out the castle doors and welcomed the dark of the night, its cooler touch on his burning skin. He followed his feet to the Marketplace, his favorite haunt, returned to its former glory. Not even this bought him full solace; the buckskin kept expecting to see a flicker of silver beyond each tent-flap, eyes like blue ice just on the other side of each crowd. 

Luckily for all parties it was not Raum he eventually spotted, but Pavetta. 

With a last glance around (not wary, he hoped, so much as cunning the way a fox must be cunning) he cut across the crowd toward her, navigating the stream of people with the ease of familiarity. 

She looked resplendent, as she always did, even when he wasn’t already three sheets to the wind. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he told her as he reached her, but of course he didn’t mean it. It didn’t take his gunpowder grin or the way he pressed his shoulder against hers as he stepped alongside to see that. 

Maybe the third time would be the charm, and this time he could finish the night without spilling embarrassing secrets or winding up with a particularly nasty hangover. 

But Acton wouldn’t count on it. 

 

@Pavetta