Like any true Denoctian, he waits until nightfall to come to the beach. 

That meant it is fairly late and the sand is cooling beneath his hooves as he wanders the stalls. Many of younger children have been taken off to bed, and many of the older are wobbly with stolen wine. The breeze off the ocean is pleasantly cool, and all around the market dragons race like streams of fireworks. 

It’s the Night Court at its best, all laughter and ocean and the stars obscured by bonfire smoke. Moonlight trembles in a column on the sea. August has nowhere particular in mind, so he starts by joining a small line for drinks. 

“August,” he hears from over his shoulder. “it’s such a pleasure to see you.” When he turns, it’s into a smile vaguely reminiscent of a crocodile’s below a pair of cornflower blue eyes. The chestnut mare looks both satisfied and an expectant in a way only the lifelong wealthy could pull off. 

He knows he should say the pleasure is mine, and aren’t you looking well. She had always been a very generous patron of the Scarab (and not always willingly), and because of that he had always been extremely…complementary. Instead, he gives her a blithe smile and a slow blink of fine pale lashes. “Sirena,” he says, not reaching for the cheek she offers as though for a kiss. “It’s been a long time. Did you ever tell Henry about how you spent his inheritance?” 

As he’d hoped, her expression slips to shocked offense, and she gives him a withering look before turning to sashay down the beach. The palomino only watches her long enough to make sure she is gone before turning back, right into another set of blue eyes. His smile sharpens, turning real. “Bexley Briar. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 




@Bexley

August

I don't like a gold rush-