[P] o sinnerman;

[Acton]

Acton these violent delights have violent ends The idea of their Ghost living in a court of sand and sun where the heat leaned on you and there were few shadows to speak of was as perversely pleasing to Acton as the idea of a clandestine meeting on the gods’ mountain. There was no world where Raum could be comfortable in Day, and it wasn’t that the buckskin enjoyed the idea of his discomfort – But he found it funny nonetheless. He does nothing to hide that amusement, his smile sharp as Raum’s conspicuously missing dagger as his brother-in-arms drew near. “You smell awful,” he said companionably, “and you don’t look much better.” He punctuated the statement by dragging his livewire gaze over the silver’s body, which looked rather like he’d been buried in a tomb along with a couple of pharaohs. How did one acquire so much dust in so little time?   Acton made no move to step out of the way of the quicksilver man as he moved past, and turned his head to watch as Raum stepped to the night-goddess’s altar, snorting at the comment about the crow. “Next time I’ll send a buzzard,” he answered, “if you think it would fit Solis better.” He has to force himself into silence for the duration of Raum’s prayer, though he can’t resist the urge to sigh. His lips are quick to quirk back into that dangerous smile as the other Crow turned back to him, and he doesn’t flinch before the weight of that drowned-sea gaze. It is not difficult to remember that Raum is a year older – it’s surprising, in fact, how few years lie between them. The Ghost had always struck Acton as a wizened ancient in a younger man’s body, and Acton, for his part, was as volatile as a boy clamoring for his first battle. He ran his tongue across his teeth and answered, “I expect that is why old King Crow elected not to send me.” The vision danced, tantalizing, across his imagination: Acton blowing the whole of Solis to the ground, smoke billowing, the castle groaning like thunder as it collapsed. It wasn’t as though they didn’t deserve it. The buckskin flicked an ear at being dragged back to the present, his gaze turning stormy at the silver man’s words. “I kneel before no one,” he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically hard. Luckily they were not here to debate theology. At Raum’s question Acton shifted his weight, stretching out his neck and rolling his shoulders, casting a lazy eye around them to ensure they were still alone. It was as though the moment before had never happened. “Oh, only the usual,” he answered, “except all the women are weeping in the streets with you gone. It’s all sackcloth and ashes.” He grinned at the lie; no female (and half the males) in Denocte could seem to see past Reichenbach, and Acton had no idea of Raum’s preferences, anyway – such a good Ghost he was. But he could not resist goading him. “But you’re the one in the viper-pit. So let’s hear of the snakes.” @Raum