[AW] kindling in my soul;

[Acton]

Acton these violent delights have violent ends Her steps were soft even on the stones, the sound of them covered by distant thunder. Even the scent of her was muted by the thick humidity, the pungent smell of ozone. He did not notice the sugar-and-spice of her (tempered by burning, by the darker smell of herbs) until she was beside him, until she spoke. He jerked in surprise, the motion quick as lightning across his skin, and tried to cover it up with a derisive snort, a toss of his proud head. As quickly as he scanned a potential mark he flicked his gaze over her, the freckled, dusky skin, the hair the color of fire first lit. Acton did not try to hide his smile. Ah, Mila. Beautiful and deadly, like most everything he liked. “I’ve been bored,” he answered her, eyes turned back to the horizon, dark pupils reflecting the lightning that flashed and threatened and worked its way ever nearer. What he said was the truth, but not the whole truth. What he meant was Ever since Reichenbach was made king things have been different. And I don’t like Raum being gone or being in Day alone. And maybe, most of all - I want a war. But he gave voice to none of them. She might know, anyway; she knew him about as well as anybody, save maybe their silver Ghost. At last he turned to her, his grin a fearsome thing, the same feverish, waiting energy as the storm rolling off his skin. He looked half-mad, which was to say, he looked himself. “That’s exactly why I’m up here,” he said, answering her earlier statement out of order. “One has to keep up appearances.” His expression turned briefly inward, some private joke (or maybe secret), but then it cleared again and he leaned companionably against her. The buckskin wondered if she felt as kinetic as he did; she always seemed so measured, at least by Crow standards. When she lashed out, it was never accidental. His gaze followed hers back to the dark front as another groan of thunder rolled toward them, this one closer. Almost close enough to feel in his chest, his bones. “But reckless isn’t my first word for you - what brings you up here?” Beneath that question was an echo of her earlier one - his own way of asking how have you been?   @Lavinia @Mila