[P] I want your money but your money ain't right;

[Acton]

Acton these violent delights have violent ends   At the same time she was taking him in and finding him wanting, Acton was running a practiced eye over her. The mare was nothing if not striking; it was difficult for the eye to find a place to linger. From the iron band around her neck to the pale markings that striped it and her legs to her most unusual eyes – one gold as day, one bluer than any sea he’d seen – she was impossible to ignore. And he knew who she was. Raum’s rundown on the hierarchy of Solterra had been brief, but like everything the Ghost did it had been more than adequate. Seraphina, the Day Court emissary. She’s no fool. No; she did not look like one. Everything about this scene was different than when he’d last met a Day Court mare – hot sun, not cool and whispering night; trapped between red canyon walls instead of open plains that smelled of woodsmoke; himself the interloper and not the suspicious native. But the biggest difference of all might have been the mares themselves. Probably that was a good thing. Probably. His dark ears flicked forward at her question, and though he held her gaze he eased his own stance, making his shoulders and hips loose, unthreatening. It did not take much; he only bore one scar (not earned from a fight), and he had always been more dancer than brawler. Physical combat was not his preference, and certainly not here, not now. It was difficult, but he kept every ounce of arrogance out of his voice. Everything from his tone to his posture gave the picture of spread arms, hands open and palm-up. I come in peace. “I came to speak with Rhoswen. Raglan would have been the more obvious choice, true, but our Silvertongue just gets so tongue-tied around Rhos. He can barely get out ‘hello.’” Acton smiled, the curve of his lips not really a lie; their youthful messenger did have an awful crush on Rhoswen, gods help him. Finally he broke eye contact, long enough to duck his head in greeting. Nothing showy, just a nod – but Acton’s restraint could only last so long. When he met those eyes again (eyes he found utterly fascinating, and just a little unnerving), there was a glimmer of wickedness in his own. “Speaking of – hello. I’m Acton, indeed of the Night Court. I assumed we were still welcome here – or is that only bound and drugged?” It seemed impossible that the canyon could be so silent, but Acton had always done his best living (and made his worst decisions, the other side of the same burnished coin) while the rest of the world held its breath. @Seraphina