[P] the patron saint of liars and fakes;

[Acton]

Acton these violent delights have violent ends He did not bother responding to the silver Ghost’s first words, save with a sardonic flash of his gaze and a twist of one ear. He was here, and that was answer enough; his attention returned to the entrance, where a little light bled through and pooled on the stone. This was not the Acton of the mountaintop, when last they had spoken, trading jests and something more casually, curiously cruel. Sometimes the pair of them were more like cats than crows: circling one another, purrs and warning murmurs, a breath away from a flash of claws. Acton loved Raum (loved, of course, all the Crows) - would likely die for him without much thought - but he loved himself first and best, and he had never been taught to be kind. Now, here, he was something different: something harder that possessed a stillness most would think the buckskin was incapable of. Inside he was a broken circuit, blood sparking and nerves humming, the wiring so close to calamity; outside, where the cave air was almost clammy on his hot orange skin, he was still as a sunning snake. Even as Raum continued to speak the stallion’s attention remained on the canyon outside. He felt like he was waiting and didn’t know what for. Too tightly wound, poised to spring with no prey but shadows. Finally he turned away, faced the silver-smoke stallion. Raum's eyes were very blue in the semi-darkness, a piece of the sky outside. “If she is as sensible as you say she will do what she can to diminish them,” he said, his tone reluctant. A pause, a breath, and then it sharpened, softened, his voice like a shadow itself. “What I wonder is if we should strike first. Strike now.” His gaze burned on Raum’s face; he did not need to explain why or how. The way, to him, was clear. When he drew in a breath, at first it tasted of blood. But it was only the dank minerals of the cave, eons of workings hidden away from the searching sun, and as he waited for the Ghost’s response he blew out through his teeth and then in again, drawn strangely to the scent-taste of this place. But there was something else riding the slow dark air — another ghost, this one of a girl he’d met. A girl they’d spoken of before. Surely it was nothing; some trace on Raum’s skin. But Acton cut his gaze to his brother’s, felt adrenaline and dread with each hurrying heartbeat. “Listen,” he hissed, and held his breath. But he felt the smile creep across his dark mouth, and welcomed the little sigh of pleasure his subconscious seemed to give. He should have hoped he was wrong. For the sake of them all - Raum, and the Crows, and all the Night Court to their king himself. He could not. @Raum @Bexley <3333