The scene was a familiar one to Acton, but that didn’t mean he loved it any less.
He was fully at home here amid the spiraling smoke, the drums that beat steady or frantic like the echo of his own heart, the shine of eyes, the shine of coins. Everything here was enhanced, a dream that never ended: that was the charm of the Night Court. A smile, a wink, the stars as a crown; it was a world made for wishes and oh, how Acton loved the illusion.
Because of course that’s what it was. As many dreamers as the night markets drew, there were no shortage of them that woke late the next morning with dully throbbing heads and lighter pockets. Not all of their coin had been taken honestly; the Crows knew that better than anyone. Acton knew that Denocte was chock full of both magic – and marks.
Tonight, though, he had no plans for Crow business (other than drinking and carousing, but that was always a given for him). After his recent activities, even Reich thought it best the buckskin lay lower than usual, and so tonight he only wandered, winding his way through the chaotic throng.
It’s a woman who looked a little like smoke herself that caught his eye, firelight and moonlight glancing off her silver horn as she stood at a perfume vendor’s stall. She was a stranger, and maybe that’s what interested him most; on a whim he cut toward her through the crowd, the rich deep floral scent of lavender meeting him as he arrived in time to overhear her conversation.
“You owe him nothing,” he said, and sent a silver coin spinning in an arc to the merchant, who accepted it with a grin and turned his attention demurely away. Acton winked in return, then settled his attention full on the unicorn, from the glitter of the perfume like starshine on her throat to the echoing glimmer of her eyes. His smile was just a hint of a thing, the sly sliver of moon behind a cloud. “As a Denoctian, I appreciate your support of our vendors. For my payment, on the other hand – how about your name?”
@Pavetta
these violent delights have violent ends
