LostFlyingFish



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    “We don’t eat children,” Ghost finally mutters, because it’s annoying him, and his shoulders ache, and he can’t believe that rumor actually got any traction. Why would dragons eat children? They’re hardly more than a mouthful.

    To his surprise, Soap laughs. “I ken,” he replies, grinning when Ghost turns to look at him. “And ye don’t keep virgins for a hundred years to ripen ‘em up, and ya don’t even hoard all that badly. I’m no’ daft.”

    “Could’a fooled me,” Ghost mutters.

    “Ye attacked me in the dead of night when I was asleep, used yer fuckin’ dark magic on me,” Soap snaps. “In a fair fight I’da won.”

    Ghost snorts again, ashy and hot behind his mask. “Unlikely.”

    “Take off these bonds and we’ll see then, eh?”

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    The thing about best friends in a small town is that you don’t get to choose. Instead, you get exactly the person you need. It goes that way with Arthur and Eames. Maybe it’s because both of them aren’t made for small town life, not at all, and so instead of growing to fit the town, they grow to fit together.

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