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+---- Thread: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night (/showthread.php?tid=12472)
Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Colt - 02-03-2026
The doors of the house swing shut behind her, closing out the early afternoon and all its heat. She pulls down the bandana from her face and tugs her sunglasses free, folding them down between a boot and pantleg. Dust crinkles the portions of her skin that had been free to the wind, as liable to be parched earth as ashy remnants from the near constant fires it seems. It coats a thin layer of her tank top and darkens her arms more than the tan or long days already does. It's a film across her chaps, which she unhooks and hangs on the coatrack by the door, along with her bow and quiver of arrows, leaving a crisp set of blue jean shorts and a line of legs that don't match the color of her arms even slightly. She resettles the gift basket in one hand to the crook of her elbow, arm folding to keep it steady now that she's shucked off the worst of her wear. Kicking her boots together with a jingle of metal and a plume of travel and summer's breath, she steps inside further.
There's a weariness to her that's only due in part to the relentless quality of the season that saps strength and willpower alike, although it's easy enough to blame the sun, or the job. It only leaks out in small ways, overall still stepping through life as if there's nothing amiss to this dance she's got memorized, practice turning habit like rhythm is something she needs only mimic rather than feel. In truth, she carries a new edge, born of a fresh layer of protection that time might see about wearing down eventually, though she's trying not to let it this go around. It keeps her from smiling as easy or as full as she used to, the same way light can only reach so far before it gets lost. She's no longer drowning, but she moves like she's still waterlogged, having retreated just below the surface where she means to stay, lest she forget again how thin the line between breathing air and water is.
It only takes a short scan of the room to spot Thorn at one of the little tables off the bar, likely fresh to his day. She came here after feeding everyone and letting the dawnlight wear itself out to a full set of blue and yellow, figuring he slept in later than her and wouldn't be on the clock this early yet. [say]"Thorn!"[/say] she greets with a wave, some of that shine breaking out just for him, because he's one of the ones she can still get a sense of a real beat to, not just the sentiments of one. [say]"I'm so glad I caught you,"[/say] she confesses as she sidles up to his table, plopping the wicker basket and its good down without ceremony. [say]"I didn't want to leave a note, so I could surprise you."[/say]
Quest req: complete a thread drawing blood (her own or someone else's) with an arrow sharpened by the Pencil Sharpener, applying the blood to the quiver.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Hawthorn - 02-09-2026
Because he’s working and the fact it’s Longheat and at least 8000 degrees outside, Thorn is dressed more scantily than he typically was. Decked out in all of his jewelry – glinting chains of metal strung around his neck and glints from his ears, his fingers just as shiny where they pluck a mocktail from the counter as he’s aptly giving the bartender shit (as he always does, it’s his tradition, after all). The shirt he wears is hardly that, a thin and sheer netting that has holes all throughout it, leaving all of his tattoos on display.
From where he stands when Colt walks in, it’s to his back where she can see the full spread of his tattoos – the ones that wrap around his wrists in thorny vines that trail up his arms and the back of them, trailing down his sides to spread out across his hips – a floral spark of a tramp stamp dazzling his lower back.
When he hears his name called, he turns immediately mid conversation and a sly smirk on his face to see Colt’s arrival, immediately brightening with seeing her. “[say]Colt![/say]” He chimes, looking back at the bartender and sticking his tongue out at him, he leans against the countertop of the bar on one elbow as she approaches, his gaze focused on the wicker basket. “[say]Are we goin’ on a picnic?[/say]” He asks her, his jeweled fingers reaching out to poke at the basket with clear almost childhood impatience. His seafoam gaze flits up to her, his lashes darkened by a bit of kohl and glittering with excitement, confusion, and curiosity.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Colt - 02-10-2026
The easy return of his greeting, bright and inviting as always, is a sunbeam breaking through clouds she's gotten so used to that she didn't realize she's been squinting through the gloom. It softens the edges of her smile, a place that's grown too sharp as of late, even if her requests to Frey have asked for even more. His tattoos ripple a bit with the movement of his turn, ink sliding beneath the veil of fabric, and she's instantly breathing with fresh relief as she nears him.
Leaning onto her elbows beside the basket, palms claiming her head with a casual tilt as the happiness leaks from her in a small laugh, she slides the gift basket towards him. [say]"No picnic, although that would have been a good idea,"[/say] she laments with a sigh. Despite everything, the gaze that finds him is a cautious one, and despite the joy plain on her face, her expression stays small, all the posture of a dog apologizing for barking out of turn. [Say]"An apology basket for you,"[/say] she clarifies. [say]"Although I have a new apology to go with it, because it shouldn't've taken so long. First, you were gone doing that construction in Stormbreak, then I had the rodeo to announce all over Caido, and prepping for it, so many fires breaking out, and..."[/say] she trails off quietly, biting at her bottom lip and drumming a row of fingers once against her cheek. [Say]"Anyway, the longer it took and the further I traveled, the more good shit I got you, so."[/say] she gestures for him to open it, as it were, watching with an impatience that's more familiar than she'd own up to.
She can't help but lean in with a dependency for his approval. Much as she'd like to pretend her skin's thick enough not to let slights bury in her, she gets a bit tired of playing at imagination instead of reality all the time. [Say]"You put up with all my bullshit, and I'm not always the best. I know I ask a lot, and I don't always say thank you, and I just, well—you deserved a proper apology and gratitude, Thorn."[/say] She explains in a rush. It's a bit of a bribe, to stay, to try and ignore the parts of her she knows are shitty and hard to deal with. It all seems fine now, sure, but the ground has seemed steady before and still given way. Enough times of it happening and she can't look anywhere but at herself and wonder if she's the reason she always finds herself alone.
The gift basket contains the following: a cigarette pack and gummy edibles from SB (acquired pre-city collapse), matches that light in different colors and glitter-infused eyeliner from HG, several rums and a shirt with more holes than fabric from TL, artisanal meats and cheeses from Halo, stationery with Thorn's name embossed in gold and made out of pressed hawthorn leaves from the GW, and homemade red velvet cupcakes.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Hawthorn - 02-12-2026
He very nearly deflates with playful dramatics as she tells him it isn’t for a picnic, but before he has a chance to lament fully, he notes the way her gaze has shifted – sharpened, honed itself into something that’s almost raw and very real. It’s enough that it has whatever dramatic comment on the tip of his tongue dying as the answer comes.
Thorn straightens, his gaze dropping to the basket as he realizes it’s an apology basket, and as she continues he finds warmth replacing the spaces in his chest that had felt a little too cold and thorny. “[say]Oooh.[/say]” He hums, because yeah it had been a while. And a lot of fuckin’ good the Stormbreak construction did for it to fall anyway, but he keeps those thoughts to himself as he begins to unfurl the ties on the basket to reveal the interior, brows lifting curiously.
“[say]Oy,[/say]” he starts off, having not delved too far into the basket just yet to take in the woman across from him with a softness that blooms in his face. “[say]I wasn’t expectin’ ya to do a real apology basket.[/say]” He shakes his head lightly, his earrings dancing with the movement. “[say]This’s real nice, though.[/say]” He hasn’t seen it all, though, so he starts to flit through the items within, warmth settling in his face and clear happiness glinting across his face to spy all of the perfect things she’s added in. The cigarettes, the gummies, the fun glitter and color changing matches, alcohol, plenty of shirts to fit his usual style, the stationary despite how he’s fairly certain he’s only sent like four letters in his entire life. But it’s perfect and thoughtful and it tightens his throat for a moment, enough that he stubbornly stares down at it and plucks up the gummies. “[say]Next time y’piss me off I’ll just chew on this, huh?[/say]” The joke falls flat, his voice hoarse as he forces himself to look back up at her.
He crosses the distance to wrap her in a tight hug, pressing himself against her as he hugs her and presses his cheek to her own. “[say]Thank you. You’re a good friend, even if I know ya think ya ain’t.[/say]” He whispers to her, just so she can hear it, before he withdraws and flashes her a bright, genuinely happy smile.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Colt - 02-12-2026
His delight is nearly tangible, and she lifts her head from her hands, as if freeing them to reach out an grab it. Instead, her smile settles, posture easing into something that better resembles a smidge of her usual confidence. [say]"Well, gotta keep ya on your toes,"[/say] she shoots back with a smirk, as if this gesture is no more than a gotcha and not the careful assembly of so many of her recent doubts. The compliment he provides lands, but she can't even pretend to be comfortable enough to claim it, and instead peers in over the wicker as if also curious about what's inside. Truthfully, some of it was packed long enough ago she can't remember every little detail.
He rifles through it like a kid on Christmas morning, and it warms her into something closer to liquid as she leans over the table. It's exactly what he deserves, this sort of appreciation and boundless joy. As long as she's known him, he's been someone who works hard, always tries, and shows up. He has his faults, but they don't detract from him, they improve him, proof of his ability to still do good even with the cracks. She admires his conviction and his self-assurance, and she wishes she had more than a basket to provide.
As he holds up the gummies a short laugh flutters free, the sound still there as a shimmer in her eyes, holding him fast even as she shakes her head in playful disagreement. [say]"If I piss you off I think you'll need something stronger than that."[/say] Any other jabs dissolve as he gathers her into his arms, the force of his gratitude a pressure that wraps around her, warm and whole and sure. She loops her own arms around him, joy turning breathless. [say]"I always did say you had good taste,"[/say] she quips, clearly meaning that in this case who he keeps as friend and company is also included.
As he back ups a bit, the hug breaking, she slides her hand back over the table, leaning into it. [say]"So what're your plans today?"[/say] She jolts all the sudden, snatching her hand back. Wedged into the part of her palm that belongs to her thumb is a splinter from the wooden table's edge. With all this heat of late, her skin has been dry and eager to snatch at things, and it gives way easily for the sliver to bury itself deep in her. [say]"Ow, fuck,"[/say] she hisses, dragging her hand up for inspection, her other thumb and forefinger trying to grab hold and pull it out.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Hawthorn - 02-24-2026
“[say]Ah, c’mon, soak ‘em in vodka an’ it’s a whole gummy party.[/say]” Thorn teases her back once he’s wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tight as she compliments him again. Snorting softly, he takes it – even if he’s never been that good at receiving them, loosening the hug to shoot her a knowing grin instead. “[say]You did, that’s true.[/say]” He says with a warm laugh, ignoring the bartender now that he’s got something far better to focus on than antagonizing the poor man making drinks.
As for his plans? The thoughts of what he’s doing today vanish when she jumps, startling him a touch before he recovers and crowds her space again to look. “[say]Shit, y’okay?[/say]” He asks, leaning in to look at her hand to see the splinter dug in there really deep. His nose wrinkles, frowning slightly as he looks up to her face. “[say]I can heal ya once we get the splinter out?[/say]” He asks.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Colt - 02-28-2026
Size does not matter when it comes to bothering. In fact, the smallest things often manage to do the most damage to composure, as if their unseeming stature allows them to slip past defenses and rattle you. An offhand remark that feeds doubt, a burr in your sock rubbing against skin, a plethora of minor inconveniences that stack up high enough to tumble rationality. This splinter falls within that same vein—tiny, yet terrible.
It’s why she doesn’t try to brush away his offer for healing, gaze lifting from her finger to find his eyes as they both bow over the evidence of the wooden bite. [say]”That’d be great, actually. These fuckers always seem to linger even after you’ve got ‘em free.”[/say] Skin that’s irritated doesn’t immediately calm once the irritant is removed. [say]”Fuck, I just broke it off,”[/say] she grumbles, her nails failing to properly grasp and pull the splinter free, instead snapping the only section not under her skin. [say]”I have just the thing,”[/say] she murmurs.
Retreating from the table, she makes her way back to the door where she’d hung her quiver. She grasps one of the sharpened arrows and angles her offended palm into the right light. The thin edge of the arrowhead doesn’t require much pressure to slice into her hand, and she winces as she pushes into the sensitive region. Nerves fire off, subtle but still in pain, but she ignored the instinct, needing to get the arrow beneath the particle in order to fully carve it out. Blood wells around the new depth and the thicker lance of the arrow, but as she swipes it up and out, the discomfort of the wood piece vanishes, that bristling ache replaced with the sting of the cut. [say]”There,”[/say] she declares, turning to put the bloody arrow back in the quiver, no sense in wasting it.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Hawthorn - 03-01-2026
He invades her space, peering in the small place where the sliver has started to burrow its way in further as she works to try and get it out at first. It doesn’t seem to work, though, turning red as the seconds go on, her skin upset at the intruder that’s managed to make its way deep. “[say]Yeah, they’re the worst.[/say]” He agrees with a frown, one that only deepens as she mentions that she broke it off.
As she starts to withdraw from the table, though, Thorn doesn’t leave her alone for long – telling the bartender to keep an eye on his stuff (though he imagines a gummy worm might be missing when he gets back to the basket, but it’ll otherwise be intact. “[say]Wha,[/say]” Thorn starts off with a quiet laugh as she starts digging around in her palm, nose wrinkling slightly to see the blood well up to the surface.
He steps away for the moment to snag a rag from one of the hidden closet compartments, returning to Colt about the time she’s gotten the sliver out and her arrowhead all bloody. “[say]Here.[/say]” He offers, handing her the rag before he holds out his hands – his palms glowing a warm golden color as he waits for her to place her hand in between his so he can inject some healing in to clean up whatever she’s carved out.
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Colt - 03-01-2026
It's quite the production for a small blade of wood, but she knows how things can fester and irritate, and with something like this, it might either work itself out after days of annoyance, or infect her further, and she isn't patient enough to endure either or see which undesired path it'd take. She needs her hands, and sometimes carving it out hurts more in the moment, but heals quicker, especially when you've got a friend with the means to speed up the latter.
The hands are one of the spots that bleeds readily, same as the face, and despite the generally small area she'd sliced into, it bleeds fiercely. [say]"Thanks Thorn,"[/say] she murmurs, reaching for the rag he offers as she turns back around. [say]"Suppose I ought to grab the mop after this,"[/say] she simpers, glancing briefly down to see how many droplets she might have scattered, although she trusts the House sees its fair share of fluids daily, which she doesn't doubt includes a bit of blood here and there.
As Thorn offers out his hand, the healing magic humming in wait, she thrusts her injured palm readily towards him. The warmth of his ability is immediate, and slowly she pulls the rag away as the skin begins to knit back together beneath the gilded cut. [say]"See,"[/say] she points out to him. [say]"You're simply the best friend a girl could ask for."[/say]
RE: Bittersweet dreams keep me up at night - Hawthorn - 03-02-2026
“[say]’Course.[/say]” Thorn murmurs, shooting her an easier smile as she takes the rag, then immediately rolls his eyes and shakes his head to her comment about the mop. Instead, he takes the bloodied rag back just before she’s placing her hand between his and he focuses the golden light to imbue into her skin, knitting back together without the lingering effects a splinter aiming to fester might have. If anything, her palm should be completely fine, if not a bit warmer to the touch now.
Then, he takes the rag and uses his telekinesis to drop it to the floor and swipe up the droplets of blood as he shoots his most charming, cheshire smile at her and winks with those kohl lined eyes. “[say]Only ‘cause I can heal.[/say]” He touts playfully – even if he knows that’s not the only reason. If anything Thorn just can’t take a compliment well without making it seem like it’s either obvious or not.
“[say]C’mon, let’s go get ya somethin’ to drink and we can hang out before my client arrives?[/say]” He suggests, reaching out to tug her hand back toward him to slip back toward the bar where the basket sits, awaiting for them.
- FIN