I ain't an angel, you ain't heaven-sent

Gonna show him what little girls are made of — gunpowder and lead

Just the thought of climbing up on his back again has her thighs quivering, and not in any desirable manner. His earlier joke about jerky feels far too on the nose now with how raw and stiff and salt-stung every part of her feels. Walking is no picnic either, but it's different at least, tugs at parts of her that haven't already begun to rip. Only the repeated notion of being so close to the end keeps her moving at all, otherwise she'd have stayed in the bed of hacked up vines. That and a weird growl from the jungle depths perked her up enough to go.

She's tied her hair back into a braid as best as she can manage. It's come undone several times, and she can't quite gather it all into a seamless thread anymore, but it's good enough to avoid it all sticking to her as the foliage breathes hot and wet against them. Her clothing isn't quite so amenable and sticks like wet paper, darkened in regions where her sweat tugs it tight. 

"Tell me about your sisters," she asks conversationally as she edges around a particularly nasty looking shrub that seems to tilt towards her and follow her, like a creepy painting in an old shack. "I've never had any siblings," doesn't have any family left, actually, but that's not what she's driving at here so she doesn't add it. She wants to know about them—he's mentioned them before, and if he's willing to let them punch him and picks up those types of books to connect with them, they must have a truly special place in his life. He doesn't strike her as the type to permit such things otherwise, but she's judged him wrong before.

Colt

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

Vesper doesn’t answer right away, not with the way the jungle presses close around them, damp and heavy. The thick air clings like guilt, and the shadows underfoot barely stir with his steps—they’re tired too, sluggish where they’d usually slither. He runs a hand back through his hair as they move, the sweat-damp curls refusing to do anything useful. Still, he doesn’t complain. His shirt’s still tied around his waist, his ribs ache, and his boots squelch now and then with every squashed leaf or bit of vine, but he keeps going. Quiet, for a time.

Then: "Nova’s the loud one." His voice is low but steady, a small rhythm against the background noise of insects and distant heat-hisses. "Spends half her time talkin’ and the other half gettin' into mischief. Usually glitter-covered, always got somethin’ in her hair, and somehow it’s never dirt."

He goes silent for a few more steps, and then around the edge of a smile he says: "Caly’s more like the ocean. Pretty and easy to love from a distance, but you turn your back and she’ll drag you straight under. She likes things the way she likes 'em and is quick to let you know when she ain't impressed."

He glances her way without turning his head, sidestepping the same vine she’s avoiding. "They’re trouble," he adds, softer now. "But they’re mine. Only thing in this world I’d crawl back outta a grave for, if it came to that." He wouldn't do it for his latest sibling, not even for his dear old dad, but for his sisters? Nothin' he wouldn't give.

"Why d’you ask?" It’s not accusatory, just curious, like he’s trying to see which corner of himself she’s trying to peek into.

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

Gonna show him what little girls are made of — gunpowder and lead

The resounding silence makes her wonder if he's been eaten by a plant and she's oblivious to his plight. A cautious glance over her shoulder shows that he's still there though, marching with equal enthusiasm as she is. Maybe her question struck a nerve, maybe he'd just rather the silence now, the energy to talk just a bit too much to keep asking from him alongside everything else. That'd be fine too, though she'd prefer the distraction, something to focus on besides the fuck all of it.

He does finally answer though, and it's not the way she expected. Nothing is with him.

It's remarkably beautiful, the way he describes them, and through the ache of an underlying bruise Colt can't help but smile at it. That's love, the way it ought to be—to be talked about like you're a living poem or a painting that exists and hasn't yet settled into it's final frame. The swell of affection for them, she can almost hold it in her palm, the way it feels like maybe you could catch the wind if you're quick enough.

"Runs in the family it seems," she drawls with a smirk at the mention of trouble. A shrug then, at his question, like this lovely thing isn't so grand as grave-rising resolve. "Just checking my gut feelings are still worth listening to." It was getting a bit harder to trust with him, but at least she still had something right figured out. She's not one of his sisters though, and she's mindful of that. That warning that still buzzes low near him, it's still worth listening to.

Colt

// I got this feeling, yeah, you know where I'm losing all control //

Vesper can feel the way her thoughts brush up against the shape of his sisters, lingering in the warmth between the words like someone pressing a thumb into a bruise just to see if it’s real. There’s something hollow in it, an ache he doesn’t dig into but can’t quite ignore. He wonders if anyone’s ever loved her like that—steadfast and lyric, loud in the quiet ways. If they have, they were probably too goddamn bumbfucked and inarticulate to say so. And based on the way she’d punched straight through his shadows at the memory of her ex-husband back in the marketplace, he doubts it.

So when she says trouble runs in the family, he just nods once and shrugs, the motion easy, like it doesn’t land a little heavy in his chest.

At her next line, his mouth quirks faintly. "Your gut’s had nothin’ but dried fruit, meat leather, and half a flask of sun-warmed water for three days straight," he drawls, brushing a hand through a curtain of vines. "Wouldn’t listen too closely to what it’s sayin’ right now."

His shadows drift along the path behind them like lazy scouts, testing the heat and motion in the underbrush. After a moment, he glances sidelong toward her. "You got anyone back on that ranch of yours? Family?" A pause, measured. "Or is it just you out there?"

Vesper

//Go ahead and throw your stones, 'cause there's magic in my bones //

wooooooooooooooooooooooooosh

You hear a sound vaguely like tearing paper and see light in the distance. Quickly, before you can even really make out what you're seeing, the twin flames come racing across the sands. Like avian pools of firelight the Sunstreak's go wizzzzzing but you, and before you can even blink, they're gone again.

---

You’ve encountered a Sun streak. This counts as a rare creature encounter for the purposes of levelling, but does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention. If you choose to follow this creature, you do so at your own risk, however, just having it in this thread is enough to satisfy your levelling requirements. You may not kill your rare creature without admin permission.

Thought by some to be distant cousins of the Firebird, sunstreaks are desert creatures with vibrant plumage in yellows, reds, and oranges. False sparks dance across their backs and wings when they move and scatter behind them in flight, glittering in their trailing tail feathers. Slender heads balanced on long, graceful necks tipped with long, sharp beaks bear crowns of golden display feathers. Half the height of a human, sunstreaks are more often seen racing across the sand on their broad-taloned feet, but are thought to be a sign of good luck when seen flying, especially at dawn or dusk.

Sunstreaks are almost always found in pairs; when seen alone, especially outside of Hak Etme, they are often omens of drought or plague soon to come.

Gonna show him what little girls are made of — gunpowder and lead

Her laugh breaks free bright and full, despite how empty the rest of her currently feels. He fed it, brought that small part of her back to vitality, at least for the moment. "Yeah, you might have a point there." Sunburnt, hungry, thirsty, tired, a little pissed off, hungover with jungle fever—the perfect cocktail for making the best decisions.

She sighs wistfully, content to stew in silence and the discord of half-formed thoughts her gut lends a voice to. At his inquiry, rising gentle from her back, she tips an amber stare back at blue briefly. Might have held it longer, if not for needing to see where she put every footstep or risk catching her toe and tipping facedown into leaflitter. "Do dogs count?" she asks with an answer, a tease at her own empty and desolate state of affairs when compared with the living glow of his.

She drops it quickly though, the solemnity of it creeping in. "No." She's made peace with it. Kinda likes not having to deal with anyone at night, not unless she wants to. Doesn't usually let anyone stay over though, always cuts loose from the House of Midnight as soon as she's plugged up whatever emptiness set her to itching again. There's been a lot of noise, in the past, feels like keeping it silent and dull is all a way to make up for it. Maybe she's just too scared to try again, not that she'd admit it.

"Mom passed when I was younger...hard to remember her sometimes." Kind, but tough, is about what Colt recalls. "Dad, he raised me." She also didn't remember him much, before the grief touched him. She'd wondered if he'd been softer then, before sadness hardened all his edges and made him a bit difficult to get along with, or if he'd always been that sharp. Nothing so unkind, but nothing pliable, nothing easy to him. Colt never quite knew if she lived up to his expectations, never would now. "He taught me a lot, but he passed before..." Before she got married. How different might it have gone if he was still around? "Before I felt grown," she decides, because she'd just been a fool in her twenties honestly.

Colt freezes as light dances up ahead. She watches cautiously, taking a step back closer to him. The fire moves fast, and suddenly it's zipping right towards them. Colt braces, too quick for her to do anything else, but they drift and are gone. She lets out a loud breath, all the tension melting, too tired to stay wound up. "Looks like our luck finally turned," she says with a grin to him. The victory doesn't feel worth it anymore, but the relief of being done? That's enough to sing to her bones. "Let's get the fuck outta here."

[FIN]

Colt