There's blisters on my feet, I ran right through my shoes

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

Fabric shifts with a small sigh as it gives to the body beneath it. Denim, cotton, and leather finding a voice of protest across sun-tanned skin. A spur sings in agreement as one leg crosses idly against another, settling in for a wait. The faintest edge of nails drum over the railing, giving all the disruption a tempo that nerves keep better than impatience does.

Colt leans against the exterior of the pegasus enclosure, attempting some manner of relaxed preparation for time passing, but she's doing a terrible job of it by all sights and sounds. She's heard that Lena has passed, and regrets the loss with the same pause that any lost life deserves, especially an innocent one falling to tragedy. She has need though, and that's why she's come. Though she hasn't met the new caretaker or heard much of him, that is not why she fidgets.

There is an itch.

There is always an itch these days, and she's gotten into the habit of scratching it. Her restraint in some places has tightened, but like a scale trying to find balance, forgoing one vice seems inevitable to expose others. This particular discomfort is from withholding reaching for the cigarettes in her boot. Wouldn't do to harm the healing of whatever beasts are here, and like other things in life, it's good to be reminded that some suffering can be survived. She can wait. She is, waiting.

---

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far

Grimm drifts down, eagle wings flaring and catching the wind to slow his descent. His talons reach, sharp and prepared to grip the ground for landing; but before they make contact, talons become boots, leather connecting softly with the grass outside the pegasus enclosure. Brown and white feathers shift to tanned skin and long brown hair, his shoulders rotating as if to remind his body what it's like to have arms instead of wings. 

He has already spotted the visitor, has already been expecting her to stop by for some time. Lena's notes had catalogued all the people whom she'd consulted for, and although they hadn't included comments on physical appearance, the woman before him is unmistakably comfortable in the spurs and cowboy hat. She's obviously not a librarian or jeweler. 

Moving with the calm confidence of the predators beneath his skin, Grimm strolls closer. "Colt?" The 't' drops off slightly with his accent, the deep timbre of his voice carrying like the sunlight baked earth. His dark eyes scan her, waiting for the confirmation of who she is and why she's come to interrupt his work.

Grimm

Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.

code by sky

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

She's chosen this specific exhibit in an attempt to find some modicum of joy, the winged horses a reward not just for the journey here, but for every sour moment of late. They do enthrall her once she shakes off the rest of the world, and gradually the hum of her hands over metal quiets, and a delicate smile written with wonder finds its place on her face. They boast power and grace in one, perfectly refined streak of movement, epitomizing the sense of freedom born of hooves and wing alike in the most spectacular way. Her eyes brighten considerably as she beholds them, breath slowing and deepening as if conscious not to disturb the impossibility of these creatures existing.

Her name lands like a slap across a tranquil pond and she jolts on the spot, head snapping towards the sound. It'd been nice, while it lasted, dreaming and forgetting. "Howdy," she returns, head inclining faintly with the greeting, her cowboy hat nodding to him. The wig Remi made her shifts golden hair over her shoulder with the movement, its craftsmanship proving to hold up to the task of daily wear.

He's not what she expected, is the immediate thought she has. Quite at odds with the quiet beauty of Lena and the softness to all of her in movement and look, this new caretaker looks half wild and cut rough on every edge possible. Even his face is buried behind hair, his expression bordering a feralness that might make her wonder if he should be behind the bars themselves if she didn't know any better. "Grimm, is it?" she asks once she's completed her unabashed survey, gaze rising from bottom to top and securing on those flint-cut eyes. She holds out a hand in official greeting, a faint smile tipping in with a press of country charm. "Glad to meet the new caretaker. Even more glad this place was spared."

Stormbreak's destruction is known, a few having come to King's End just as many others slit and trickled into all the other regions. She'd not been very fond of the city though, so aside from lifting her head to acknowledge it, the loss is not one she carries. Gods know she has plenty of others already in her arms. "Appreciate you taking the time to meet me and get that medication for the unicorn horn infection," she drawls, turning a bit to better face him.

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far

The pair of pagasi immediately recognize him, their ears perking and wings ruffling to acknowledge the man who nursed them back to health and still comes to care for them. Having healed months ago, they could have taken to the skies again, and yet they find comfort in the fenced area, grazing on grass and the occasional sugar cubes. Even now, they probe him for the sweet treats, the lightly scolding glance promising 'later' - after his meeting.

Grimm runs his gaze over Colt, similarly assessing her, although less in the matter of social analysis and more as a predator cataloguing capability. From the assured way she stands in her boots to the confident tone of her voice, he marks each in her favor. He grumbles his confirmation of name, something akin to a huffing growl accompanied by a nod. 

She gets slightly more answer when expressing sympathies for the fallen city, a long, deep hum of agreement. "Hmmm." It rumbles in his chest, causing more effects than whatever his heart feels at the loss of Stormbreak. Beyond the extra work and shifting of the Celestine, Grimm doesn't think much of the loss in altitude. His job still continues on, animals to care for, medications to prepare. 

It's why he appreciates that she jumps straight to the point, refusing to linger on the pleasantries. His eyes flash brief approval, his nod controlled and succinct. "Roight. I've go' i' in the shed." He turns away, not bothering to gesture for her to follow, figuring she was smart enough to get the idea.

Grimm

Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.

code by sky

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

She realizes quick enough that he doesn't just look the part, the feral nature of him runs deep. It keeps his manners curt and purposeful, and his words are spared in small, rough amounts. Colt has never minded people who are direct and decisive—prefers it generally to overly placating or mousey sorts. Same as her horses, she likes the ones who are apologetically rowdy, because she always knows where she stands with them. They don't hide their intent, and she appreciates the honesty, even when it's unkind.

Pulling back her unclaimed hand to hook it in her jean pocket instead, unbothered by its dismissal, she lets the rest of what she offers land. Originally having thought maybe he just had her name a bit wrong, understanding settles truer as his word count ticks up, and his accent becomes clear. It's not the same lilt of Sunjata (none is), or the chop of others like smuggling captains and courtesan best friends. It's thick, and new to her, and her lips part subtly as if she means to chew on his voice and taste this new flavor for herself.

Pushing off the rail with her hip, she steps into stride with him, sparing one last parting glance to the pegasus. The animals at least don't mind all his gruffness, and that's proof enough of the good work he still does, however opposite the style to Lena. "While I have you," she hums out, glancing sidelong at him as they walk, at least when her attention isn't snagged by an interesting animal or two in the enclosures they pass by. "I'm planning on hunting an Allogator soon. Got any tips for dealin with 'em?"

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far

The trek isn't far, the shed visible on the dirt path wide enough for two. They pass the enclosures for high-land cows and alpinas, the docile creatures flicking their ears toward him before resuming their grazing. His gaze sweeps quickly, always assessing for threats but settling back on the path ahead. He doesn't even look towards Colt as she speaks, grunting at her question. "Allogaita'?"

His jaw flickers beneath his beard, clenched in momentary thought. "Oi'd not recommend fhiya." Not with the season having eaten away so much of the forest already. Grimm's boot steps soundlessly against the path, his deep voice the only sound he makes as they approach the shed door. "Git ye someone 'ho cin smell 'em." There's no lock on the wooden structure, the door pushing open easily to reveal the dark interior full of tools, dried herbs, and small vials. "Then pin 'em from the tawp," he continues, adding gruffly, "Don' let thei' teieth git ya. Narsty boites." Particularly when they twist and threaten to shred everything to the bone. 

Grimm doesn't even turn on a light, his adjusted eyes scanning the shelf of disorganized glass. Some are labeled with nothing more than a picture or a color while others hold a few scrawling words of purpose: boils, poison, black hooves, smelly breath. He grabs the one labeled 'horn rot' and swishes it to make sure there's enough inside for Colt's herd then offers it forward. "'ere. Keep the infected awaiy from the othas." The dim light makes it hard to see the scarring revealed by his movement, but Grimm doesn't hide it anyways, the strange circles and slashes puckered against the tan skin while he waits for her to take the vial.

Grimm

Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.

code by sky

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

He moves with purpose. He does not meander or stroll, but he steps with meaning, a destination in mind for every footfall, distance something to be bested rather than measured. It’s akin to her own stride when she’s at the ranch, so it does not take effort to keep up, although it does require an adjustment as her attempt at conversation makes her lag behind briefly before she asserts her position fully alongside him. Too taken in by the interesting man beside her, she does not heed the passing enclosures beyond knowing they had passed.

”That’s right,” she confirms his grunt. She’s becoming more sure that his accent is less about where he’s been raised and his general, apparent dislike for words, as if he’s found ways to drop letters and syllables wherever he can in an effort to be done talking sooner. ”Oh no,” she agrees, to fhiya, that one requiring some concentration to parcel through at first. ”I plan to use my bow and arrows. They’re Frey blessed, the arrows, so they’re sharper than most. I’m hunting this Allogator as a quest to improve them further.” She figures some amount of explanation could help, although he doesn’t seem intent on telling her not to fucking do it, which is nice.

His suggestion about smelling and pinning has her wrinkling her brow though, not having personally intended to do either. ”You think I’d need to? I was planning to stay at a distance and fire my arrows, alone.” Smelling and pinning are not her forte.

She lingers on the outside of the shed as he steps in. Largely because she can’t see much of anything when she peers around inside, but also because it’s not a grand, sprawling building. With her luck, between poor sight and proximity, she’d end up grabbing something she shouldn’t. When he swipes something off the shelf though and turns her way, she take one step inside, reaching out to retrieve it from him. ”Thanks,” she murmurs, pocketing the liquid vial, and nodding at his quarantine suggestion. ”Right, will do. Easier to medicate them then anyway,” she agrees.

Light creeps in at the entrance, and where his arm is she can see the manner of scars he bears, ones she hadn’t noticed in her earlier assessment. ”I take it you know what their bites feel like first hand,” she remarks, nodding towards his healed wounds. ”Allogators. Or otherwise.”

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far

Grimm casts her a glance from his peripheral, dark gaze scrutinizing for the briefest of moments to see if she's being serious. Realizing she is, he directs his attention back to the path. "Hoide is too thick fo' arrows," he says, wondering if she's ever seen the thick bark that makes up their skin. She could maybe fire arrows into the soft sockets of their eyes or into their gaping throat, but the chances were slim - magically enhanced or not. 

Her next point nearly makes him pause, wondering if his original assessment of a smart, capable woman had been wrong, because no intelligent person is dumb enough to hunt something like that alone. His head shakes, nearly scoffing as the line of his eyes turns to a scowl. "Aloine? No." A quiet 'r' follows the word, curling it in his mouth like a growl. "No' saife." In case she's the kind who's stubborn, he adds more forcefully, "You git bit, ye bleied out. Bes' have comp'ny." It's not a kind suggestion, but the clear instructions of someone who handles beasts every day and knows the risks and despite the lack of command, the firm line of his shoulders suggests it would be unwise to do otherwise.

The thanks she gives earns another soft grunt, a nod of his head directing her to the exit behind her. At least she seems to understand the point of keeping them separate, but she's obviously ignorant to what the shearing force of an Allogator would look like on skin. His eyes fall to his arm between them, unbothered by her observation or the proximity to his dark history. "Yah, bu' these ain' from a 'gaita'. Go' me in the leig." That wound had healed up nicely. These scars had been made by a monster much worse. 

When his eyes lift again, they rest on Colt with a near physical presence, waiting patiently to see if she would ask more or step aside.

Grimm

Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.

code by sky

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

She is certainly no beastmaster. Her talents extend to a few species, and she’s not foolish enough to expect all the fundamentals and knowledge transfer over neatly. Even the pegasus, arguably the closest possibility for her skills to test out on something new, she knows there’s plenty that she doesn’t know about them. Nevermind flying, their mannerisms alone will have differences, their behaviors altered by the things that make them uniquely different from other creatures. It’s part of why she prefers horses over unicorns, even for all the benefits the horned horses supply. They look the same, one has a horn, one doesn’t—it’s so much deeper than that though.

Still, she trusts in Frey. So a confident smirk eeks out in response to the wild-eyed stare he casts out at her like a net trying to catch crazy. ”Not my arrows,” she asserts, but his words plant the faintest flicker of fresh doubt about the difficulty of this. ”Everything has soft parts.” Which is uncomfortably close to a comment about herself and she doesn’t like it one bit.

As for his sharp assessment about doing it alone, that she has no assurances to back up. After all, Frey did not say go do this alone, so she falters further, her plan growing more muddy instead of clear with all this information. ”Even in a tall tree? High up, out of reach?” She tries to explain, as if he only needs to share her vision to get it. The fight’s leaving her though, and she certainly didn’t come to chase an argument. Hell, the only horse she has in this race is completing it and surviving doing so. That’s why she opts not to remark that she could summon someone to help, be it damage or blood control. She would prefer it not come to channeling someone—she’s had enough proof of how quickly that little hat trick could sour.

Still chewing over all he offered her, it’s rolling over in the back of her mind by the time they reach the shed and she gets the meds. He doesn’t offer up more explanation on the scars, and she doesn’t ask, certain she’s made him say more words than usual in a short amount of time already. Instead, her gaze lifts from the untold markings back to the hard set of his features, brows lifting with the request she makes. ”Come with me.” Her teeth release the corner of her lip where her thoughts and worries always seem to gather. ”Please,” she tacks on. ”On the hunt. I don’t hunt much, I ranch, and I usually do my best to stay out of the swamp, so I could really use someone as knowledgeable as you.”

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far

One dark brow raises, an obvious expression of doubt if his grunt isn't enough for her. Magical arrows or not, Allogators have very few 'soft parts' for her to hit, but her next point is the one that nearly makes him laugh. In fact, the corner of his lip curves up beneath his beard, his voice rumbling with something like amusement. "Fo' it ta run off? Shur." He'd pay to see the exchange of wills before the creatures decides she's a lost cause and vanishes into the undergrowth of non-sentient logs - but it wouldn't help with her quest, and he suspected she'd end up right back here. 

With the medication given and the business seeming to be done, Colt starts to make a habit of surprising him. Grimm tilts his head, widening his stance as he weathers her request for him to go with her. His arms cross, muscles pressing against each other the same way his lips do, wrestling with the inconvenience it presents and the unwelcome obligation to keep this woman from getting herself killed. 

Silence stretches longer than a few seconds as he debates the choice, his eyes scanning over her to the point that would make most people uncomfortable, from pleading eyes to bitten lip, a stalking creature willing to wait as long as necessary to gather the key details. Only once he's collected enough information does his speak again, the deep echo of his voice cutting through the dark shadows with stark clarity. "Foine. Oi neied plan's from the area." Grimm nods his head, the question ringing out, "When?"

Grimm

Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.

code by sky

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

It is and uncomfortably long time that he looks. Long enough that she begins to wonder if this is his unusual way of saying no, if this is what happens when he’s spent all his breath. She’s half a mind to step forward and wave her hand in front of his face to make sure he’s still with them, although there’s no need because he’s stilll blinking, his eyes still shifting in their assessment. Although she’s fully clothed, she feels acutely naked in a way she has rarely been made to before someone she doesn’t even fucking know.

Rebellious, she lifts her chin, squaring her shoulders as if proof she could and would do this with or without him. He’s not her only resource, and she does not require his approval to do shit. ”Well?” she demands, toe scuffing the dirt as she leans into one hip, her knee bowing out.

Her smile breaks out from impatience to relief when he agrees. [psay]”Great!” she breathes, the sound so sudden and crisp it cuts like a bird’s chirp. ”Plans?” she repeats, brow furrowing. Does he need maps? Does he have maps? ”It’ll be in the Feverlands, near the border into King’s End. I’m planning early next season.”

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far

Her impatience doesn't bother him, the shift in her stance just another piece of information to consider as he makes his decision. If she can't even wait long enough for a decision, he doubts she'll last long hunting, especially if she has frequent loud outbursts like the one that has him tensing, nearly wincing at the pitch.

Grimm narrows his eyes at her question, figuring he'd been pretty clear, but willing to enunciate to prevent further questions or misunderstanding. "Plan's. 'erbs. Floara." The foliage that grows in the Feverlands isn't the kind people would seek out for perfumes or bouquets, but they serve important purposes in the care he provides. A white fungus in particular is an ingredient for sedatives and various other medications and his stock has been running low. 

Another grunt and nod of his head seem to settle the matter, figuring it will give him plenty of time to arrange the work in his absence - not that he expects it to be a long trip. Still standing just inside the shed waiting for her to move, Grimm raises a questioning eyebrow. "Tha' i'?" Or is there more information she needs? Another request to make? It shouldn't surprise him at this point.

Grimm

Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.

code by sky

COLT

Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright

Oh. Plants. She can’t quite hide the twitch that pulls on one corner of her lips, and gods help her, she stifles the laugh that threatens to leak out. She can see the way the confusion sharpens his eyes, the way he stresses the word for her now. ”Plaaaants,” she drawls out sweetly, even going so far as to tip the confusion away with a toss of her wrist. ”Well, happy to help you collect those too in exchange while we track one down.” She knows a little about herbs and berries, general camping and basic survival skills coming with the trade, but she doesn’t make it a habit to go forgaing. She’d much rather pay in mushroom picking than coin though.

He falls back into animal noises and gestures, and she supposes that’s the clearest sure she’s gonna get. Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, she nods smartly at him. ”Alright then, it’s settled,” she grins, relieved to have found someone that knows what they’re doing. ”Thank ya kindly,” she murmurs, extending payment for the medicine from her boot before turning in departure. She does not dilly dally through the exhibits now, but makes her way home with intent.

[FIN]

These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far