COLT
Now he knows there's no fun in asking.
Peppermint stick spinning between her teeth like a filly with a new bit, Colt is surprised—and oddly satisfied—when her fist connects with his side. Huh. Oddly enough, it does make her feel better. As he lurches, like he’s chasing the wind knocked out of him, her brows pinch with subtle concern. "Sorry sugar," she murmurs as he curses. She might have stopped it then and there, her own feelings be damned, but as expected he's not so easily done in—trouble never is. He practically shrugs it off, nothing but cold starlight gleaming in his eyes when he looks up at last. It's enough to send a chill winding through her. Smartly she dances back a stride or two, not that it matters when his reach is long and dark, coiling in the shade like a heated snake just waiting for a meal.
She’s never been compared to a mouse, but Colt still feels the constriction of the vipers slither up her legs. She tries to jerk one free, her spur jangling with the motion, but then he's upon her and she's held like a man who owes him money caught in an alley. The peppermint stick snaps as she grits her teeth, leaning her shoulder into the oncoming wallop with a grunt in an effort to reduce some of his momentum and the resounding pain from it. If it helps, she can't feel the difference, because it echoes with the connection with each beat of her heart, a steady song of a bruise. She spits the other half of the stick to the ground.
She reaches out suddenly with her left hand, aiming to grab his shirt and pull him towards her before he can fuck off too far. Her grin turns feral as she lifts her chin just enough to catch his eyes again. "Must have been one hell of a fish," Her fingers curl like a vice, but she's depending on speed and surprise (she's no idea she doesn't even have that on her side); for all her ranch work he'd wrestle an arm out of her grasp in a breath. No, she needs the twist and the twine of the fabric to keep him with her long enough to drive her other hand towards his gut in an uppercut. He's lucky she likes him enough to leave his balls and face in the clear.
2/4
Peppermint stick spinning between her teeth like a filly with a new bit, Colt is surprised—and oddly satisfied—when her fist connects with his side. Huh. Oddly enough, it does make her feel better. As he lurches, like he’s chasing the wind knocked out of him, her brows pinch with subtle concern. "Sorry sugar," she murmurs as he curses. She might have stopped it then and there, her own feelings be damned, but as expected he's not so easily done in—trouble never is. He practically shrugs it off, nothing but cold starlight gleaming in his eyes when he looks up at last. It's enough to send a chill winding through her. Smartly she dances back a stride or two, not that it matters when his reach is long and dark, coiling in the shade like a heated snake just waiting for a meal.
She’s never been compared to a mouse, but Colt still feels the constriction of the vipers slither up her legs. She tries to jerk one free, her spur jangling with the motion, but then he's upon her and she's held like a man who owes him money caught in an alley. The peppermint stick snaps as she grits her teeth, leaning her shoulder into the oncoming wallop with a grunt in an effort to reduce some of his momentum and the resounding pain from it. If it helps, she can't feel the difference, because it echoes with the connection with each beat of her heart, a steady song of a bruise. She spits the other half of the stick to the ground.
She reaches out suddenly with her left hand, aiming to grab his shirt and pull him towards her before he can fuck off too far. Her grin turns feral as she lifts her chin just enough to catch his eyes again. "Must have been one hell of a fish," Her fingers curl like a vice, but she's depending on speed and surprise (she's no idea she doesn't even have that on her side); for all her ranch work he'd wrestle an arm out of her grasp in a breath. No, she needs the twist and the twine of the fabric to keep him with her long enough to drive her other hand towards his gut in an uppercut. He's lucky she likes him enough to leave his balls and face in the clear.
2/4
I had some help
It ain't like I can make this kinda mess all by myself
Don't act like you ain't help me pull that bottle off the shelf
It ain't like I can make this kinda mess all by myself
Don't act like you ain't help me pull that bottle off the shelf
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
