COLT
She simpers as her fist slips against the cushion of his shadow instead of his shirt. "Those seem handy," she mutters with no hidden admiration or annoyance for his talents. She might have paused to admire him longer, against her better judgement, but slick as ink over fresh paper his hands spill into her hair. Her breath hitches, but any thought of low-burning heat dissipates with a fracture of ice that slams against her ribs like the knife of his smile. The command of his palm against her neck is like a halter, and against the tug her head tilts, a limp kitten in his grip.
It's so reminiscent of a different scene for her, a different face leering before her, that she can't immediately separate the two. Memory blends with reality and the fear of that night beats relentlessly against her chest with each thud of her heart. Her eyes widen with it, a cold terror, where she's been caught by love and anguish. He'd never turned on her before, she hadn't thought he would tonight, like every broken dish and bellowed word hadn't been a warning for this destruction. He'd loved her, that's what he'd said. He loved her, she'd whispered as she knelt down to pick up every broken thing he'd left—until it was her scrambling up from the floor.
Colt blinks.
It's not him, those aren't his blue eyes promising it won't happen again. It's Vesper.
She gasps, a ragged sound as she wrenches back against his hand and slaps his arm away. Mercifully he puts distance between them and she draws in steadier breaths, tucking some errant hair back behind her ear. "Yeah," she says flatly, adjusting her hat as she judges the distance between them with a flick of her eyes. She pulls it down suddenly, sunlit hair unleashed in full splendor as she flings her hat towards his face. Behind it's obstruction she darts forward, and every damn night she wished she could pummel him she builds into the jab she fires off at Vesper's arm, so unbalanced with the force and the fervor she's liable to fall if she misses.
3/4
It's so reminiscent of a different scene for her, a different face leering before her, that she can't immediately separate the two. Memory blends with reality and the fear of that night beats relentlessly against her chest with each thud of her heart. Her eyes widen with it, a cold terror, where she's been caught by love and anguish. He'd never turned on her before, she hadn't thought he would tonight, like every broken dish and bellowed word hadn't been a warning for this destruction. He'd loved her, that's what he'd said. He loved her, she'd whispered as she knelt down to pick up every broken thing he'd left—until it was her scrambling up from the floor.
Colt blinks.
It's not him, those aren't his blue eyes promising it won't happen again. It's Vesper.
She gasps, a ragged sound as she wrenches back against his hand and slaps his arm away. Mercifully he puts distance between them and she draws in steadier breaths, tucking some errant hair back behind her ear. "Yeah," she says flatly, adjusting her hat as she judges the distance between them with a flick of her eyes. She pulls it down suddenly, sunlit hair unleashed in full splendor as she flings her hat towards his face. Behind it's obstruction she darts forward, and every damn night she wished she could pummel him she builds into the jab she fires off at Vesper's arm, so unbalanced with the force and the fervor she's liable to fall if she misses.
3/4
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.
