COLT
The confusion and curiosity cocktail only deepens as he strides towards the shrine instead of a sealed tomb. Not a grave, he'd said, and sure enough as shit this is not that. She's never been to this shrine before. She might have connected the dots, like a constellation on a boy's face, if she bothered to know many gods besides Frey. She know of them, the way you know yams and sweet potatoes aren't the same thing, but can't really describe why. For her family and for her, Frey's continual support of the land and the animals on it had always been enough. Safrin's power is unmistakable, but it is unknown, to her. Bright and fierce, but dark and terrible too.
She's quiet as he steps away from her and approaches the shrine. One leg crosses in front of the other, resting on her toes, while her hands slip forward and hook just the thumb into her front pockets. He's got an edge of softness to him that he doesn't like to reveal much, like a strip of dark velvet lining the sheathe where he keeps everything sharp. It's noticeable here though, not because anything is dulled or dimmed, softness never has to mean something else is reduced. It's just, the way he takes the time to notice and tend to the shrine in a manner that seems beyond the typical. Reverent, but also, familiar in a way she can't place. Or, maybe she just prays wrong.
Realizing perhaps space isn't enough and not wanting to intrude on something as private as talking to a god, invitation or not, Colt glances away. She'll forfeit the drink of him for the sake of ensuring he isn't disturbed, her curiosity not worth that. She can hear still though, and as his voice slips free, Colt whips her head back over, jaw slackened with shock. Ma she thinks, and fuck if he wasn't right, it does make sense now. A family matter, he'd said all casual, like talking to his mother, Safrin. Ah fuck, she'd dislocated the shoulder of a demi-god. She didn't have shit on her to offer either, just a weak smile and an empty laugh at his theatrics.
She's quiet as he steps away from her and approaches the shrine. One leg crosses in front of the other, resting on her toes, while her hands slip forward and hook just the thumb into her front pockets. He's got an edge of softness to him that he doesn't like to reveal much, like a strip of dark velvet lining the sheathe where he keeps everything sharp. It's noticeable here though, not because anything is dulled or dimmed, softness never has to mean something else is reduced. It's just, the way he takes the time to notice and tend to the shrine in a manner that seems beyond the typical. Reverent, but also, familiar in a way she can't place. Or, maybe she just prays wrong.
Realizing perhaps space isn't enough and not wanting to intrude on something as private as talking to a god, invitation or not, Colt glances away. She'll forfeit the drink of him for the sake of ensuring he isn't disturbed, her curiosity not worth that. She can hear still though, and as his voice slips free, Colt whips her head back over, jaw slackened with shock. Ma she thinks, and fuck if he wasn't right, it does make sense now. A family matter, he'd said all casual, like talking to his mother, Safrin. Ah fuck, she'd dislocated the shoulder of a demi-god. She didn't have shit on her to offer either, just a weak smile and an empty laugh at his theatrics.
If I go missing, don't bother looking, I'm probably just riding the wind
'Cause cowboys and sunsets, you can always count on them, but never to stay
I guess I'm a cowboy, 'cause there's a sunset on the way
'Cause cowboys and sunsets, you can always count on them, but never to stay
I guess I'm a cowboy, 'cause there's a sunset on the way
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.
