COLT
She chuckles at the worry that laces his hands in his hair, as if he might be able to hold the color in a little bit longer. "Don't worry sugar, men always wear it better. Makes you look more sophisticated," she reassures with a wink. "Thorn, the silver fox. They'll line up around the block." Women didn't get off so lucky. Beauty is kinder to the young, and women have a smaller window to capitalize on it. Men somehow just get finer with age, but never stop being boys no matter the grey.
She doesn't know what it would be like to disagree with family to such an extent that she can't stand to be near them for that long. Oh, they'd had fights, as anyone does. Slammed doors and words you wish you could take back that echo in your head when you set it on your pillow, but they had always made up, or at least moved on. She wishes she could have all those awkward breakfasts and screaming matches back just to see them again, but they're in Mort's hands now. Thorn though, Thorn might get to visit them, but they're gone from him in a different way that to her sounds so much more lonely. "The cold doesn't seem like it'd suit you," she admits with a soft smile. "Too many jackets to cover up everything you have to offer, it'd be a damn shame for you to stay there."
Still, sixteen—she'd been an utter fool at that age, how'd he go through life alone then? That's when she'd probably had the most arguments, but that stern guidance had kept her from making too many mistakes she couldn't take back, she realizes that now, hated it then.
Colt leans back until she feels the press of the midnight house exterior, one leg crossing over the other at the knee. She finally tips that double back like water, teeth grit against the burn. "You ever been in love?" she seems to ask the shotglass instead of Thorn as she looks at it, almost fondly, before she sets it down with a thud on the arm of the bench.
She doesn't know what it would be like to disagree with family to such an extent that she can't stand to be near them for that long. Oh, they'd had fights, as anyone does. Slammed doors and words you wish you could take back that echo in your head when you set it on your pillow, but they had always made up, or at least moved on. She wishes she could have all those awkward breakfasts and screaming matches back just to see them again, but they're in Mort's hands now. Thorn though, Thorn might get to visit them, but they're gone from him in a different way that to her sounds so much more lonely. "The cold doesn't seem like it'd suit you," she admits with a soft smile. "Too many jackets to cover up everything you have to offer, it'd be a damn shame for you to stay there."
Still, sixteen—she'd been an utter fool at that age, how'd he go through life alone then? That's when she'd probably had the most arguments, but that stern guidance had kept her from making too many mistakes she couldn't take back, she realizes that now, hated it then.
Colt leans back until she feels the press of the midnight house exterior, one leg crossing over the other at the knee. She finally tips that double back like water, teeth grit against the burn. "You ever been in love?" she seems to ask the shotglass instead of Thorn as she looks at it, almost fondly, before she sets it down with a thud on the arm of the bench.
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.
