COLT
Usually a drink will do the trick
Take the edge off quick
A long gone drive, you know the kind
Where you take a turn and you don't know why
But it clears your mind, a surefire cure
Take the edge off quick
A long gone drive, you know the kind
Where you take a turn and you don't know why
But it clears your mind, a surefire cure
There's a hitch that hits her at that comment, and her movements and the worry stills briefly as an almost soundless laugh slips free. "Well, not my fault you're better as a horse," she remarks coolly, a sidelong glance given to him and his damn smug face. It's true, it had been nice, peaceful even, to just pace the heat astride him. Without imminent danger, at least, she'd been content to soak up the sights and untangle old thoughts, though the ones about him remain firmly knotted with confusion and avoidance. Sometimes it's better not to dig into the why of things and just accept them as they are.
She smirks, more and more convinced that if he's fine enough to still be smart, clearly the sun didn't burn his brain. "Yeah," she reaffirms with a drawled insistence, "when they're hellbent on dropping dead in the desert." She sets her hat back on, the concern waning the more he wags his tongue. She tilts her canteen to her own parched lips, taking a swig or two. If it wasn't so precious she'd dump it on his little head for bothering to make her worry so much.
She sits down on the sand, leaning her back against an edge of the rock he's perched on, knees tucked a bit. She glances over at the motion and the sound of his shirt sailing free, and her attention lingers perhaps a bit too long on the cuts and curves of his abdomen and all the new bright freckles that twinkle there. She reaches over for the bandana he returns, twining it idly in and out of her fingers as the crunch of an apple echoes. She tilts her head back against the stone with an easy chuckle. "Not sure why you think you're deserving of either," she murmurs, affection slipping in like a disease in her chest.
She smirks, more and more convinced that if he's fine enough to still be smart, clearly the sun didn't burn his brain. "Yeah," she reaffirms with a drawled insistence, "when they're hellbent on dropping dead in the desert." She sets her hat back on, the concern waning the more he wags his tongue. She tilts her canteen to her own parched lips, taking a swig or two. If it wasn't so precious she'd dump it on his little head for bothering to make her worry so much.
She sits down on the sand, leaning her back against an edge of the rock he's perched on, knees tucked a bit. She glances over at the motion and the sound of his shirt sailing free, and her attention lingers perhaps a bit too long on the cuts and curves of his abdomen and all the new bright freckles that twinkle there. She reaches over for the bandana he returns, twining it idly in and out of her fingers as the crunch of an apple echoes. She tilts her head back against the stone with an easy chuckle. "Not sure why you think you're deserving of either," she murmurs, affection slipping in like a disease in her chest.
I need somethin' stronger
That'll last a little longer
I could use a love song
That'll last a little longer
I could use a love song
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.
