COLT
Given Colt tends to throw lassos and not fruit, beverages, or balls of any manner usually, she's rather proud of herself for managing to get the drink to the captain, fumbled as the reception is in the end. As Melita calls down, her words still half-eaten by the breeze of their race, Colt understand enough of the sentiment and grins back in response. Hard feelings have been hammered into the ground under hoof, replaced with exasperation and the shrug of acceptance. The baby will tire eventually, and then she'll torture him mercilessly for days afterwards with images of ships and things floating overhead until he's so desensitized he'll stand still for an eagle to lift him off and take him back to its nest.
"Here you go!" Colt calls back as she fishes another beer out of her pack and lobs it towards the Honeybee. Meanwhile the buttermilk blur is beginning to slow a bit, either growing accustomed to the firecracker's presence, or realizing that running isn't solving his problems, or is just plain running out of gas. Since the latter is the only one that doesn't require thinking, Colt's betting that's the reason.
"Here you go!" Colt calls back as she fishes another beer out of her pack and lobs it towards the Honeybee. Meanwhile the buttermilk blur is beginning to slow a bit, either growing accustomed to the firecracker's presence, or realizing that running isn't solving his problems, or is just plain running out of gas. Since the latter is the only one that doesn't require thinking, Colt's betting that's the reason.
Cowgirls don't cry
Ride, baby, ride
It's gonna hurt every now and then
If you fall, get back on again
Ride, baby, ride
It's gonna hurt every now and then
If you fall, get back on again
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.
