COLT
There's a weight that's been removed now that the task is complete. Though home still remains far away, at least it's somewhere they can return to now, instead of being locked in the dusty wasteland with stubborn resilience, forced to wander and shamble like people who've been exiled. So it's with a lighter tread that she crests the sandy hill that unfolds to the glittering expanse of the Spillwave. Still sand, still salt, but somehow immeasurably better.
Vesper is an arrow racing for a target, unbound from a quiver of exhaustion. He's shucking cloth mid-run like a man who's heard the siren call of the sea and is enthralled, and nothing in that moment could stop him if it tried. Colt saunters after him, stretching with newfound peace against the breeze that lazily rolls by. While he embraces the sea like a long lost friend, she stills along the shore, content for the moment to admire the push and the pull of the living thing that is the ocean, each wave a pulse against the beach. She doesn't have the same familiarity with the saltwater that he does, and though she doesn't fear it, she can respect its immense potential to harm as much as it can delight.
He breaks the surface like he's been remade. It's an envious idea, and paired with his unrestrained glee it's something too contagious to resist any longer. "Don't you dare!" she threatens half-heartedly, already stepping out of her boots as she sets toe to heel. Her clothes join the sand alongside his pile swiftly, leaving only the white of her bra and panties. After wearing the those clothes so long with heat and sweat baked into the fibers, the revealed skin feels new underneath as the air brushes against it, like it's the first time she's ever laid it bare.
There's no sense of modesty as she moves to the wet sand—they crossed that bridge days ago. Maybe not like this, but close enough that her usual confidence is made all the more bold, and her intent is too focused on wading into the sea and letting it pull away all the aches she still carries. Not so urgent as him, she strides into the water steadily, embracing the waves against her shins, her hips, her chest as she sinks deeper and deeper until it cradles all of her.
"I don't think I've ever felt happier than this moment," she murmurs, each layer of built up struggle gradually stripped away, a sting set against every hurt in the best way possible. Maybe its not wholly true, but gods does it feel like it in the wake of everything they endured, that something as simple as this could be bliss.
Vesper is an arrow racing for a target, unbound from a quiver of exhaustion. He's shucking cloth mid-run like a man who's heard the siren call of the sea and is enthralled, and nothing in that moment could stop him if it tried. Colt saunters after him, stretching with newfound peace against the breeze that lazily rolls by. While he embraces the sea like a long lost friend, she stills along the shore, content for the moment to admire the push and the pull of the living thing that is the ocean, each wave a pulse against the beach. She doesn't have the same familiarity with the saltwater that he does, and though she doesn't fear it, she can respect its immense potential to harm as much as it can delight.
He breaks the surface like he's been remade. It's an envious idea, and paired with his unrestrained glee it's something too contagious to resist any longer. "Don't you dare!" she threatens half-heartedly, already stepping out of her boots as she sets toe to heel. Her clothes join the sand alongside his pile swiftly, leaving only the white of her bra and panties. After wearing the those clothes so long with heat and sweat baked into the fibers, the revealed skin feels new underneath as the air brushes against it, like it's the first time she's ever laid it bare.
There's no sense of modesty as she moves to the wet sand—they crossed that bridge days ago. Maybe not like this, but close enough that her usual confidence is made all the more bold, and her intent is too focused on wading into the sea and letting it pull away all the aches she still carries. Not so urgent as him, she strides into the water steadily, embracing the waves against her shins, her hips, her chest as she sinks deeper and deeper until it cradles all of her.
"I don't think I've ever felt happier than this moment," she murmurs, each layer of built up struggle gradually stripped away, a sting set against every hurt in the best way possible. Maybe its not wholly true, but gods does it feel like it in the wake of everything they endured, that something as simple as this could be bliss.
Baby, don't fall for me, I'll tell you right now
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
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.
