COLT
She braces against the top of his neck as they land, her legs slackening into noodles that sway at his sides with each motion. She’s grinning—loose, a little stunned—the kind you see after someone’s been at the bar a bit too long. She’s tipped over the edge of an adrenaline high, her nerves still ringing from the flight, her senses dulled beneath the rain’s steady patter and the lingering weightlessness of the sky.
Sliding off him is more of a slow melt than her usual clean dismount. His wings complicate it, sure, but mostly she’s still reeling from the raw power of him in motion, from the stormrush and the wind-borne trust that grew between them. One hand lingers at his side as she reacquaints herself with solid ground, fingertips brushing hide before she pulls back, giving him the space to shift into something akin to an angel. His attempt to keep the rain off is considerate, but altogether pointless by now. She's thoroughly soaked, her clothes plastered to every curve, the white fabric sheer in the areas that are drawn tight, now that it's saturated.
Already entranced by the dramatic sight of the sunset and tempest battling for control of the color palette, she glances sidelong at him as he speaks. His profile is all shadows and stormlight, wings framing him like something divine. He's always had her appreciation in some form or another, but out here, like this, he's in his element in a way she hasn't really seen before and it catches her off guard. "Not many better ways to end a day," she agrees softly, tilting her head into the patter of warm rain, eyes fluttering shut for a beat. Her palms lift up for a minute as if in prayer, and she sticks her tongue out, catching a few like she's a kid again.
When he drops down beside her, folding into the grass like he might sit out here all night, she follows suit, content to soak up the peace as long as possible. Her back settles flat against the grass, arms crossed behind her head, one leg hooking over the other. The rain trickles across them, warm and heavy. The humidity and the longheat haze keep her from shivering, and some of the heat radiating off him.
She turns her head to watch him, her amber gaze washing against the dusk of his blue, more like gunmetal in the tempest's light. It's always the blue ones that do her in. "You ever get any of your scars running off in storms like this?" she asks, eyes tracing the visible ones.
Sliding off him is more of a slow melt than her usual clean dismount. His wings complicate it, sure, but mostly she’s still reeling from the raw power of him in motion, from the stormrush and the wind-borne trust that grew between them. One hand lingers at his side as she reacquaints herself with solid ground, fingertips brushing hide before she pulls back, giving him the space to shift into something akin to an angel. His attempt to keep the rain off is considerate, but altogether pointless by now. She's thoroughly soaked, her clothes plastered to every curve, the white fabric sheer in the areas that are drawn tight, now that it's saturated.
Already entranced by the dramatic sight of the sunset and tempest battling for control of the color palette, she glances sidelong at him as he speaks. His profile is all shadows and stormlight, wings framing him like something divine. He's always had her appreciation in some form or another, but out here, like this, he's in his element in a way she hasn't really seen before and it catches her off guard. "Not many better ways to end a day," she agrees softly, tilting her head into the patter of warm rain, eyes fluttering shut for a beat. Her palms lift up for a minute as if in prayer, and she sticks her tongue out, catching a few like she's a kid again.
When he drops down beside her, folding into the grass like he might sit out here all night, she follows suit, content to soak up the peace as long as possible. Her back settles flat against the grass, arms crossed behind her head, one leg hooking over the other. The rain trickles across them, warm and heavy. The humidity and the longheat haze keep her from shivering, and some of the heat radiating off him.
She turns her head to watch him, her amber gaze washing against the dusk of his blue, more like gunmetal in the tempest's light. It's always the blue ones that do her in. "You ever get any of your scars running off in storms like this?" she asks, eyes tracing the visible ones.
I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
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.
