COLT
I wish words were like little toy guns
No sting, no hurting no one
Just a bang, bang rolling off your tongue
No sting, no hurting no one
Just a bang, bang rolling off your tongue
Not too bad and been better sounds about right, Colt thinks. "Could be worse, so sounds like a good day to me," Colt remarks, dusting some mud off her cheek with the back of her hand. Sometimes being above ground is the best fucking day you can have, and usually those days make all the shitty ones before it seem golden, so it's all relative anyway.
Colt laughs openly at how adamant Caly is about avoiding the rest of the maze's twists and turns, settling into the work like someone starving coming to the dinner table. "Don't worry, I'll make sure we both make it out before sundown," she reassures with a wink. Even for her, someone who's raced this labyrinth since childhood, she has days where she gets turned around in here. Hell, she gets turned around in her own mind sometimes, but today she knows the path out, and her horses have always seemed to pick the path easier than her.
Shimmying further down the line of hedge, Colt leans halfway under it with a trowel to nab all the things packing into the shade and the wet, robust in their number but weak in their grip. She drags them out in a heap, grumbling through the effort a bit as she backs out to the front of the hedge with a sigh. "Oh, I'm pretty good," she says with a glance towards Caly, her pinky grabbing a stray hair from the corner of her mouth. "Not so many broken fences to fix in this weather. The studs and the bulls all calm down a bit more, and the babes and the mothers are all separated by now and growing the next year's crop." There's a seasonal flow to her work that maintains a nice repetition among all the daily bullshit and chaos. "Just brought in the cattle for the year, gotta brand 'em and castrate 'em next. With all the meadows dying off, we swap over to hay instead of pasture for the rest of the year." She stops suddenly, laughing a little. "Sorry, I realize you didn't ask for a ranch report." There are times like this when she realizes how much of herself she's put into the daily work of it, and wonders if that's something she ought to be proud of or not. It's like when someone asks who you are and you can't seem to find any words to explain except all the ones that are the things you do.
"Anyway, one thing after another, like always, but I'll take that over bored any day."
Colt laughs openly at how adamant Caly is about avoiding the rest of the maze's twists and turns, settling into the work like someone starving coming to the dinner table. "Don't worry, I'll make sure we both make it out before sundown," she reassures with a wink. Even for her, someone who's raced this labyrinth since childhood, she has days where she gets turned around in here. Hell, she gets turned around in her own mind sometimes, but today she knows the path out, and her horses have always seemed to pick the path easier than her.
Shimmying further down the line of hedge, Colt leans halfway under it with a trowel to nab all the things packing into the shade and the wet, robust in their number but weak in their grip. She drags them out in a heap, grumbling through the effort a bit as she backs out to the front of the hedge with a sigh. "Oh, I'm pretty good," she says with a glance towards Caly, her pinky grabbing a stray hair from the corner of her mouth. "Not so many broken fences to fix in this weather. The studs and the bulls all calm down a bit more, and the babes and the mothers are all separated by now and growing the next year's crop." There's a seasonal flow to her work that maintains a nice repetition among all the daily bullshit and chaos. "Just brought in the cattle for the year, gotta brand 'em and castrate 'em next. With all the meadows dying off, we swap over to hay instead of pasture for the rest of the year." She stops suddenly, laughing a little. "Sorry, I realize you didn't ask for a ranch report." There are times like this when she realizes how much of herself she's put into the daily work of it, and wonders if that's something she ought to be proud of or not. It's like when someone asks who you are and you can't seem to find any words to explain except all the ones that are the things you do.
"Anyway, one thing after another, like always, but I'll take that over bored any day."
No smoke, no bullets
No kick from the trigger when you pull it
No pain, no damage done
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.
