It's a real life boogie and a real life hoedown
She gratefully clasps her hands around the margarita glass the bartender hands her, knocking back a sip before she even gets two steps away. The only drinking problem she has is how fucking awful the aftertaste of the hard cider had been, but the tart punch of the lime and salt she's got now? Drowns it all out with perfection.
With every intention of finding Hawthorn to drag him onto the dance floor yet again, she settles at a table to survey the ground for a flash of recognizable cloak, seeming to claim the same top at nearly the same time as Thalassa. "Oh, pardon," Colt murmurs, her hand already spinning her drink over the surface, though she straightens up a bit from her lean against it. A quick glance around doesn't reveal any other open options, all of the other tables claimed by some couple or a tipsy group of friends. "I won't be long, just looking for someone." Someones, would be most accurate, ever on the hunt for that familiar flash of blue. He did still owe her a dance after all, so maybe she'd leave Hawthorn to the mob.
Speaking of hauntingly blue stares, Thal's gaze is gripping in its own right, and Colt can't help but peer over at the Ancient from the rim of her drink as she sips slowly, thoughtful in her assessment. "You look like someone pissed in your cheerios. Need a drink?" She extends her glass forward in an offering of solidarity, content to relinquish her cocktail, because this is a party, and a woman as pretty as Thalassa doesn't deserve to be pouting alone at a table, nothing in hand.
With every intention of finding Hawthorn to drag him onto the dance floor yet again, she settles at a table to survey the ground for a flash of recognizable cloak, seeming to claim the same top at nearly the same time as Thalassa. "Oh, pardon," Colt murmurs, her hand already spinning her drink over the surface, though she straightens up a bit from her lean against it. A quick glance around doesn't reveal any other open options, all of the other tables claimed by some couple or a tipsy group of friends. "I won't be long, just looking for someone." Someones, would be most accurate, ever on the hunt for that familiar flash of blue. He did still owe her a dance after all, so maybe she'd leave Hawthorn to the mob.
Speaking of hauntingly blue stares, Thal's gaze is gripping in its own right, and Colt can't help but peer over at the Ancient from the rim of her drink as she sips slowly, thoughtful in her assessment. "You look like someone pissed in your cheerios. Need a drink?" She extends her glass forward in an offering of solidarity, content to relinquish her cocktail, because this is a party, and a woman as pretty as Thalassa doesn't deserve to be pouting alone at a table, nothing in hand.
Colt
Don't be a bitch, come take it to the floor now
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.
