Colt
Love's just one of them words
That gets thrown around
So I ain't gonna say it, no I ain't gonna lie
If you were my last breath, I'd just wanna hold ya
That gets thrown around
So I ain't gonna say it, no I ain't gonna lie
If you were my last breath, I'd just wanna hold ya
This isn't the first whistle she's heard, although it's the first one today, and it's the first one looking like this. Proof that there's someone for everyone it'd seem, if unflattering and paint-crusted denim is capable of luring someone in still. She ignores the sound for the most part, just lifts up a middle finger in response, which should be plenty clue enough for the dog to keep walking.
Except there's no receding footsteps, and just one all too familiar voice, if entirely unexpected. Not a dog then, a fox. Her tune cuts off, head turning over her shoulder with a sway of her ponytail, a smile stretching in at the sight of him framed by all his mischief. Gods, if he isn't a sight for sore eyes. Every time, especially the unexpected ones, he's something she could watch over and over, the same way a sunset never loses its value. Fuck if that isn't half the problem though.
She sighs softly, pushing back against the way he lands with all the permanence of smoke settling in the fabric of her mind. Light, she tells herself, keep it light. The night of the masquerade had shown her just how heavily she'd started carrying him inside her.
"Yeah, you don't know anyone like that, do you?" she props one hand on her hip, a 'brow rising with expectation of an answer. "It'd help if they're tall too," at that she turns back to the wall and motions with the brush in her other hand towards the peak of the roof that stretches well above her, although there's a step ladder leaning against the fence where she slung her jacket. "They'd have to be willing to get dirty though," she tells the house, frowning a bit at it, like that could be the troublesome part.
Except there's no receding footsteps, and just one all too familiar voice, if entirely unexpected. Not a dog then, a fox. Her tune cuts off, head turning over her shoulder with a sway of her ponytail, a smile stretching in at the sight of him framed by all his mischief. Gods, if he isn't a sight for sore eyes. Every time, especially the unexpected ones, he's something she could watch over and over, the same way a sunset never loses its value. Fuck if that isn't half the problem though.
She sighs softly, pushing back against the way he lands with all the permanence of smoke settling in the fabric of her mind. Light, she tells herself, keep it light. The night of the masquerade had shown her just how heavily she'd started carrying him inside her.
"Yeah, you don't know anyone like that, do you?" she props one hand on her hip, a 'brow rising with expectation of an answer. "It'd help if they're tall too," at that she turns back to the wall and motions with the brush in her other hand towards the peak of the roof that stretches well above her, although there's a step ladder leaning against the fence where she slung her jacket. "They'd have to be willing to get dirty though," she tells the house, frowning a bit at it, like that could be the troublesome part.
If you were my last shot of whiskey
I'd press you to my lips, take a little sip
Swirl you around and around and around
Then I'd shoot ya down
I'd press you to my lips, take a little sip
Swirl you around and around and around
Then I'd shoot ya down
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.
