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
The smug crease of her features suggests that channeling him has already crossed her mind a time or two, usually when a particularly frustrating day has worn itself into an empty evening. Only the knowledge that his arrival would be as fleeting as any of her dreams has kept her itchy trigger finger at bay and the level requirement. She's had her weaker moments though, when the temptation nearly beats out sense, a too common trend when it comes to him. Sometimes a glimpse is worth it though. "Careful suggesting that sugar, not sure I wouldn't abuse the ability to have you at my beck and call." Although she laughs, there's a current of desire to it that she's not strong enough to keep out.
The sound quiets to something more reflective, grateful that he doesn't splinter into disapproval or condescension or all the other facets of things she's had angled at her before. He just takes it in, steady as ever, and it makes the sting of it all a little lighter. She tracks the sweep of his hand, combing through the strands like he's organizing worries he won't name but she knows are there, at least for his sisters she knows. "What do you need?" because though he said it like an offhand reminder of his to do list, she wouldn't mind doing something to benefit Nova. "Could lend a hand," she offers, shrugging like it's easy. Right now it is—the animals are all moved for the season and her leg's got her out of the saddle and instead at the wit's end of all her workers, which is why they kicked her out into town. It's also why she's got no good reason to decline his invitation.
She leans deeper on the ladder at the casual extension of it, like she doesn't trust her own feet to keep her upright right now. Her eyes widen just a touch, blinking back her bewilderment. There's a brief moment where she grabs onto the idea with full force. She can picture lazy afternoons on the coast with him, laid back in the sand until the creep of the tide against their toes chases them off. Of evenings spent draped against him while they wander the town until something strikes their fancy enough to make them slip in, be it dinner or a party or a back alley where the lights don't reach. She can imagine falling asleep to the sound of his breathing, waking up with one limb or another still tangled, sheets like smoke around them and the morning growing old before they rouse. She can see it all clearly, but that's all so heavy, and she's trying to keep it light, because if she can't even keep her mood at an even keel when she can't find him for a dance that doesn't even matter, she sure as shit knows she won't handle herself with any sort of grace in a region with too few familiar places and faces.
Hell, she doesn't even know if that's the sort of with me he means. She'd be with him because that's where he lives, but realistically she'd be shacked up at an inn, just another empty room, one worse than her own. Soaking in a healing fountain sounds more like letting herself stew amid dangerous thoughts, all to retreat to a room with boredom as company. The more it spins out in her mind, the more certain she is she'd have an easier time relaxing fighting another toad. "The worst of it's behind me, not sure there's much left to be healed, just time. Besides, if I left, who'd paint dear ol' Edith's house?" She tries to pitch the words into something higher, airy, light, like she didn't just wander from best to worst case scenarios over something he said as simple as a meal order to a waitress.
The sound quiets to something more reflective, grateful that he doesn't splinter into disapproval or condescension or all the other facets of things she's had angled at her before. He just takes it in, steady as ever, and it makes the sting of it all a little lighter. She tracks the sweep of his hand, combing through the strands like he's organizing worries he won't name but she knows are there, at least for his sisters she knows. "What do you need?" because though he said it like an offhand reminder of his to do list, she wouldn't mind doing something to benefit Nova. "Could lend a hand," she offers, shrugging like it's easy. Right now it is—the animals are all moved for the season and her leg's got her out of the saddle and instead at the wit's end of all her workers, which is why they kicked her out into town. It's also why she's got no good reason to decline his invitation.
She leans deeper on the ladder at the casual extension of it, like she doesn't trust her own feet to keep her upright right now. Her eyes widen just a touch, blinking back her bewilderment. There's a brief moment where she grabs onto the idea with full force. She can picture lazy afternoons on the coast with him, laid back in the sand until the creep of the tide against their toes chases them off. Of evenings spent draped against him while they wander the town until something strikes their fancy enough to make them slip in, be it dinner or a party or a back alley where the lights don't reach. She can imagine falling asleep to the sound of his breathing, waking up with one limb or another still tangled, sheets like smoke around them and the morning growing old before they rouse. She can see it all clearly, but that's all so heavy, and she's trying to keep it light, because if she can't even keep her mood at an even keel when she can't find him for a dance that doesn't even matter, she sure as shit knows she won't handle herself with any sort of grace in a region with too few familiar places and faces.
Hell, she doesn't even know if that's the sort of with me he means. She'd be with him because that's where he lives, but realistically she'd be shacked up at an inn, just another empty room, one worse than her own. Soaking in a healing fountain sounds more like letting herself stew amid dangerous thoughts, all to retreat to a room with boredom as company. The more it spins out in her mind, the more certain she is she'd have an easier time relaxing fighting another toad. "The worst of it's behind me, not sure there's much left to be healed, just time. Besides, if I left, who'd paint dear ol' Edith's house?" She tries to pitch the words into something higher, airy, light, like she didn't just wander from best to worst case scenarios over something he said as simple as a meal order to a waitress.
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.
