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
Her head cocks a bit, looking at him with a slightly altered light, the movement shifting the little hairs that refused to get tied up with the rest. "Gonna be tight timing to make it back to my porch from Torchline," she lays it out like a map that he'd been the one to sketch an alternate route on, pointing to the line where he'd earlier suggested they detour. He built a fine enough case for the wonders of the fountain, and she'd be not much better off here honestly, just getting under the skin of everyone she knows instead of everyone she doesn't. She shrugs faintly, like it's his call, but her mind's made up on the matter now. Maybe there'd be something inbetween beds and boredom, somewhere in the middle of the dial she could maintain the needle.
If she bothered to think about it at all, she'd come to find that he's always given in to her pull. Often she imagines he's the only one with the gravity to manage it, but she just doesn't usually put her's to work, a little too afraid to face it should it fail.
It's a relief when he drifts in, removing all the effort it takes to hold him back. She likes to think herself strong, he's just so damn heavy. Since everything's giving in right now, so too does the control over her laugh, startled free by Edith no less. It's bright and free, empty of all the points or protection she sometimes threads into it. "Bet she'd like it," she hums with humor, the tremble of it still in her shoulders. It's barely chased off by the fit of his hands on her, but those always have a way of snuffing out most other thoughts. "Should we give her something worth watching?" The ask comes playful, but hushed with the anticipation of the gap he's slowly closing, his patience an offensive thing sometimes.
When he finally erases all the remaining space her fingers loosen against his chest, dropping to hook into his pants' pocket like she's anchoring him to her. Everything that'd been loud or shaky turns quiet and still beneath his kiss, leaving nothing but the warmth of it to creep steadily through her, as comforting as any sip of spirits. This she doesn't mind slow, pressing back with the full intention of finding out if he tastes like forever. Her other hand abandons its secure grip on the ladder, preferring the stability of him as it loops around his side and flattens against his back.
Eventually when breath his needed and she tilts to the side of him, she sighs long and loud. "You're the worst painting help I've ever received."
If she bothered to think about it at all, she'd come to find that he's always given in to her pull. Often she imagines he's the only one with the gravity to manage it, but she just doesn't usually put her's to work, a little too afraid to face it should it fail.
It's a relief when he drifts in, removing all the effort it takes to hold him back. She likes to think herself strong, he's just so damn heavy. Since everything's giving in right now, so too does the control over her laugh, startled free by Edith no less. It's bright and free, empty of all the points or protection she sometimes threads into it. "Bet she'd like it," she hums with humor, the tremble of it still in her shoulders. It's barely chased off by the fit of his hands on her, but those always have a way of snuffing out most other thoughts. "Should we give her something worth watching?" The ask comes playful, but hushed with the anticipation of the gap he's slowly closing, his patience an offensive thing sometimes.
When he finally erases all the remaining space her fingers loosen against his chest, dropping to hook into his pants' pocket like she's anchoring him to her. Everything that'd been loud or shaky turns quiet and still beneath his kiss, leaving nothing but the warmth of it to creep steadily through her, as comforting as any sip of spirits. This she doesn't mind slow, pressing back with the full intention of finding out if he tastes like forever. Her other hand abandons its secure grip on the ladder, preferring the stability of him as it loops around his side and flattens against his back.
Eventually when breath his needed and she tilts to the side of him, she sighs long and loud. "You're the worst painting help I've ever received."
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.
