COLT
Usually, I ain't the type to stay up all damn night
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
It's nice that one of them isn't making a production, because Colt has essentially launched her own Hollywood company at this point over it. First, the back and forth silent arguing with herself (and sometimes out loud too, for a change of pace) over why she'd even permitted this and whether or not she ought to send a courier to him to tell him nevermind, she's too busy or her house burnt down or some other explanation. The stupid, traitorous part of her kept insisting it'd be fine though, that they'd already spent nights in the desert and in a tree house, so what's an evening at home? It's not like he's moving in, it's not like this is becoming more—that's just ridiculous. This is just, sensible, and comfortable, and fine.
Then there'd been the frantic cleaning, as if every speck of dust to ever exist had suddenly made itself known on every surface of her home, even bothering to still look dirty at certain angles in the right light and if she squinted a certain way. At one point at least six different things were halfway in progress of being scrubbed, scoured, or sorted before she'd spot something else that hadn't even been on the fucking list and grumble over to tackle it before she forgot, including the inside of her fridge. She didn't think she had a habit of being particularly messy, but suddenly the house looked far too lived in, too many nights spent passing out on the couch with a box of crackers in hand a little too apparent.
The dogs had long been kicked out. She couldn't handle the shadow of them pacing her from room to room, yelping when she tripped over them after an abrupt turn and cursing at them throughout the stumble. That'd been earlier today, but they still sulk on the porch, dusting various edges of it with their fur and paws. As Vesper arrives their announcement of him rings like a nervous chorus, tails wagging cautiously while curious noses press up towards him and his goodies.
"Enough!" she shouts back at them, mostly uselessly as one or two continue to alert like the entire meadow hasn't heard. "One seeeeecond," she calls, pulling out the whisk from the bowl with an approving nod of her head after tasting the batter. She turns, spinning accidentally in place once while searching for the hand towel she forgot she put of her shoulder. Wiping the mix off her wrist onto it, she takes a moment to fix her loosely tied back hair, setting it back over one shoulder. She smooths her t-shirt under her apron and dusts some flour residue from her jeans before heading to the door, bare feet whispering over the wood and tile.
Inhaling, she reaches for the door and pulls it open, her smile already in place at the sight of him, his name just there on her lips before they stretch out wider in surprise as she glances to each held item he's got like an overladen fruit tree. "What," she starts, the word falling apart into a laugh. "What is all of that?" All the what ifs quiet at the sight of him on her porch, chased away by that crooked smile and those endless eyes. "Come in," she seems to remember after a beat, pressing against the door to let him pass, one hand extending towards him in offering. "You got it all?"
Her home is not complicated, opening up into the living room first, her back door visible across from the front where the citrus trees grow and a stray animal or two might be found should the need arise for close watch. Her kitchen is open and near the living room, an island serving as a border against the entry way, and a small kitchen table ready near the hallway into her room and the bathroom. Another room runs the opposite way, empty now. The house is decorated, but organized, never too much to make it difficult to clean (more than it already is) or feel cluttered. Some artwork of horses or cattle in various mediums line the wall, along with some skulls and horns and old tack or leather mounted to the wood and stone of the higher supports of the building.
Then there'd been the frantic cleaning, as if every speck of dust to ever exist had suddenly made itself known on every surface of her home, even bothering to still look dirty at certain angles in the right light and if she squinted a certain way. At one point at least six different things were halfway in progress of being scrubbed, scoured, or sorted before she'd spot something else that hadn't even been on the fucking list and grumble over to tackle it before she forgot, including the inside of her fridge. She didn't think she had a habit of being particularly messy, but suddenly the house looked far too lived in, too many nights spent passing out on the couch with a box of crackers in hand a little too apparent.
The dogs had long been kicked out. She couldn't handle the shadow of them pacing her from room to room, yelping when she tripped over them after an abrupt turn and cursing at them throughout the stumble. That'd been earlier today, but they still sulk on the porch, dusting various edges of it with their fur and paws. As Vesper arrives their announcement of him rings like a nervous chorus, tails wagging cautiously while curious noses press up towards him and his goodies.
"Enough!" she shouts back at them, mostly uselessly as one or two continue to alert like the entire meadow hasn't heard. "One seeeeecond," she calls, pulling out the whisk from the bowl with an approving nod of her head after tasting the batter. She turns, spinning accidentally in place once while searching for the hand towel she forgot she put of her shoulder. Wiping the mix off her wrist onto it, she takes a moment to fix her loosely tied back hair, setting it back over one shoulder. She smooths her t-shirt under her apron and dusts some flour residue from her jeans before heading to the door, bare feet whispering over the wood and tile.
Inhaling, she reaches for the door and pulls it open, her smile already in place at the sight of him, his name just there on her lips before they stretch out wider in surprise as she glances to each held item he's got like an overladen fruit tree. "What," she starts, the word falling apart into a laugh. "What is all of that?" All the what ifs quiet at the sight of him on her porch, chased away by that crooked smile and those endless eyes. "Come in," she seems to remember after a beat, pressing against the door to let him pass, one hand extending towards him in offering. "You got it all?"
Her home is not complicated, opening up into the living room first, her back door visible across from the front where the citrus trees grow and a stray animal or two might be found should the need arise for close watch. Her kitchen is open and near the living room, an island serving as a border against the entry way, and a small kitchen table ready near the hallway into her room and the bathroom. Another room runs the opposite way, empty now. The house is decorated, but organized, never too much to make it difficult to clean (more than it already is) or feel cluttered. Some artwork of horses or cattle in various mediums line the wall, along with some skulls and horns and old tack or leather mounted to the wood and stone of the higher supports of the building.
I keep it dark, I keep it quiet
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
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.
