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
Pressure always drops just before a storm. It's something you don't quite notice at first, not so dramatic as the darkening skies or the distant rumble of thunder, but you can sense it all the same, especially when you've seen enough of 'em. It's the same thing that can set the animals restless and the trees swaying different, as invisible as the wind and no less impactful.
She feels something akin to it, when talk of counters leads to loss. Unlike the usual times where she's caught the drop just before all hell breaks loose, storms with men other than him, she is not still draped in golden delight. Those times it had been them ready to burst into something fierce and terrible, one which stands above the rest in that regard. This time though, it's easy enough to attribute the change to her thoughts. The strain in his jaw, the rigidity in his shoulders, is surely just a reflection of the gaze she bears like a blade before remembering and sheathes it. For once, she's the only storm gathering instead of just being the one caught in it, and while hers might not be a twister or a hurricane, dark clouds and rain can be enough to drown a field.
She works it out into the vegetables, holds it back with laughter about dogs and cooking, like a warmer breeze and sunlight driving back the thunderhead before it builds enough.
She shrugs at his question, the answer nothing difficult. "Gave him to Frey as an offering with the last surprise litter. Got plenty of my own, thought Frey might appreciate a pup." That plan had turned out grand, given Smooches is still wagging at her doorstep. "Frey kissed him, but he still needs looking after, so." So he's here. Might one day get old and wise enough to stay by the shrine of his true master, but for now she'll accept convincing him to pee outside properly.
Her eyes trace each shadow that stirs while she responds, a pack belonging to Vesper. She bets they never piss on him when they're excited.
The look follows after him as he heads back outside, and it sits more like a retreat than work being tended. Her lips purse in quiet thought before she kicks up off the counter, stripping off her apron and ignoring the wine.
Instead she grabs their two glasses, rum and tequila, and joins him outside. "Figured I ought to play body guard for you," she offers with a light smile, setting his drink down near the plates, intentionally brushing her shoulder against him with the lean. She glances up, a quick wink exchanged before she retreats to her porch swing. It's a practiced ceremony of twirling in place, a clue for the dogs to get the fuck up, before she curls into the sway of the wood. She tilts her margarita just so to avoid spilling, folding her legs neatly against one another with a quiet sigh of peace.
"What was your favorite thing to watch among the stars," she asks casually, part of the words muffled as the tilt of her drink takes them, amber stare peering over the edge of glass to watch him. She can let things rankle her for years without moving past them, a scar built up into something ugly over a splinter, but if it matters she'll face it head on—understanding him, wrapping her head around this part of him, is something worth digging a sliver out. She's been watching it sink into her little by little, but all of hers and Thorn's thoughts haven't been able to tweeze it free.
She feels something akin to it, when talk of counters leads to loss. Unlike the usual times where she's caught the drop just before all hell breaks loose, storms with men other than him, she is not still draped in golden delight. Those times it had been them ready to burst into something fierce and terrible, one which stands above the rest in that regard. This time though, it's easy enough to attribute the change to her thoughts. The strain in his jaw, the rigidity in his shoulders, is surely just a reflection of the gaze she bears like a blade before remembering and sheathes it. For once, she's the only storm gathering instead of just being the one caught in it, and while hers might not be a twister or a hurricane, dark clouds and rain can be enough to drown a field.
She works it out into the vegetables, holds it back with laughter about dogs and cooking, like a warmer breeze and sunlight driving back the thunderhead before it builds enough.
She shrugs at his question, the answer nothing difficult. "Gave him to Frey as an offering with the last surprise litter. Got plenty of my own, thought Frey might appreciate a pup." That plan had turned out grand, given Smooches is still wagging at her doorstep. "Frey kissed him, but he still needs looking after, so." So he's here. Might one day get old and wise enough to stay by the shrine of his true master, but for now she'll accept convincing him to pee outside properly.
Her eyes trace each shadow that stirs while she responds, a pack belonging to Vesper. She bets they never piss on him when they're excited.
The look follows after him as he heads back outside, and it sits more like a retreat than work being tended. Her lips purse in quiet thought before she kicks up off the counter, stripping off her apron and ignoring the wine.
Instead she grabs their two glasses, rum and tequila, and joins him outside. "Figured I ought to play body guard for you," she offers with a light smile, setting his drink down near the plates, intentionally brushing her shoulder against him with the lean. She glances up, a quick wink exchanged before she retreats to her porch swing. It's a practiced ceremony of twirling in place, a clue for the dogs to get the fuck up, before she curls into the sway of the wood. She tilts her margarita just so to avoid spilling, folding her legs neatly against one another with a quiet sigh of peace.
"What was your favorite thing to watch among the stars," she asks casually, part of the words muffled as the tilt of her drink takes them, amber stare peering over the edge of glass to watch him. She can let things rankle her for years without moving past them, a scar built up into something ugly over a splinter, but if it matters she'll face it head on—understanding him, wrapping her head around this part of him, is something worth digging a sliver out. She's been watching it sink into her little by little, but all of hers and Thorn's thoughts haven't been able to tweeze it free.
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.
