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
His remark takes her by surprise, not having expected such an easy slide of humor amid the focus and annoyance of cooking (although maybe it only annoys her), or for her earlier joke to still be running between them. A short laugh slips free of it's own accord, thoroughly delighted by the reemergence of her second job. "My, you run a tight bar sugar, girl can't even step outside under your supervision? Feel sorry for everyone at the Hanged Man now." As the wood cradles her, she sinks against it fully, one foot driving the swing to a steady sway. "You said it's for dinner, and unless I'm mistaken, this ain't dinner, yet," she muses, "or did you think it'd take me just as long to open it as you to be done grillin'?" Which, given his praise for managing vegetables, perhaps he really had set the bar into the ground, which is fine by her, all the easier to step over. "Can't say I'm partial to wine though," she admits with a soft sigh and a subtle crinkle of her nose. She'd try it though, for his sake, but every other glass has usually been the same disappointment.
Her head tilts back as the sour heat of the margarita hits, and lazily she sprawls an arm over the swing's side, the glass loosely dangling from the claw of her hand. He takes a moment to consider, rolling the thought around the same way someone chasing down every flavor of a new drink would. She can barely take her eyes off him normally, but watching lean of him in sincere thought, calculating in a way that seems softer than normal, that's a sight she couldn't bear to miss.
His answer isn't what she expects, isn't sure what she did to be honest—something simpler she supposes, something that might be considered beautiful, or impossible, or something she'd have no hope of understanding. Instead he says something that's a little bit of it all.
The swaying stops as she focuses more intently, perching her chin on a hand as she considers it all. "Not sure if that's comforting or unnerving," she murmurs, a corner of her lip quirking up. "The connection, I mean. Sometimes it's nice to think what you do doesn't matter, that you're just one little raindrop amid a flood." A demotivating or lonely idea for some, but there's a kind of peace to existing on an island, at knowing all your fuck ups are just yours. "Other times, it's nice to know you mattered. That you changed something." There's a kind of power to that, realizing what you do carries weight, that it could be used to shape the world, even in small ways. Not something she thinks about much.
"What was the longest ripple your followed? she wonders, imagining some wayward trail of events that land someone into their best or worst day.
Her head tilts back as the sour heat of the margarita hits, and lazily she sprawls an arm over the swing's side, the glass loosely dangling from the claw of her hand. He takes a moment to consider, rolling the thought around the same way someone chasing down every flavor of a new drink would. She can barely take her eyes off him normally, but watching lean of him in sincere thought, calculating in a way that seems softer than normal, that's a sight she couldn't bear to miss.
His answer isn't what she expects, isn't sure what she did to be honest—something simpler she supposes, something that might be considered beautiful, or impossible, or something she'd have no hope of understanding. Instead he says something that's a little bit of it all.
The swaying stops as she focuses more intently, perching her chin on a hand as she considers it all. "Not sure if that's comforting or unnerving," she murmurs, a corner of her lip quirking up. "The connection, I mean. Sometimes it's nice to think what you do doesn't matter, that you're just one little raindrop amid a flood." A demotivating or lonely idea for some, but there's a kind of peace to existing on an island, at knowing all your fuck ups are just yours. "Other times, it's nice to know you mattered. That you changed something." There's a kind of power to that, realizing what you do carries weight, that it could be used to shape the world, even in small ways. Not something she thinks about much.
"What was the longest ripple your followed? she wonders, imagining some wayward trail of events that land someone into their best or worst day.
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.
