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
Well, if he's gonna say that, now she has to prove him wrong, show him that she isn't worried about teleporting through the space between space as a little cloud of mist and dusk, like it's a completely ordinary affair to be reduced to nothing more than motes of shadow and light for the blink it takes. "I'm not," she scoffs, the offense only surface level. "And I wouldn't." She absolutely would have if he hadn't said something,—and the reminder of all the dead things scattered over the ground, the ones she’s always pulling out of dog paws, is nearly as good a reason as obstinacy for choosing his method. Normally she wouldn’t be out here barefoot without shoes close by; she learned that lesson well before tonight. "Misty express it is," she declares with a narrow gaze, just for a beat, because somehow it still feels like he won that even though he left it her choice.
There goes that idea. He's just an outdoorsman at heart then, it'd seem. "Not even a little clearer?" she asks with her own 'brow raise, like she can't quite believe that there's not the difference of glass and fog when a roof is inbetween. She glances up at the stars again, skeptical, because it certainly makes sense that if she can see them better out here they can see her better, but she should probably trust the only one of them who's actually been there. She's not prone to giving in though, even when it's in her best interest. "Sounds like a voyer's dream," she deflects instead, and absolutely leaves a glance on him that implies he might be one such culprit.
The quiet that spills over him surprises her. Normally dreams fill up hearts and minds with noise, and it doesn't always make sense, but it's something alive and unapologetically loud about its existence. They can be small or grand, sensible or impossible, and there's a countless amount of them to be had. She can't really believe that he doesn't have one, but she can understand being hesitant to share it. Dreams can be secret too, those ones only finding volume in the right moment, or with the right company. She listens though, to what he does tell her, to the way he's rigid with the heaviness of expectations instead of wants. A touch of a frown comes in, a flicker of disagreement on behalf of him. "Seems to me you're the exact type of person who should have a dream," she murmurs, because the idea of him being nothing more than the result of a mold sounds unbearable. He's more than just what was imagined, she's certain. "Besides, dreams are for anyone and everyone."
She's not sure where to draw a boundary on this. She'd like to push him on it, prove him wrong here and now. Though, the last thing she wants to do is put more pressure on him when he's already being stifled by it, and gods know she's accidentally pushed him a time or two already. In his shoes, she'd not handle any more prodding well, so would it really be for his sake, or for hers? She exhales quietly, releasing the words brewing in her mind. Another time, perhaps. Just seemed he had some sort of dream, for the demi-gods, but maybe that's less a dream and more a pain point he wishes would be removed with some accountability and sense.
She hums for a minute, as if in thought, even if her dream is already fighting to break free in the tilt of her smile and the glint in her eyes. It's something daring and a little silly and entirely useless to anyone but her. "I wanna tame a pegasus one day." She drops it quickly, like explaining it too much might alter the shape of it. She bites a bit at the edge of her lower lip, holding his gaze steady, waiting a bit to see if he laughs or clearly tries to hide one.
"I hear there's some in the Draig," she goes on to explain, like there's some reality to be found here. That's the first major obstacle to her achieving this. "I don't entirely know how to tame something that can fly away," she admits, slow with this other obstacle, a bit of a weight on the idea. "But, I saw a guy ride one once, when I was real little." Small enough it might have been misremembered by now, warped the way memories tend to do when you revisit them too often or they get too old. It might have been artwork, or a book, or a bed time story that she got in her head as being true, but that's why it's just a dream and not her life's work. She's sensible enough not to lose her mind to the idea, but in moments like this, it brightens things, and it feels like it could be possible if everything lines up perfect.
There goes that idea. He's just an outdoorsman at heart then, it'd seem. "Not even a little clearer?" she asks with her own 'brow raise, like she can't quite believe that there's not the difference of glass and fog when a roof is inbetween. She glances up at the stars again, skeptical, because it certainly makes sense that if she can see them better out here they can see her better, but she should probably trust the only one of them who's actually been there. She's not prone to giving in though, even when it's in her best interest. "Sounds like a voyer's dream," she deflects instead, and absolutely leaves a glance on him that implies he might be one such culprit.
The quiet that spills over him surprises her. Normally dreams fill up hearts and minds with noise, and it doesn't always make sense, but it's something alive and unapologetically loud about its existence. They can be small or grand, sensible or impossible, and there's a countless amount of them to be had. She can't really believe that he doesn't have one, but she can understand being hesitant to share it. Dreams can be secret too, those ones only finding volume in the right moment, or with the right company. She listens though, to what he does tell her, to the way he's rigid with the heaviness of expectations instead of wants. A touch of a frown comes in, a flicker of disagreement on behalf of him. "Seems to me you're the exact type of person who should have a dream," she murmurs, because the idea of him being nothing more than the result of a mold sounds unbearable. He's more than just what was imagined, she's certain. "Besides, dreams are for anyone and everyone."
She's not sure where to draw a boundary on this. She'd like to push him on it, prove him wrong here and now. Though, the last thing she wants to do is put more pressure on him when he's already being stifled by it, and gods know she's accidentally pushed him a time or two already. In his shoes, she'd not handle any more prodding well, so would it really be for his sake, or for hers? She exhales quietly, releasing the words brewing in her mind. Another time, perhaps. Just seemed he had some sort of dream, for the demi-gods, but maybe that's less a dream and more a pain point he wishes would be removed with some accountability and sense.
She hums for a minute, as if in thought, even if her dream is already fighting to break free in the tilt of her smile and the glint in her eyes. It's something daring and a little silly and entirely useless to anyone but her. "I wanna tame a pegasus one day." She drops it quickly, like explaining it too much might alter the shape of it. She bites a bit at the edge of her lower lip, holding his gaze steady, waiting a bit to see if he laughs or clearly tries to hide one.
"I hear there's some in the Draig," she goes on to explain, like there's some reality to be found here. That's the first major obstacle to her achieving this. "I don't entirely know how to tame something that can fly away," she admits, slow with this other obstacle, a bit of a weight on the idea. "But, I saw a guy ride one once, when I was real little." Small enough it might have been misremembered by now, warped the way memories tend to do when you revisit them too often or they get too old. It might have been artwork, or a book, or a bed time story that she got in her head as being true, but that's why it's just a dream and not her life's work. She's sensible enough not to lose her mind to the idea, but in moments like this, it brightens things, and it feels like it could be possible if everything lines up perfect.
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.
