COLT
Got a head full of noise
About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid
I got a mind in the gutter
Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
About a hundred different things I'm tryna avoid
I got a mind in the gutter
Got trouble on one hand, a beer in the other
Her eyes trace the growth of appreciation in his face, the sentiment returned as her lips quirk up higher, tilting more onto one side with her typical crooked kind of smile. "Don't get me wrong, I love some luxere or ramphire same as the next, and I appreciate what the hunters and trappers do to supply it. I'd just rather raise my burgers than track 'em down." She laughs faintly, a hand waving away the comparison before sliding back into her pocket. There's benefits and struggles to each industry, this just happens to be the one she knows best, the one she loves.
It's not often she meets a man willing to just try at something. Usually they're protective of their ego and find a way to diminish the work or deny it outright. He's not only curious though, but willing, and that's the sort of spirit she can understand. "Now, then?" she wonders, a touch surprised, her smile faltering into a bit of an open mouthed wonder as she blinks across at him through the fence. She thumps a hand onto the rail, a solid sound of approval, before she slips between the bars and joins him on the other side. "Well shit, can't say no to that, let's make an honest hand out of you today Damien."
She doesn't answer his question about the horses, not audibly, just keeps walking past him after one long glance and a motion to follow. "You can lay it by the stall," she informs him, able to eyeball that he's got enough on him and see the weight of it in the way his footprints sit heavier in the slush. She has no intention of carrying it the distance when he's already decked out with it. "You can keep 'em here, that's no problem," she says with a puff of visible breath, strides eating up the ground and working up heat to battle the chill.
The main stable is closer to the front, most doors battened down against the wind and the cold this time of year. Stepping inside, the smell of straw and alfalfa greets them, and a few hopeful noses poke over their gates with a low nicker. There's enough passerby that can be swindled out of treats to make it a habit worth doing regardless of who steps into the barn. "There," she says, motioning towards a pair of stalls towards the back right. "The dapple grey's a mare by the name of Blueberry, she's about five. The liver chestnut gelding is Spud, he's seven."
It's not often she meets a man willing to just try at something. Usually they're protective of their ego and find a way to diminish the work or deny it outright. He's not only curious though, but willing, and that's the sort of spirit she can understand. "Now, then?" she wonders, a touch surprised, her smile faltering into a bit of an open mouthed wonder as she blinks across at him through the fence. She thumps a hand onto the rail, a solid sound of approval, before she slips between the bars and joins him on the other side. "Well shit, can't say no to that, let's make an honest hand out of you today Damien."
She doesn't answer his question about the horses, not audibly, just keeps walking past him after one long glance and a motion to follow. "You can lay it by the stall," she informs him, able to eyeball that he's got enough on him and see the weight of it in the way his footprints sit heavier in the slush. She has no intention of carrying it the distance when he's already decked out with it. "You can keep 'em here, that's no problem," she says with a puff of visible breath, strides eating up the ground and working up heat to battle the chill.
The main stable is closer to the front, most doors battened down against the wind and the cold this time of year. Stepping inside, the smell of straw and alfalfa greets them, and a few hopeful noses poke over their gates with a low nicker. There's enough passerby that can be swindled out of treats to make it a habit worth doing regardless of who steps into the barn. "There," she says, motioning towards a pair of stalls towards the back right. "The dapple grey's a mare by the name of Blueberry, she's about five. The liver chestnut gelding is Spud, he's seven."
Got the wind in my hair
I got nowhere to go so I'm already there
Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't
If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
I got nowhere to go so I'm already there
Can't say I would and I can't say I wouldn't
If I don't come back, don't come lookin'
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.
