COLT
I had a vision last night
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?
Horses on the granite plains
That sound of freedom stampeding
Why can't I feel the same?
Admittedly, Torchline has the best ropes around. Sailors might make them for different reasons, but they need the high quality, and after setting up some trade patterns with some of the merchants, she's gotten her lariats fashioned with similar attention to detail. These shopkeeps don't depend on her trade though, it's too low traffic, so they've been steadily hiking the prices up on her for such custom made orders. Enough so that she's gotten fed up and tried a new spot, and today's her first haul with the particular new brand.
Heading out from town for a little warmer weather practice instead of hurrying home to shiver in her boots while slapping some loops at a dummy, Colt directs Biscuit towards a prettier isle. Bright colors in nature usually aren't a positive, but plants get away with it, and Torchline has a habit of being loud in all manner. Wandering across the thin bridge and into the little jungle, Colt sighs with some relief at the humidity that greets her. "Can't find this back home," she mutters aloud, appreciative of the little things, like not having to wear gloves for a while.
They mosey until she spots a passable target—a thicker tree trunk that still stands, though the foliage has withered from it, which leaves the top of it clean to throw a loop. "Standby girl," she says with an affectionate pat to Biscuit's neck while she swings out a loop from the new rope. "Time to see if this is worth a shit," she grunts as she tosses it towards the tree, hauling the slack back so it snaps taut. Biscuit sets back to keep the pressure on, and the excess in Colt's hand gets wrapped around the saddle horn, clear of her thumb. To release the captured tree, she nudges Biscuit forward, removing the tension, and wiggles the rope free with a few slaps to the line. She coils it back up with a speed born of practice, then sends it out again, and again. She gets a feel for it after a bit, and works some of the stiffness out that always comes with the new ones. She's just about to call it quits there and pack it up, satisfied enough, right after she throws this last one.
She's not the only one on this island though, and all the noise of her rope cutting air and hitting bark has attracted the interest of a hungry Mudtiger. Biscuit's unease is the first sign Colt gets, but there's something to be said for the Mudtiger's camouflage and adaptability to this terrain. It's on them a bit too fast for anything but the brief awareness of oh fuck. The second sign Colt gets is the hiss just as it lunges towards them. Her mare rears up, and mid swing of her rope, Colt throws it out at the maw of the beast instead of the tree, more reflex than plan. Worst case scenario, it's a muzzle to buy them some time.
She does have her bow and arrows on the saddle, but not in any easy way to gather with her horse shying out from under her. It's all she can do to sit on her pockets and stick with the maneuvering mount, one hand holding reins and mane, while the other loops some of the rope slack around the saddle horn, figuring maybe the shock of it all would make it think twice.
"Eaaasy," Colt urges of the mare, trying to haul her up, the jungle too dense and hungry for the horse to just crash into and make it out. The mare throws her head in active protest of the directions, quivering with fear and energy, while the Mudtiger thrashes on the end of the line, jaw fighting against the cinch of the lariat. "Fuck."
Heading out from town for a little warmer weather practice instead of hurrying home to shiver in her boots while slapping some loops at a dummy, Colt directs Biscuit towards a prettier isle. Bright colors in nature usually aren't a positive, but plants get away with it, and Torchline has a habit of being loud in all manner. Wandering across the thin bridge and into the little jungle, Colt sighs with some relief at the humidity that greets her. "Can't find this back home," she mutters aloud, appreciative of the little things, like not having to wear gloves for a while.
They mosey until she spots a passable target—a thicker tree trunk that still stands, though the foliage has withered from it, which leaves the top of it clean to throw a loop. "Standby girl," she says with an affectionate pat to Biscuit's neck while she swings out a loop from the new rope. "Time to see if this is worth a shit," she grunts as she tosses it towards the tree, hauling the slack back so it snaps taut. Biscuit sets back to keep the pressure on, and the excess in Colt's hand gets wrapped around the saddle horn, clear of her thumb. To release the captured tree, she nudges Biscuit forward, removing the tension, and wiggles the rope free with a few slaps to the line. She coils it back up with a speed born of practice, then sends it out again, and again. She gets a feel for it after a bit, and works some of the stiffness out that always comes with the new ones. She's just about to call it quits there and pack it up, satisfied enough, right after she throws this last one.
She's not the only one on this island though, and all the noise of her rope cutting air and hitting bark has attracted the interest of a hungry Mudtiger. Biscuit's unease is the first sign Colt gets, but there's something to be said for the Mudtiger's camouflage and adaptability to this terrain. It's on them a bit too fast for anything but the brief awareness of oh fuck. The second sign Colt gets is the hiss just as it lunges towards them. Her mare rears up, and mid swing of her rope, Colt throws it out at the maw of the beast instead of the tree, more reflex than plan. Worst case scenario, it's a muzzle to buy them some time.
She does have her bow and arrows on the saddle, but not in any easy way to gather with her horse shying out from under her. It's all she can do to sit on her pockets and stick with the maneuvering mount, one hand holding reins and mane, while the other loops some of the rope slack around the saddle horn, figuring maybe the shock of it all would make it think twice.
"Eaaasy," Colt urges of the mare, trying to haul her up, the jungle too dense and hungry for the horse to just crash into and make it out. The mare throws her head in active protest of the directions, quivering with fear and energy, while the Mudtiger thrashes on the end of the line, jaw fighting against the cinch of the lariat. "Fuck."
I've been sipping on a poison
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face it
Even on the days I taste it
Run into the same wall
All because I just can't face 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.
