COLT
I've been sleeping wide awake
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
Slow dancing 'round the cracks in the floorboards
Fighting myself while lying in a
Bed I made and can't ignore
The sight of him is such a relief that it swells up sudden and fierce, shoving everything else out. All the pretend strength she'd collected and stitched together like armor breaks off under the force of it, drifting away in a frosted breath that curls around her. The fire poker in her hand tips down to her deck, serving as a cane that she sags against as the current of it all leaving threatens to take her with it. Part of it's the reassurance that there's no fear needed after all, the wake adrenaline leaves behind a trembling one. "Fuck's sake Ves," she breathes, the ghost of a laugh edging in. The other part, that's all him—the one star permitted to shine during LongNight, and here he is, glinting amid firelight and frost like a wish shooting through the dark.
Like her, the dogs start to ease, and she tilts her head a bit as she watches him wade through them, his explanation sensible enough. "I was about to set you on fire," she admonishes lightly, lifting her hand that's still clutching the glass of tequila, fuel turned back to drink now that the midnight monster has been revealed. "And you owe me a new shirt," she huffs without meaning it, but the Deepfrost chill is eagerly pressing in against her midriff. Her soft tank top is torn in an uneven cut at the bottom, the missing piece being the one currently burning dimly on her lawn. She'd not been expecting company, or the outdoors, so she's in her plaid pajama pants and a large, loose shirt. The perfect attire for drinking and sleeping through the nightmare that this annual storm delivers. She permits a little cry here or there inbetween to mix the days up, evident in the puffiness from old tears still swelling the corners of her eyes. Her hair's barely contained in a weak tie that seems more ornament than function at this point with the way it's slid near the ends and several strands have long since sprung free to trail against her other shoulder.
Still, sight as he is for sore eyes, and hers certainly are, there's an undercurrent of uncertainty. This isn't normally a time where she talks much to anyone, not with old ghosts circling her mind, and him least of all. There's nothing nice or neat or warm to her now, just a mess of scars that keep building since she won't leave them be long enough to fully heal. She doesn't want him to have to deal with that. She doesn't even want to, but she can't walk away from herself unfortunately.
The chill and the treated wood can only fight back the heat of the metal for so long, smoke starting to rise as a reminder. "Shit," she gasps as she yanks it away once she notices, gaze leaving him to peer down at the little brand now decorating her porch. She pinches her temples, thoughts hazy still despite the residue of slumber long since fading. Grief and alcohol have a way of building into a fog. "C'mon," she offers, grabbing her door open and gesturing him inside. "No sense freezing our asses off out here." Might as well disappoint him with her shit company while they're warm.
Like her, the dogs start to ease, and she tilts her head a bit as she watches him wade through them, his explanation sensible enough. "I was about to set you on fire," she admonishes lightly, lifting her hand that's still clutching the glass of tequila, fuel turned back to drink now that the midnight monster has been revealed. "And you owe me a new shirt," she huffs without meaning it, but the Deepfrost chill is eagerly pressing in against her midriff. Her soft tank top is torn in an uneven cut at the bottom, the missing piece being the one currently burning dimly on her lawn. She'd not been expecting company, or the outdoors, so she's in her plaid pajama pants and a large, loose shirt. The perfect attire for drinking and sleeping through the nightmare that this annual storm delivers. She permits a little cry here or there inbetween to mix the days up, evident in the puffiness from old tears still swelling the corners of her eyes. Her hair's barely contained in a weak tie that seems more ornament than function at this point with the way it's slid near the ends and several strands have long since sprung free to trail against her other shoulder.
Still, sight as he is for sore eyes, and hers certainly are, there's an undercurrent of uncertainty. This isn't normally a time where she talks much to anyone, not with old ghosts circling her mind, and him least of all. There's nothing nice or neat or warm to her now, just a mess of scars that keep building since she won't leave them be long enough to fully heal. She doesn't want him to have to deal with that. She doesn't even want to, but she can't walk away from herself unfortunately.
The chill and the treated wood can only fight back the heat of the metal for so long, smoke starting to rise as a reminder. "Shit," she gasps as she yanks it away once she notices, gaze leaving him to peer down at the little brand now decorating her porch. She pinches her temples, thoughts hazy still despite the residue of slumber long since fading. Grief and alcohol have a way of building into a fog. "C'mon," she offers, grabbing her door open and gesturing him inside. "No sense freezing our asses off out here." Might as well disappoint him with her shit company while they're warm.
I'm tired of running from the conversations
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
Screaming in the silence, all alone
I'm frustrated, I can't take it
But I'll fake it, then I'll hate myself again
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.
