COLT
He looks like a cool drink of water
But he's candy-coated misery
He's the devil in disguise
A snake with blue eyes
But he's candy-coated misery
He's the devil in disguise
A snake with blue eyes
The same thought about Thalassa has admittedly crossed her mind, and hearing Thorn echo it feels like confirmation, despite no recognition of the girl resting in him. Her fear is, will she be standing in Thalassa's shoes some day, as though the Ancient is truly just a version of her future self trying to offer a warning she's too stubborn to heed.
"Not unbothered," she corrects so quietly it's barely a whisper, because she knows it doesn't really make a lick of difference. Enough to say, just this once, at least. A sigh of recognition soon follows suit though, and anxiously she pulls her hair around her shoulder, the various braids he'd woven in making hte process cleaner than before, and it hangs wighted and collected away from the couch she presses into. "I know, I know. I'm sick." A weak smile plays out on her lips as she reagards him, the faintest laugh slipping out. "Sick and tired of myself at this rate. I dunno how you put up with me like this." She certainly can barely stand it. One of her legs uncurls from its defensive posture against her chest, nudging against his in unspoken gratitude.
He brings it back to talking. It's no simple thing to pull answers out of shadows and starlight though. Same as getting them from gunsmoke and horses. There's something you can find, but it ain't ever easy or straightforward, not if you're asking for something that won't hurt. "Yeah," she says, to all of it. To the maybes, to the dancing, to the fear and the ruin. Maybes have become her best partner on the dancefloor with Vesper, and fear and ruin are just the names of every song. Admitting it for the first time is something, but it's not rest, and she's out of breath at this point from going round and round about it.
Her hand reaches out and she swipes her beer back up, finishing the bottle in one tilt. A finality, of something, thank fuck there's an end to be found somewhere. "Alright," she declares, as much for herself as for him. "I'm done talking about midnight man. He's taken far too much of my time with you." She does feel a bit better, getting it all off her chest, letting him hold onto it all for this moment at least. She breathes in deep, like it's the first time in a while, and smiles genuinely. "Tell me, what're you doing at the fair? I gotta run the pony rides, but are you gonna be in the dunk tank, or are we going with Sunjata and calling it Flood the Flood?" Not that it's half as fun dunking him when he can just wick it all away in a flash and probably enjoys each dump, but she'd pay a lot to keep getting his ass wet.
"Not unbothered," she corrects so quietly it's barely a whisper, because she knows it doesn't really make a lick of difference. Enough to say, just this once, at least. A sigh of recognition soon follows suit though, and anxiously she pulls her hair around her shoulder, the various braids he'd woven in making hte process cleaner than before, and it hangs wighted and collected away from the couch she presses into. "I know, I know. I'm sick." A weak smile plays out on her lips as she reagards him, the faintest laugh slipping out. "Sick and tired of myself at this rate. I dunno how you put up with me like this." She certainly can barely stand it. One of her legs uncurls from its defensive posture against her chest, nudging against his in unspoken gratitude.
He brings it back to talking. It's no simple thing to pull answers out of shadows and starlight though. Same as getting them from gunsmoke and horses. There's something you can find, but it ain't ever easy or straightforward, not if you're asking for something that won't hurt. "Yeah," she says, to all of it. To the maybes, to the dancing, to the fear and the ruin. Maybes have become her best partner on the dancefloor with Vesper, and fear and ruin are just the names of every song. Admitting it for the first time is something, but it's not rest, and she's out of breath at this point from going round and round about it.
Her hand reaches out and she swipes her beer back up, finishing the bottle in one tilt. A finality, of something, thank fuck there's an end to be found somewhere. "Alright," she declares, as much for herself as for him. "I'm done talking about midnight man. He's taken far too much of my time with you." She does feel a bit better, getting it all off her chest, letting him hold onto it all for this moment at least. She breathes in deep, like it's the first time in a while, and smiles genuinely. "Tell me, what're you doing at the fair? I gotta run the pony rides, but are you gonna be in the dunk tank, or are we going with Sunjata and calling it Flood the Flood?" Not that it's half as fun dunking him when he can just wick it all away in a flash and probably enjoys each dump, but she'd pay a lot to keep getting his ass wet.
He only comes out at night
Gives you feelings that you don't wanna fight
You better run for your life
He's a good time cowboy Casanova
Gives you feelings that you don't wanna fight
You better run for your life
He's a good time cowboy Casanova
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.
