Tired of searching for someone that I used to be
The sounds far precedes him, and it's an oddity enough among the usual city din that it's begging her to listen. She can't quite place it, although she's the one very out of place here. Cities aren't exactly her style, but tempting as it had been to ride away and camp in the wilderness until she felt like herself again, she feared the silence would not help. No, what she's looking for is enough noise to drown out the clamor in her own head, and this tipping and tapping of a stride—she can identify that much at least—is just the start.
He's little more than a shadow upon arrival, backlit by the warm glow of streets alive beyond this crack between buildings and routes. It's not night yet, but the sun is sinking somewhere she can't see, the darker edges of the world growing longer for it. The bottle at her feet shifts just barely as she steps up into a straighter stance; she'd let it alone once she started trying to listen to his approach, the sound of shivering glass unhelpful. He becomes a bit clearer as her eyes adjust to the low light of him, the faintest glimmer of recognition like a spark that fails to take. She forgets names on a good day, least of all one she never properly learned in a setting they never quite brushed up within, not when potentials and other dramatics overtook the night.
"Yeah," she asserts after a pause that seems to go on a touch too long. It felt like a threshold to cross, deciding if she should turn back now or continue on towards this...questionable treatment with a doctor looks like this. He's got all the luxury of someone confidently right where he means to be though, dressed exactly as he likes, and there's an undeniable appeal to that. His question lands with even more allure, because yes, it is what she needs, not what she wants. "Something that'll turn it off." She says with a lift of her chin, the unwavering doubt dissipating beneath the hike of pink promise. "I don't wanna feel a thing." She might consider a lobotomy next if this doesn't help.
He's little more than a shadow upon arrival, backlit by the warm glow of streets alive beyond this crack between buildings and routes. It's not night yet, but the sun is sinking somewhere she can't see, the darker edges of the world growing longer for it. The bottle at her feet shifts just barely as she steps up into a straighter stance; she'd let it alone once she started trying to listen to his approach, the sound of shivering glass unhelpful. He becomes a bit clearer as her eyes adjust to the low light of him, the faintest glimmer of recognition like a spark that fails to take. She forgets names on a good day, least of all one she never properly learned in a setting they never quite brushed up within, not when potentials and other dramatics overtook the night.
"Yeah," she asserts after a pause that seems to go on a touch too long. It felt like a threshold to cross, deciding if she should turn back now or continue on towards this...questionable treatment with a doctor looks like this. He's got all the luxury of someone confidently right where he means to be though, dressed exactly as he likes, and there's an undeniable appeal to that. His question lands with even more allure, because yes, it is what she needs, not what she wants. "Something that'll turn it off." She says with a lift of her chin, the unwavering doubt dissipating beneath the hike of pink promise. "I don't wanna feel a thing." She might consider a lobotomy next if this doesn't help.
Colt
Feels like I'm falling again but I'm already on my knees
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.
