Heart is buried six feet in the ground, gonna need a shovel now
Much as Colt frequents this locale, it's not usually for the primary service it provides. Not never, certainly, but uncommon enough that the hike up the stairs is more foreign than familiar. On an ordinary day she would have admired some of the designs, retracing a worthy memory or two in the threshold of a door, but this day is anything but ordinary. Instead, she shuffles along behind the attendant, no better than a prisoner headed to their cell, not quite yielding, but not completely willing either. No step is, it's just survival now. Instinct has been guiding her the past few hours, leading her to places that ought to hurt less, a subconscious tactic to endure when all the will to do so has fled the conscious parts of her.
It's a laughable attempt really, to try and find some modicum of relief in her surroundings when inside she's repeatedly gutting herself with every flicker of thought, seemingly hellbent on carving this scar into one too ugly for her to ever ignore again. Whenever a moment of peace settles, like a dry eye or an inhale that doesn't shake, she drags up another one of Vesper's greatest hits. It's on shuffle, so it could be one of the silver moments, shiny with hope and promise enough to choke on now, or it could be any number of his devastating departures. Her favorite's the haunting melody of his parting whistle; that's embedded in her mind like the worst earworm.
Each happy one's a taunting reminder of what won't be returning. They'd been little rungs she kept blindly climbing up, like she isn't scared of the heights that feelings make, like they weren't just leading her higher to make this come down brutal. Every bad one's the crash of it all over again, always jumping back to the most recent images of him. The cold, indifferent sneers, and the music of his retreat—so unbothered with the whole affair that left her too crippled to keep standing for long afterwards.
Swaddled in looping agony, her name doesn't register immediately. It's not until the motion of the exchange of bodies in front of her occurs does she seem to take note that there's something happening around her. Weary, she lifts her gaze from the floor up the tall figure before her, the sight of another pair of blue eyes enough to make her flinch. She pinches her eyes shut against them as she leans back on her heels, but she registers who it is in the next breath. "Sunjat—" her voice cracks with the use now, as if she'd managed to hold herself together (poorly) until something actually familiar and warm appeared. Her features crumple into a full blown sob as she abruptly surges into him. She buries her head into his arm, and her hands don't so much hug around him as seize onto him, fingers curling in with a grip that drags at his fabric as she sags into him completely. Despite their last run in, he's always been someone she's fond of, and right now she's so goddamn grateful for any crumb of comfort that just his presence, let alone his offer, undoes her.
It's a laughable attempt really, to try and find some modicum of relief in her surroundings when inside she's repeatedly gutting herself with every flicker of thought, seemingly hellbent on carving this scar into one too ugly for her to ever ignore again. Whenever a moment of peace settles, like a dry eye or an inhale that doesn't shake, she drags up another one of Vesper's greatest hits. It's on shuffle, so it could be one of the silver moments, shiny with hope and promise enough to choke on now, or it could be any number of his devastating departures. Her favorite's the haunting melody of his parting whistle; that's embedded in her mind like the worst earworm.
Each happy one's a taunting reminder of what won't be returning. They'd been little rungs she kept blindly climbing up, like she isn't scared of the heights that feelings make, like they weren't just leading her higher to make this come down brutal. Every bad one's the crash of it all over again, always jumping back to the most recent images of him. The cold, indifferent sneers, and the music of his retreat—so unbothered with the whole affair that left her too crippled to keep standing for long afterwards.
Swaddled in looping agony, her name doesn't register immediately. It's not until the motion of the exchange of bodies in front of her occurs does she seem to take note that there's something happening around her. Weary, she lifts her gaze from the floor up the tall figure before her, the sight of another pair of blue eyes enough to make her flinch. She pinches her eyes shut against them as she leans back on her heels, but she registers who it is in the next breath. "Sunjat—" her voice cracks with the use now, as if she'd managed to hold herself together (poorly) until something actually familiar and warm appeared. Her features crumple into a full blown sob as she abruptly surges into him. She buries her head into his arm, and her hands don't so much hug around him as seize onto him, fingers curling in with a grip that drags at his fabric as she sags into him completely. Despite their last run in, he's always been someone she's fond of, and right now she's so goddamn grateful for any crumb of comfort that just his presence, let alone his offer, undoes her.
Colt
Maybe one day I'll get back the rhythm in my chest
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.
