Heart is buried six feet in the ground, gonna need a shovel now
Other than briefly thinking Flora had come to tell her on behalf of Sunjata that she could keep her ass in Torchline instead of being welcome back in King's End—a ridiculous and guilt-ridden, liquor-fueled, anger-addled notion—Colt hasn't given too much thought to their tanning misunderstanding. She's been more mindful of his name, to be sure, and hasn't let herself slip into something teasing since, not that she's been much in the mood all season with anyone. That's all entirely too distant for her to spare a conscious thought to right now, unable to shoulder much more beyond keeping her breathing steady.
Out of habit she slips back into older comforts with him, needing them more than she'd admit right now, even just a shoulder. It's easy to do with him, always has been, but that's little surprise given his role. He's a professional charmer, and she knows it. That knowledge has never cheapened his comforts, if anything it’s made them easier to accept, never having to worry that anything'll linger. He's safe, and that's something she doesn't attribute lightly.
The faintest simper tugs at one corner of her lips when he redirects the focus on her. Sounds like the nicest way of telling her she's too much a fucking mess to be worrying about anyone else right now, and he's not wrong. "Mm," is all she murmurs back in response, half agreement, half consideration. The barely spoken reassurance that this isn't the first time does wash away the rest of the worry, because it sounds like he's got the situation more or less in hand, for now.
She can’t keep back the strangled laugh that escapes when he gestures around at the current state, as if this is anything less than losing. ”I hope your idea of winning is a lot more accurate,” she sighs with a weariness that doesn’t cut through the fondness for his attempt just the same. As if laughter, or the threat of something too close to happy jostled back the sorrow, a fresh trail of tears wells around her eyes. They spill down without fanfare, the quiet acceptance of being too broken right now to pretend otherwise, much less try and control any of it.
Although, as he continues, it sheds some light on what he really considers losing. Gods, no, she’d never consider handing over her will to live to anyone, least of all a man. ”Maybe I’ve never actually been in love then,” she wonders aloud, head shifting as she tries to glance up at him for some amount of confirmation. ”Because I’ve never felt like I can’t go on when I lose it.” Clyde’s had been an imitation, the recognition of that had been what allowed her to stop becoming smaller for him, even if it had once felt real and good and happy in the very beginning. Vesper’s…his hadn’t even been realized fully. Just the start of something, a feeling she could no longer deny, now cut short enough that the quick of it is aching. Both still have rattled her to her core, so if those hadn’t even been love, she definitely never wants to know it. Surviving this is enough.
Glancing towards the ring he still wears, she considers everything he offers, grateful for a different story to focus on and the perspective of his struggles. ”I can’t imagine that,” she admits softly to him, blinking through the tears that’ve slowed beneath the weight of his own tragedies. Not the depths of his horrors, or how he endured them. ”You’ve been through such hell,” and he never seems it, not outright, not to her. His scars certainly suggest it’s not been all roses, but ”you deserve to hate the world for all it’s offered you. But…you’re always still giving something to it. To others.” She’s only known him as someone dutiful and kind. Not to be mistaken with soft; there’s kindness even in a blade sometimes.
”It’s nice,” she says softer still, meaning as much the room he’s created and the meaning it carries, as much as how he’s managed to handle everything. She’s not sure she can be as graceful about it all. She wants to withdraw further, to nestle into her own depths and hide from the risks that remain. Whatever wildness Vesper saw in her from time to time hardly seems to fit. She's more likely to wander in circles like a pony that's spent too much time at the county fair; can't even rest without lapping her stall a time or two. Doesn't matter if the door's left wide open, the circle's familiar, like an old bruise she presses on because at least she knows how much it'll hurt. In the wide open world, who knows what worse pain waits. Better never to wander outside again.
His advice earns the faintest sigh. She isn’t prone to facing her hurt, has always found running to suit her best. Not that she won’t argue or rage or cry in the tub at night like all the best of them, but she’s nearly certain if she just let all her feelings come through all the time she’d kill herself with the force of them. Better to outpace them, she’s come to find. ”That seems like it’ll just hurt more.” She’s managed to avoid Clyde for the most part, just triggered by a few things here and there, but the lesson he taught her is one she carried through, until Vesper. His triggers remain all over, but she knows she’ll survive him too, bury him into memories she keeps distant enough that they only resurface sometimes. It’d take time, especially because the wound he left her isn’t the same, but she’d learn how to layer over it too eventually.
Out of habit she slips back into older comforts with him, needing them more than she'd admit right now, even just a shoulder. It's easy to do with him, always has been, but that's little surprise given his role. He's a professional charmer, and she knows it. That knowledge has never cheapened his comforts, if anything it’s made them easier to accept, never having to worry that anything'll linger. He's safe, and that's something she doesn't attribute lightly.
The faintest simper tugs at one corner of her lips when he redirects the focus on her. Sounds like the nicest way of telling her she's too much a fucking mess to be worrying about anyone else right now, and he's not wrong. "Mm," is all she murmurs back in response, half agreement, half consideration. The barely spoken reassurance that this isn't the first time does wash away the rest of the worry, because it sounds like he's got the situation more or less in hand, for now.
She can’t keep back the strangled laugh that escapes when he gestures around at the current state, as if this is anything less than losing. ”I hope your idea of winning is a lot more accurate,” she sighs with a weariness that doesn’t cut through the fondness for his attempt just the same. As if laughter, or the threat of something too close to happy jostled back the sorrow, a fresh trail of tears wells around her eyes. They spill down without fanfare, the quiet acceptance of being too broken right now to pretend otherwise, much less try and control any of it.
Although, as he continues, it sheds some light on what he really considers losing. Gods, no, she’d never consider handing over her will to live to anyone, least of all a man. ”Maybe I’ve never actually been in love then,” she wonders aloud, head shifting as she tries to glance up at him for some amount of confirmation. ”Because I’ve never felt like I can’t go on when I lose it.” Clyde’s had been an imitation, the recognition of that had been what allowed her to stop becoming smaller for him, even if it had once felt real and good and happy in the very beginning. Vesper’s…his hadn’t even been realized fully. Just the start of something, a feeling she could no longer deny, now cut short enough that the quick of it is aching. Both still have rattled her to her core, so if those hadn’t even been love, she definitely never wants to know it. Surviving this is enough.
Glancing towards the ring he still wears, she considers everything he offers, grateful for a different story to focus on and the perspective of his struggles. ”I can’t imagine that,” she admits softly to him, blinking through the tears that’ve slowed beneath the weight of his own tragedies. Not the depths of his horrors, or how he endured them. ”You’ve been through such hell,” and he never seems it, not outright, not to her. His scars certainly suggest it’s not been all roses, but ”you deserve to hate the world for all it’s offered you. But…you’re always still giving something to it. To others.” She’s only known him as someone dutiful and kind. Not to be mistaken with soft; there’s kindness even in a blade sometimes.
”It’s nice,” she says softer still, meaning as much the room he’s created and the meaning it carries, as much as how he’s managed to handle everything. She’s not sure she can be as graceful about it all. She wants to withdraw further, to nestle into her own depths and hide from the risks that remain. Whatever wildness Vesper saw in her from time to time hardly seems to fit. She's more likely to wander in circles like a pony that's spent too much time at the county fair; can't even rest without lapping her stall a time or two. Doesn't matter if the door's left wide open, the circle's familiar, like an old bruise she presses on because at least she knows how much it'll hurt. In the wide open world, who knows what worse pain waits. Better never to wander outside again.
His advice earns the faintest sigh. She isn’t prone to facing her hurt, has always found running to suit her best. Not that she won’t argue or rage or cry in the tub at night like all the best of them, but she’s nearly certain if she just let all her feelings come through all the time she’d kill herself with the force of them. Better to outpace them, she’s come to find. ”That seems like it’ll just hurt more.” She’s managed to avoid Clyde for the most part, just triggered by a few things here and there, but the lesson he taught her is one she carried through, until Vesper. His triggers remain all over, but she knows she’ll survive him too, bury him into memories she keeps distant enough that they only resurface sometimes. It’d take time, especially because the wound he left her isn’t the same, but she’d learn how to layer over it too eventually.
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.
