She hoists the destructive tool back in her hands after a sharp tug from where it’s indented into the wood. It swings back, heavy, the momentum nearly threatening to spin her around more than she means. She fights against it though, wrestling control with a frustrated grunt before swinging it back into the island with another impressive shudder. She pours all her weight into the delivery, twisting at the hips and lending her full strength to the motion. It’s not just the demolition of a place he’d been, it’s the furious ripping of a silver thread Vesper had spun up for her, tarnished by the very hands that wove it so neatly into place. She can barely fight back the sob that rises as she watches the echo of something she once cherished flicker into dust and debris, but she’d rather kill it now than let its ghost haunt her repeatedly. Even now, there’s a phantom image of him leaning against it, smile cut into the full force of her destruction, every inch of him languid with disinterest disguised as composure.
Thorn’s voice slams in with the resounding thud of the sledgehammer, whirling her around on the spot at the sound. Her eyes widen in surprise behind her glasses, and though he likely can’t see, they’re glassy with a bundle of emotion that hasn’t filled the corners enough to run over yet. Her braid swings with the movement, flopping against her shoulder. Stray hairs too short to be captured in the knots instead frame her face like tiny exclamation points. The handle of the hammer falling to the ground, dropped from her hands with the startle, is the only noise that precedes the slow and loud collapse of one of the wood panels.
”Thorn!” she gasps, caution immediately splintering into recognition and shortly thereafter, guilt. ”Oh fuck! Thorn, I’m so sorry. I meant to write you, I meant to come over, but—” Her hands press on either sides of her cheeks, utter dismay draining the color from her. She had thought about writing him a few times when she’d been in Stormbreak, but she had run on purpose, to escape. Not telling him, or anyone, where had been intentional. There are times when she seeks out the comforts of others, and times when she hides, no better than a dog backing into a den and growling at any presence that comes near. Then she’d figured, if she was visiting Vesper before coming home, she could wait to tell him something about the whole ordeal. She just didn’t know the devastation that little trip would deliver, and from there all sense and thought scattered like ash in a breeze.
She quiets suddenly, swallowing and straightening, hands dropping into the curl of each other at her waist. They fidget nervously, aware she’s entirely done wrong by him and hating it. Fuck, maybe Vesper’s right, maybe she does use people. ”You didn’t deserve this, I’m sorry.”
Thorn’s voice slams in with the resounding thud of the sledgehammer, whirling her around on the spot at the sound. Her eyes widen in surprise behind her glasses, and though he likely can’t see, they’re glassy with a bundle of emotion that hasn’t filled the corners enough to run over yet. Her braid swings with the movement, flopping against her shoulder. Stray hairs too short to be captured in the knots instead frame her face like tiny exclamation points. The handle of the hammer falling to the ground, dropped from her hands with the startle, is the only noise that precedes the slow and loud collapse of one of the wood panels.
”Thorn!” she gasps, caution immediately splintering into recognition and shortly thereafter, guilt. ”Oh fuck! Thorn, I’m so sorry. I meant to write you, I meant to come over, but—” Her hands press on either sides of her cheeks, utter dismay draining the color from her. She had thought about writing him a few times when she’d been in Stormbreak, but she had run on purpose, to escape. Not telling him, or anyone, where had been intentional. There are times when she seeks out the comforts of others, and times when she hides, no better than a dog backing into a den and growling at any presence that comes near. Then she’d figured, if she was visiting Vesper before coming home, she could wait to tell him something about the whole ordeal. She just didn’t know the devastation that little trip would deliver, and from there all sense and thought scattered like ash in a breeze.
She quiets suddenly, swallowing and straightening, hands dropping into the curl of each other at her waist. They fidget nervously, aware she’s entirely done wrong by him and hating it. Fuck, maybe Vesper’s right, maybe she does use people. ”You didn’t deserve this, I’m sorry.”
Colt
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.
