She came here looking for a fight. She'd never admit to anyone, least of all herself, but this stunt is all an excuse to see Vesper. An argument is better than all the nothing he's left her with, and while she isn't in the market for arguing with Jack, that is the problem of them having a shared home address. Probably something she should have better considered, but she's got some thick blinders on at the moment that's keeping her from her usual caution and sense—even now, in part because she's sure the one she wants is just a misty step away.
The curve of her hat lifts over the wide smile on her face, looking briefly like she's grinning twice. "Jaaaack!" she greets sweetly, as though reclaiming an old friend and not a spitting alley cat. She's forced to straighten as the dock erupts into a measure of chaos, the glittering ice wall drawing her gaze briefly before the Captain takes it in full. Her casual stance has her hooking a safe arm around the wooden post now, seeking balance as goats and men alike slide and run amuck around her. "Oh, these are for Vesper." That she falters, then pushes through around his name with an extra pulse to her smile is a stumble she ignores, like any good stage mishap. "He told me he needed a note for every time he made me cum. Now, I told him I'd give him a gift basket instead, but then I figured he deserved better than that."
Bright as a summer's day still, she persists, her other hand holding her hat against the wind. "One goat for every orgasm I got 'cause of him. I admit, I didn't keep count of every time I masturbated to him, but after a year or so, I reckon this hundred head is more than generous." Her smile bites into her cheeks, utterly shameless, scorn worn like armor. Around the neck of each goat is a ribbon and a tag attached that reads:
To: Vesper
Love, Colt
She wrote them all out just the day before, when she noticed the Ark had come back into town. She made her moves then to trade some steers for goats, to get a courier involved, nervous as the man was given the reputation of the Ark, but she'd assured him the event would be fine since it wasn't for Jack. That courier has long since left, his duty to his job abandoned for the sake of self preservation, papers needing signatures for ownership scattered under the wayward hooves now. Some of the more curious, or hungry, goats have chewed the tags and ribbons off their herdmates, but the message comes across clear just the same. "Just call him, and I'll be out of your hair."
The curve of her hat lifts over the wide smile on her face, looking briefly like she's grinning twice. "Jaaaack!" she greets sweetly, as though reclaiming an old friend and not a spitting alley cat. She's forced to straighten as the dock erupts into a measure of chaos, the glittering ice wall drawing her gaze briefly before the Captain takes it in full. Her casual stance has her hooking a safe arm around the wooden post now, seeking balance as goats and men alike slide and run amuck around her. "Oh, these are for Vesper." That she falters, then pushes through around his name with an extra pulse to her smile is a stumble she ignores, like any good stage mishap. "He told me he needed a note for every time he made me cum. Now, I told him I'd give him a gift basket instead, but then I figured he deserved better than that."
Bright as a summer's day still, she persists, her other hand holding her hat against the wind. "One goat for every orgasm I got 'cause of him. I admit, I didn't keep count of every time I masturbated to him, but after a year or so, I reckon this hundred head is more than generous." Her smile bites into her cheeks, utterly shameless, scorn worn like armor. Around the neck of each goat is a ribbon and a tag attached that reads:
To: Vesper
Love, Colt
She wrote them all out just the day before, when she noticed the Ark had come back into town. She made her moves then to trade some steers for goats, to get a courier involved, nervous as the man was given the reputation of the Ark, but she'd assured him the event would be fine since it wasn't for Jack. That courier has long since left, his duty to his job abandoned for the sake of self preservation, papers needing signatures for ownership scattered under the wayward hooves now. Some of the more curious, or hungry, goats have chewed the tags and ribbons off their herdmates, but the message comes across clear just the same. "Just call him, and I'll be out of your hair."
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.
