The dogs that normally swarm her place had well and truly fucked off the moment she went on her warpath and grunted and swore and banged the couch around outside. The start of the sledgehammer kept any of them buried underneath her porch still, too shy to even greet Thorn, and plenty had slunk off to bother men, horses, and cattle instead. If they thought there'd be any peace, the rain of utensils and exchange of lifted voices offers no solace to the hounds, and more of them scrabble free of the house and trot away to more pleasant fields, ears pressed back in displeasure.
This kitchen has seen its fair share of arguments and battles. That it's here that they're facing off too, does little to quell the surge of her fears. She and Vesper had almost had a moment here too, so maybe the space is just fucking cursed. Could be half the reason she doesn't bother to cook much anymore, though having meals flung around for no reason a decade ago had well and truly killed all desire to spend much time here, undoing every good imprint her mother had left behind, Vesper undoing the rest, and now Thorn threatening to make her wirld her sledgehammer into every counter and cupboard here and be done with it all in full.
This fight's different though, and while the tremor of grief that eclipses most everything else still slots into place, she's still got the edges of her fire burning. This argument, much as she can't see it just yet, isn't trying to snuff that out, but feed it a little with every word he slings back.
When he mentions the urge to scream her eyes flicker wide for a moment. It's swallowed by the rest unfolding though, overshadowed by the heat of the moment and the very visible display of just what a fucking mess she is. To which, he just demands so what, which thoroughly stuns her for a moment. Shouldn't she be better than this? Shouldn't mess be something she can crawl out of eventually, yet she ends up back here time and time again, like she can't ever retain the lesson, too stupid to keep grasp of the subject of not being a fuck up. Her 'brows lift with the disbelief, breath hitching behind a sputter that doesn't fully take form, instead twisting into the confession of what she's lost, as if that should be proof enough for him of her state, a good reason to so thoroughly fall apart.
It doesn't seem to land on him, though. "No," she snaps back, because framed like that, no. Quickly she swipes a finger into the corner of each eye, pulling away tears with such a practiced motion she doesn't even realize she's done it. "My life isn't ruined," she huffs out, and it's perhaps the first time that thought has crossed her mind since the Grounds. "I just—" she starts, then bites back, lip tugging under a tooth for a moment as she considers. She sighs, curling a hand under her chin as she props it on her chest. "I didn't let him ruin shit, he just...did it all on his own. Wasn't even a proper fight. I went prepared to talk, and he just threw the party's kiss in my face, said I used him, and walked off whistling like a happy songbird after all the ugly shit he said."
She glances up from where her gaze has sunk to the floor, searching for some amount of understanding in him. "He acted like none of it mattered, so I'm trying to make him not matter either," she whispers forcefully. Which is easier said than done when he's a sturdily built piece of wood and stone solidly implanted in the center of her kitchen. "I thought, if I could cut out all the places I remember him, then I'd finally be free of him. Have some godsdamned peace again, because this hurts, Thorn." She blinks around at the empty space where the couch had been, at the sagging island, and seems to see for the first time the destruction of it rather than the removal of things that've been stained.
Her teeth set together, lips firming, and something like defiance sharpens through the glass of her gaze. "Punch me," she demands. "You deserve to be pissed," she reasons, "I don't wanna take that away from you. I wanna fight, Thorn. I wanna feel something other than this." Maybe she has fully gone mad at this point, and in her fucking kitchen of all places, but this time she's asking for it instead of being blindsided by it. She wants to take something back, finally.
This kitchen has seen its fair share of arguments and battles. That it's here that they're facing off too, does little to quell the surge of her fears. She and Vesper had almost had a moment here too, so maybe the space is just fucking cursed. Could be half the reason she doesn't bother to cook much anymore, though having meals flung around for no reason a decade ago had well and truly killed all desire to spend much time here, undoing every good imprint her mother had left behind, Vesper undoing the rest, and now Thorn threatening to make her wirld her sledgehammer into every counter and cupboard here and be done with it all in full.
This fight's different though, and while the tremor of grief that eclipses most everything else still slots into place, she's still got the edges of her fire burning. This argument, much as she can't see it just yet, isn't trying to snuff that out, but feed it a little with every word he slings back.
When he mentions the urge to scream her eyes flicker wide for a moment. It's swallowed by the rest unfolding though, overshadowed by the heat of the moment and the very visible display of just what a fucking mess she is. To which, he just demands so what, which thoroughly stuns her for a moment. Shouldn't she be better than this? Shouldn't mess be something she can crawl out of eventually, yet she ends up back here time and time again, like she can't ever retain the lesson, too stupid to keep grasp of the subject of not being a fuck up. Her 'brows lift with the disbelief, breath hitching behind a sputter that doesn't fully take form, instead twisting into the confession of what she's lost, as if that should be proof enough for him of her state, a good reason to so thoroughly fall apart.
It doesn't seem to land on him, though. "No," she snaps back, because framed like that, no. Quickly she swipes a finger into the corner of each eye, pulling away tears with such a practiced motion she doesn't even realize she's done it. "My life isn't ruined," she huffs out, and it's perhaps the first time that thought has crossed her mind since the Grounds. "I just—" she starts, then bites back, lip tugging under a tooth for a moment as she considers. She sighs, curling a hand under her chin as she props it on her chest. "I didn't let him ruin shit, he just...did it all on his own. Wasn't even a proper fight. I went prepared to talk, and he just threw the party's kiss in my face, said I used him, and walked off whistling like a happy songbird after all the ugly shit he said."
She glances up from where her gaze has sunk to the floor, searching for some amount of understanding in him. "He acted like none of it mattered, so I'm trying to make him not matter either," she whispers forcefully. Which is easier said than done when he's a sturdily built piece of wood and stone solidly implanted in the center of her kitchen. "I thought, if I could cut out all the places I remember him, then I'd finally be free of him. Have some godsdamned peace again, because this hurts, Thorn." She blinks around at the empty space where the couch had been, at the sagging island, and seems to see for the first time the destruction of it rather than the removal of things that've been stained.
Her teeth set together, lips firming, and something like defiance sharpens through the glass of her gaze. "Punch me," she demands. "You deserve to be pissed," she reasons, "I don't wanna take that away from you. I wanna fight, Thorn. I wanna feel something other than this." Maybe she has fully gone mad at this point, and in her fucking kitchen of all places, but this time she's asking for it instead of being blindsided by it. She wants to take something back, finally.
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.
