All pretense of being unbothered slides away the moment Jack tells her Vesper is gone. Her smile drops near instantaneously, as if nothing more than a photo prop—paper glued to a stick and held up to a call for cheese. She's already lost him in all the ways that actually matter to her, and hell she doesn't particularly want to have him in town at all, but there's something acutely final about the truth that he isn't here at all any more that hollows out something new in her. It's funny, the way an absence takes up a hell of a lot of space inside you.
Her lips press into a thin line, the edges of her mouth nearly lost as she bears down on the finality of this ruin. Goosebumps race up her neck and across her scalp, the whisper of Jack's wrath a much more deadly one than the small stampede her's had arranged. Nerves shiver in response to the impending threat, static lifting her hair in ways too wild to be mistaken for wind. Her gaze narrows, and all the steel and the spit and the fire she'd worked up drops into a cold void of sorrow trying not to break, nothing better than a river coming back to life with the top layer of ice still intact.
The goats and the men feel it too, and whether they think it's the storm that's coming above, or they know its the good Captain's patience wearing out, they don't much care except to get the fuck out of dodge. Everyone begins to reverse and turn away, the previous slow parade here unraveling into survival instinct and selfishness. Her gaze narrows on Jack, as if considering, just for a moment, if he's being truthful or bluffing to protect his son. Since he doesn't seem much the fatherly sort, she settles on honesty. "They'll be gone in less than hour. They're spooked now and always looking for food, which ain't here," she informs him flatly, shoving off her little post of safety to join the throng of bodies on the dock. She threads into the rising bleating of the herd that's beginning to panic as they scatter like flushed birds back towards town, seeking out sturdier ground than lightning-embeded piers. The ranchers are still trying their best to manage the animals, or getting their own bearings back, but the curious additions of townsfolk are hurriedly departing.
"They make great tacos!" she informs him with a lift of her voice and a wave of her hand, suggesting that he might earn something of value out of this yet as she heads to depart, no longer interested in what the Ark has to offer.
Her lips press into a thin line, the edges of her mouth nearly lost as she bears down on the finality of this ruin. Goosebumps race up her neck and across her scalp, the whisper of Jack's wrath a much more deadly one than the small stampede her's had arranged. Nerves shiver in response to the impending threat, static lifting her hair in ways too wild to be mistaken for wind. Her gaze narrows, and all the steel and the spit and the fire she'd worked up drops into a cold void of sorrow trying not to break, nothing better than a river coming back to life with the top layer of ice still intact.
The goats and the men feel it too, and whether they think it's the storm that's coming above, or they know its the good Captain's patience wearing out, they don't much care except to get the fuck out of dodge. Everyone begins to reverse and turn away, the previous slow parade here unraveling into survival instinct and selfishness. Her gaze narrows on Jack, as if considering, just for a moment, if he's being truthful or bluffing to protect his son. Since he doesn't seem much the fatherly sort, she settles on honesty. "They'll be gone in less than hour. They're spooked now and always looking for food, which ain't here," she informs him flatly, shoving off her little post of safety to join the throng of bodies on the dock. She threads into the rising bleating of the herd that's beginning to panic as they scatter like flushed birds back towards town, seeking out sturdier ground than lightning-embeded piers. The ranchers are still trying their best to manage the animals, or getting their own bearings back, but the curious additions of townsfolk are hurriedly departing.
"They make great tacos!" she informs him with a lift of her voice and a wave of her hand, suggesting that he might earn something of value out of this yet as she heads to depart, no longer interested in what the Ark has to offer.
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.
