Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread
Becoming smoky when things aren't going the way they're supposed to is something extremely relatable. Food sometimes for her too, usually when she doesn't realize that all she's been downing is beers and dust, but typically for her it's life that gets her coals going. She can appreciate some nice food, but she's just as liable to content herself with kibble as the dogs are, which could be what her nightly crackers are in actuality.
The humor she pawns off dries up quicker than the ground, though in part because of it. The task at hand pulls her back in, sprinkling wood chips like the ashes of proper roads past, mixing them with the rake into the mire. As he returns her tease with genuine kindness though, her gaze briefly lifts up, skirting over him before dipping back to the handle in her palm with a small shake of her head. Zavien the risen sun, aptly named given how he's something like sunlight trying to reach through the depths of a snowbank to warm what's been layered over underneath, working to thaw it out. Sometimes it's best to leave things frozen, to meet the cold and know winter is a season that has its place too. As for the rising, each day starting with crisp promise, she's always preferred the setting sun. It marks the survival of another hard day won, and it doesn't gild the world in golden potential, it lays out every bloody streak and dappling bruise, unafraid of showing off the hurt that exists. She's endured too many long days to look forward to the breaking dawn, she only wants to make it through to the next quiet night, rich with stories and laughter over everything that's been put to rest beneath the blankets of the sea.
Her lips press into a line, though it curls subtly at the edges for his words. "Just the old familiar paths for me these days," she murmurs idly in response, not bothering to tell him Edith is much easier to put up with by doing some labor than to hear her endless stream of complaints. Colt genuinely can't tell if she just forgets that she's already told everyone the same story a few times, or if she's aiming to imitate a squeaky wheel until someone feels like becoming oil. Today, they're oil.
After testing out the road's newfound firmness with some toe taps, feeling very much like this is just some sort of chocolate custard setting after being made, she moves on to the next goopy section. She gets to work smoothing it out much like the other, pulling her rake towards her and pushing it out, spreading the muck back and forth until it fills its own grooves into something more solid and full. As his question drifts her way, she glances up again, this time her smile streaking like flame to a wick. "The steer's what you get after you make some Rocky Mountain oysters. I can send you some, if you like? An acquired taste, but a delicacy just the same." The dogs certainly like them, and some of the hands. She just likes tricking people into eating them, otherwise they're too chewy for her tastes.
She'd shrug at his uncertainty if she weren't leaning over mud and trying to smooth it out at present. "Well, even if ya don't ride, should at least come and enjoy yourself some," she offers, but leaves it at that. "How's Stormbreak holding up? Seems it was just yesterday y'all were staying here with us, but it's already been seasons." She grunts as she sets the rake down and reaches for more wood chips, tossing them out generously. "Funny, feels short for me but likely forever for you, but equally...I'm sure it feels too short still for getting everything back up and running, huh? Time's a bitch."
The humor she pawns off dries up quicker than the ground, though in part because of it. The task at hand pulls her back in, sprinkling wood chips like the ashes of proper roads past, mixing them with the rake into the mire. As he returns her tease with genuine kindness though, her gaze briefly lifts up, skirting over him before dipping back to the handle in her palm with a small shake of her head. Zavien the risen sun, aptly named given how he's something like sunlight trying to reach through the depths of a snowbank to warm what's been layered over underneath, working to thaw it out. Sometimes it's best to leave things frozen, to meet the cold and know winter is a season that has its place too. As for the rising, each day starting with crisp promise, she's always preferred the setting sun. It marks the survival of another hard day won, and it doesn't gild the world in golden potential, it lays out every bloody streak and dappling bruise, unafraid of showing off the hurt that exists. She's endured too many long days to look forward to the breaking dawn, she only wants to make it through to the next quiet night, rich with stories and laughter over everything that's been put to rest beneath the blankets of the sea.
Her lips press into a line, though it curls subtly at the edges for his words. "Just the old familiar paths for me these days," she murmurs idly in response, not bothering to tell him Edith is much easier to put up with by doing some labor than to hear her endless stream of complaints. Colt genuinely can't tell if she just forgets that she's already told everyone the same story a few times, or if she's aiming to imitate a squeaky wheel until someone feels like becoming oil. Today, they're oil.
After testing out the road's newfound firmness with some toe taps, feeling very much like this is just some sort of chocolate custard setting after being made, she moves on to the next goopy section. She gets to work smoothing it out much like the other, pulling her rake towards her and pushing it out, spreading the muck back and forth until it fills its own grooves into something more solid and full. As his question drifts her way, she glances up again, this time her smile streaking like flame to a wick. "The steer's what you get after you make some Rocky Mountain oysters. I can send you some, if you like? An acquired taste, but a delicacy just the same." The dogs certainly like them, and some of the hands. She just likes tricking people into eating them, otherwise they're too chewy for her tastes.
She'd shrug at his uncertainty if she weren't leaning over mud and trying to smooth it out at present. "Well, even if ya don't ride, should at least come and enjoy yourself some," she offers, but leaves it at that. "How's Stormbreak holding up? Seems it was just yesterday y'all were staying here with us, but it's already been seasons." She grunts as she sets the rake down and reaches for more wood chips, tossing them out generously. "Funny, feels short for me but likely forever for you, but equally...I'm sure it feels too short still for getting everything back up and running, huh? Time's a bitch."
Colt
My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep
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.
