Her smile cracks deeper at his obviously. Whether he means that it was worth without him, or that she's still going through something, or hell both, the humor perches cleanly among the rubble. Though it's far easier to tolerate the sharp press of sarcasm when she's got her own armor up instead of areas left exposed and vulnerable, it's nothing that tries to burrow in deep enough, just the scoring of truth on the exterior, familiar in its sting in a way that's more comforting than compliments have ever been.
A faint laugh huffs free, and she nods weakly, head feeling too heavy to do more than that. "I'd not have it any other way," she admits, to him being well and present. "Can't promise I'm not gonna do dumb shit like run once in a while," she sighs, a disappointment targeted at herself more than anything. "Been doin' it too long to remember what stayin' feels like." Might be surprising given her tendency for bravado, but in most scenarios of fight or flight, Colt picks flight. She's been hurt before when she hasn't run, including most recently. One could argue running did her a far greater disservice this time, but from where she's sitting, she only fucked up when she ran from the wrong man that night, and even worse, stayed still for the one that wouldn't catch her when she fell. If she'd just run home, avoided everything, maybe this all could have died without dragging her under the corpse.
Swallowing back those thoughts, forcing herself to focus on the man that's on the floor with her instead. "Well, think we ought to toast to shitshows and the friends they lean on," she declares, rising back to her feet and offering him a hand for the same before busying herself with drinks. No rum, she dumped that on the couch when she set it on fire, but she's got most everything else on hand for him should he want it. She grabs her tequila bottle from the counter, holding it up to him with a shake and a lift of her brows as she hunts down two shot glasses.
A faint laugh huffs free, and she nods weakly, head feeling too heavy to do more than that. "I'd not have it any other way," she admits, to him being well and present. "Can't promise I'm not gonna do dumb shit like run once in a while," she sighs, a disappointment targeted at herself more than anything. "Been doin' it too long to remember what stayin' feels like." Might be surprising given her tendency for bravado, but in most scenarios of fight or flight, Colt picks flight. She's been hurt before when she hasn't run, including most recently. One could argue running did her a far greater disservice this time, but from where she's sitting, she only fucked up when she ran from the wrong man that night, and even worse, stayed still for the one that wouldn't catch her when she fell. If she'd just run home, avoided everything, maybe this all could have died without dragging her under the corpse.
Swallowing back those thoughts, forcing herself to focus on the man that's on the floor with her instead. "Well, think we ought to toast to shitshows and the friends they lean on," she declares, rising back to her feet and offering him a hand for the same before busying herself with drinks. No rum, she dumped that on the couch when she set it on fire, but she's got most everything else on hand for him should he want it. She grabs her tequila bottle from the counter, holding it up to him with a shake and a lift of her brows as she hunts down two shot glasses.
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.
