"ThOrn!" she admonishes with a laugh startling free shortly after, unable to keep up the guise of scorn. "I'd like to see you fuckin' try to get a leash on," she challenges once she has breath back. Although he certainly seems to have more moves up his sleeves than she's given him credit for, but she's certain everyone he's ever tied up has been willing, and she would not go quietly into that good night. After a brief moment of consideration, she adds, "It should at least be blue." Her features wrinkle with dramatic distaste at the idea of a pink tether.
Back on their feet, tequila in hand, Thorn spots the two glasses before she does. Her kitchen's a rather advanced game of I Spy about now, and she's no real interest in playing, but he's sharp as ever, or at least lucky. "Thank ya," she murmurs, setting them on the island top that's half-kneeling now, slanted where her hammer bit into the side of its structure. She pours them out, one threatening to slide down the ruinous slope, but she nudges it back into order with a flip of her pinky before turning back around to set the bottle aside. "No clue where the chasers or salt are, sorry," her tongue clucks with the apology, not seeming all that sorry about it. He'd have to take it or leave it, or play another round of Where's Waldo amidst all her crap.
She spins back around and claims her glass, lifting it up towards him with a slanted smile, holding his gaze over the shine of the liquor's top. "To..." she hums with thought for a moment, "messes. And the ones that help ya through 'em." Her lips quirk deeper into her cheeks for a moment, grateful in a way she can't rightly say, so she clinks and tosses the shot back like it could carry the weight of it instead. The burn hits, an immediate promise to smother the feeling of anything else, a coating she's tried to smother over all the hurt that's become embedded inside her until it yields to the greater sting of this drink. She sputters out a faint cough, one eye shutting as she tongues the corner of her mouth where some of the fire lingers. "Much better with lime," she groans.
Back on their feet, tequila in hand, Thorn spots the two glasses before she does. Her kitchen's a rather advanced game of I Spy about now, and she's no real interest in playing, but he's sharp as ever, or at least lucky. "Thank ya," she murmurs, setting them on the island top that's half-kneeling now, slanted where her hammer bit into the side of its structure. She pours them out, one threatening to slide down the ruinous slope, but she nudges it back into order with a flip of her pinky before turning back around to set the bottle aside. "No clue where the chasers or salt are, sorry," her tongue clucks with the apology, not seeming all that sorry about it. He'd have to take it or leave it, or play another round of Where's Waldo amidst all her crap.
She spins back around and claims her glass, lifting it up towards him with a slanted smile, holding his gaze over the shine of the liquor's top. "To..." she hums with thought for a moment, "messes. And the ones that help ya through 'em." Her lips quirk deeper into her cheeks for a moment, grateful in a way she can't rightly say, so she clinks and tosses the shot back like it could carry the weight of it instead. The burn hits, an immediate promise to smother the feeling of anything else, a coating she's tried to smother over all the hurt that's become embedded inside her until it yields to the greater sting of this drink. She sputters out a faint cough, one eye shutting as she tongues the corner of her mouth where some of the fire lingers. "Much better with lime," she groans.
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.
