Colt might be practical about most things, which might not seem like it in this very moment with her kitchen in complete disarray over a boy, but one thing she'll openly acknowledge is her weakspot is the color matching for the horses. Everyone has a set blanket color that must complement not only their coat, but something about them too. Boots and other accents, of course, adhere to this designated scheme, and it's probably the thing she yells at the hands about the most when they don't deign to follow it. In this reverse hypothetical, she could accept yellow as being her color, and she shoots Thorn a fondly exasperated look about the whole thing.
There is definitely tequila to be had that isn't quite so, sharp, but she's been hitting her bottles rather eagerly as of late so she doesn't have the smoothest stock on hand. They survive though, and if anything their combined moment of heated suffering makes her laugh, the sound a bit strangled by a cough as her throat is still recovering. "Good," she asserts, as if getting him buzzed is a matter of necessity. "You'll finally be on my level."
She exchanges the tequila for her sunglasses again, slipping them on with a surprising amount of coordination. "Safety first," she explains. "We are gonna break this into pieces so I never have to think about how well he fucked me on here every time I come into my kitchen for a snack." She draws in a big breath, but the sting she expects doesn't land as sharply as saying it inside her own head usually does. Not with alcohol and Thorn holding her hands, so to speak, now. "Then we're gonna drag it out onto the lawn and set everything on fire and make the hands haul it off to the trash later. Then. Then, I will be free of him, I think." Not really, and she already knows that, but enough to not fold into despair just being in her own house, where it's supposed to be her sanctuary.
There is definitely tequila to be had that isn't quite so, sharp, but she's been hitting her bottles rather eagerly as of late so she doesn't have the smoothest stock on hand. They survive though, and if anything their combined moment of heated suffering makes her laugh, the sound a bit strangled by a cough as her throat is still recovering. "Good," she asserts, as if getting him buzzed is a matter of necessity. "You'll finally be on my level."
She exchanges the tequila for her sunglasses again, slipping them on with a surprising amount of coordination. "Safety first," she explains. "We are gonna break this into pieces so I never have to think about how well he fucked me on here every time I come into my kitchen for a snack." She draws in a big breath, but the sting she expects doesn't land as sharply as saying it inside her own head usually does. Not with alcohol and Thorn holding her hands, so to speak, now. "Then we're gonna drag it out onto the lawn and set everything on fire and make the hands haul it off to the trash later. Then. Then, I will be free of him, I think." Not really, and she already knows that, but enough to not fold into despair just being in her own house, where it's supposed to be her sanctuary.
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.
