Ain't had time to miss you since you been gone, it's been nothing but neon
She readily takes his offer of a chair, the heat of the sweatshirt still over her becoming a suffocating thing steadily, and it pulses underneath the wig with the threat of dripping sweat down from the dark hairs. It's a crawling, itching feeling, as if some creature is living under there and its wet legs are exploring down. Anxiously, she presses a palm onto the wig, assuring it's still set on properly, and the pressure helps squish the spidery sensation of scalp perspiration, for now. She'd take her sweater off now if it didn't mean upending the entire hairdo, a risk she'd not be making in public thank you kindly.
The heels of her books hook along the bottom rung of the stool, and she leans in over the pressed angle of her knees with her elbows, chin propping up on her hand as she watches him carefully. She hangs on every word, stare harder than she means as consideration burns brilliant in her mind. His thoughts about the potion being possible, but tricky, reassure her as much as they caution her. She'd hoped this might have been a more commonplace recipe. As he extends both options, she's half a mind to blurt out why not both. She holds her tongue though, inhaling steadily through her nose and leaning back.
There's a firm shake of her head that follows. "No, no, as much as I'd prefer to regrow it over anything else, I cannot spare another day like this." The look she gives him is completely exasperated, as if of all the trials she's ever faced, this has become her worst opponent, and isn't it obviously so? "The wig'll do just fine, thank you."
The heels of her books hook along the bottom rung of the stool, and she leans in over the pressed angle of her knees with her elbows, chin propping up on her hand as she watches him carefully. She hangs on every word, stare harder than she means as consideration burns brilliant in her mind. His thoughts about the potion being possible, but tricky, reassure her as much as they caution her. She'd hoped this might have been a more commonplace recipe. As he extends both options, she's half a mind to blurt out why not both. She holds her tongue though, inhaling steadily through her nose and leaning back.
There's a firm shake of her head that follows. "No, no, as much as I'd prefer to regrow it over anything else, I cannot spare another day like this." The look she gives him is completely exasperated, as if of all the trials she's ever faced, this has become her worst opponent, and isn't it obviously so? "The wig'll do just fine, thank you."
Colt
Ain't been breaking down, I've been breaking in this heartbreak right
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.
