Ain't had time to miss you since you been gone, it's been nothing but neon
The movement of his hand covering hers carries with it all the same effect of snuffing out a burning candle. Where discomfort had been chewing through the wick of her days, she feels it suddenly ease in a way that's more than just the promised potential of the craft at hand. It's a rare peace that curls through her, the smoke of worry trailing out with each exhale, breath taken in soft and quiet as she settles into this newfound calm. The rush of it nearly threatens to wet her eyes, but she blinks away that risk with a smile.
This time when he rises, she remains perfectly seated, hands back in her lap as she gazes around at the other curious desks and crafters at work. His return draws her attention back slowly, momentarily engrossed in watching a woman animatedly fluff out a dress around a mannequin, which from what Colt can tell, is meant to change colors with every stray movement—not irridescent or sequined, but like a living blend of every differently colored fiber briefly being given the spotlight. "Let me know if I can be of any help," she offers softly to him, hands briefly rising as if they could be put to use with proper guidance, although she doesn't need the charity of a task, only intending not to be dead weight when she doesn't have to be.
"Although," she says with a quirk to her lips, mischief creeping back in now that the panic has subsided. "I do need to ask you something else, and I'm afraid it makes me sound terribly needy," she laughs faintly at the jab, but she is aware that for all her reluctance to seek help, she finds herself doing it often enough. "This one's more fun, at least, I think so." She shrugs, because maybe he prefers the wig making. "I'm running another rodeo later this month, in King's End, like last year. Would you and Ronin be interested in unseating more cowboys?"
This time when he rises, she remains perfectly seated, hands back in her lap as she gazes around at the other curious desks and crafters at work. His return draws her attention back slowly, momentarily engrossed in watching a woman animatedly fluff out a dress around a mannequin, which from what Colt can tell, is meant to change colors with every stray movement—not irridescent or sequined, but like a living blend of every differently colored fiber briefly being given the spotlight. "Let me know if I can be of any help," she offers softly to him, hands briefly rising as if they could be put to use with proper guidance, although she doesn't need the charity of a task, only intending not to be dead weight when she doesn't have to be.
"Although," she says with a quirk to her lips, mischief creeping back in now that the panic has subsided. "I do need to ask you something else, and I'm afraid it makes me sound terribly needy," she laughs faintly at the jab, but she is aware that for all her reluctance to seek help, she finds herself doing it often enough. "This one's more fun, at least, I think so." She shrugs, because maybe he prefers the wig making. "I'm running another rodeo later this month, in King's End, like last year. Would you and Ronin be interested in unseating more cowboys?"
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.
