COLT
Not sure where to go from here
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright
I'm stuck in the middle of freedom and fear
Driving fast with no headlights
Praying everything's gonna be alright
Fabric shifts with a small sigh as it gives to the body beneath it. Denim, cotton, and leather finding a voice of protest across sun-tanned skin. A spur sings in agreement as one leg crosses idly against another, settling in for a wait. The faintest edge of nails drum over the railing, giving all the disruption a tempo that nerves keep better than impatience does.
Colt leans against the exterior of the pegasus enclosure, attempting some manner of relaxed preparation for time passing, but she's doing a terrible job of it by all sights and sounds. She's heard that Lena has passed, and regrets the loss with the same pause that any lost life deserves, especially an innocent one falling to tragedy. She has need though, and that's why she's come. Though she hasn't met the new caretaker or heard much of him, that is not why she fidgets.
There is an itch.
There is always an itch these days, and she's gotten into the habit of scratching it. Her restraint in some places has tightened, but like a scale trying to find balance, forgoing one vice seems inevitable to expose others. This particular discomfort is from withholding reaching for the cigarettes in her boot. Wouldn't do to harm the healing of whatever beasts are here, and like other things in life, it's good to be reminded that some suffering can be survived. She can wait. She is, waiting.
Colt leans against the exterior of the pegasus enclosure, attempting some manner of relaxed preparation for time passing, but she's doing a terrible job of it by all sights and sounds. She's heard that Lena has passed, and regrets the loss with the same pause that any lost life deserves, especially an innocent one falling to tragedy. She has need though, and that's why she's come. Though she hasn't met the new caretaker or heard much of him, that is not why she fidgets.
There is an itch.
There is always an itch these days, and she's gotten into the habit of scratching it. Her restraint in some places has tightened, but like a scale trying to find balance, forgoing one vice seems inevitable to expose others. This particular discomfort is from withholding reaching for the cigarettes in her boot. Wouldn't do to harm the healing of whatever beasts are here, and like other things in life, it's good to be reminded that some suffering can be survived. She can wait. She is, waiting.
These conversations with my head and my heart
Never really ever get me too far
Never really ever get me too far
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.
