Tell me I got something to believe in'
Pampering is a rarity for the rancher. She considers a hot shower at the end of a long day the same as a live-in masseuse, and liquor has ever been the lubrication for her tired body and worn out mind. The soft embrace of the robe at least is nothing new, and she sits on the edge of her plush seat with legs drawn up to her chest, the silken fabric gray and shimmering, draped around her like a storm she’s wrestled into comfort.
Her skin gleams, hydrated from the lemon lotion she’d applied, and accentuated with the soft lighting of the room, all of it making her look like she’s stepped out from the sea that surrounds them. If she’s going to do a spa day, she’s going to do it right, and like everything she approaches, there’s no half measures to be had. Something dark is curing beneath her eyes, an anti-wrinkle something or other that she’d shrugged and readily taken, and gods know she needs it the most out of this group. Her hair wig is done up in a messy bun, leaving her shoulders bare for expert hands later, and the cool kiss of the robe for now.
Mid-popping another cube of cheese in her mouth, she stills as her name is laid out for the group, caught like a deer in the farmer’s field. She chews slowly, using that as an excuse to delay while her gaze washes from woman to woman, landing back where it began, settling on the supreme spa hostess, Flora. ”Confessions, complaints, or catastrophes, huh?” she drawls, grin sharpening into her cheek.The hand still clutching her other claimed cheese curls shut, and she drapes it over a knee as she leans in.
In the effort of sinking into spa day fully, and the girtlhood that innately comes with it given the assembled group, she lets a grin carve up her expression. ”Alright then,” she huffs, her breath fluttering into her hair. ”I’ve got a complaint about men.” Which seems to be a common start to a woman’s story. ”They’re impossibly stupid, and completely, emotionally stunted. The only thing they’re good for is looking at, and even that’s unreliable.”
Her skin gleams, hydrated from the lemon lotion she’d applied, and accentuated with the soft lighting of the room, all of it making her look like she’s stepped out from the sea that surrounds them. If she’s going to do a spa day, she’s going to do it right, and like everything she approaches, there’s no half measures to be had. Something dark is curing beneath her eyes, an anti-wrinkle something or other that she’d shrugged and readily taken, and gods know she needs it the most out of this group. Her hair wig is done up in a messy bun, leaving her shoulders bare for expert hands later, and the cool kiss of the robe for now.
Mid-popping another cube of cheese in her mouth, she stills as her name is laid out for the group, caught like a deer in the farmer’s field. She chews slowly, using that as an excuse to delay while her gaze washes from woman to woman, landing back where it began, settling on the supreme spa hostess, Flora. ”Confessions, complaints, or catastrophes, huh?” she drawls, grin sharpening into her cheek.The hand still clutching her other claimed cheese curls shut, and she drapes it over a knee as she leans in.
In the effort of sinking into spa day fully, and the girtlhood that innately comes with it given the assembled group, she lets a grin carve up her expression. ”Alright then,” she huffs, her breath fluttering into her hair. ”I’ve got a complaint about men.” Which seems to be a common start to a woman’s story. ”They’re impossibly stupid, and completely, emotionally stunted. The only thing they’re good for is looking at, and even that’s unreliable.”
Colt
Tell me that you'll love me 'til you leave me
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.
