Got the windows down and my fingers crossed
Size does not matter when it comes to bothering. In fact, the smallest things often manage to do the most damage to composure, as if their unseeming stature allows them to slip past defenses and rattle you. An offhand remark that feeds doubt, a burr in your sock rubbing against skin, a plethora of minor inconveniences that stack up high enough to tumble rationality. This splinter falls within that same vein—tiny, yet terrible.
It’s why she doesn’t try to brush away his offer for healing, gaze lifting from her finger to find his eyes as they both bow over the evidence of the wooden bite. ”That’d be great, actually. These fuckers always seem to linger even after you’ve got ‘em free.” Skin that’s irritated doesn’t immediately calm once the irritant is removed. ”Fuck, I just broke it off,” she grumbles, her nails failing to properly grasp and pull the splinter free, instead snapping the only section not under her skin. ”I have just the thing,” she murmurs.
Retreating from the table, she makes her way back to the door where she’d hung her quiver. She grasps one of the sharpened arrows and angles her offended palm into the right light. The thin edge of the arrowhead doesn’t require much pressure to slice into her hand, and she winces as she pushes into the sensitive region. Nerves fire off, subtle but still in pain, but she ignored the instinct, needing to get the arrow beneath the particle in order to fully carve it out. Blood wells around the new depth and the thicker lance of the arrow, but as she swipes it up and out, the discomfort of the wood piece vanishes, that bristling ache replaced with the sting of the cut. ”There,” she declares, turning to put the bloody arrow back in the quiver, no sense in wasting it.
It’s why she doesn’t try to brush away his offer for healing, gaze lifting from her finger to find his eyes as they both bow over the evidence of the wooden bite. ”That’d be great, actually. These fuckers always seem to linger even after you’ve got ‘em free.” Skin that’s irritated doesn’t immediately calm once the irritant is removed. ”Fuck, I just broke it off,” she grumbles, her nails failing to properly grasp and pull the splinter free, instead snapping the only section not under her skin. ”I have just the thing,” she murmurs.
Retreating from the table, she makes her way back to the door where she’d hung her quiver. She grasps one of the sharpened arrows and angles her offended palm into the right light. The thin edge of the arrowhead doesn’t require much pressure to slice into her hand, and she winces as she pushes into the sensitive region. Nerves fire off, subtle but still in pain, but she ignored the instinct, needing to get the arrow beneath the particle in order to fully carve it out. Blood wells around the new depth and the thicker lance of the arrow, but as she swipes it up and out, the discomfort of the wood piece vanishes, that bristling ache replaced with the sting of the cut. ”There,” she declares, turning to put the bloody arrow back in the quiver, no sense in wasting it.
Colt
Just lookin' for a brand new way to get lost
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.
