Heart is buried six feet in the ground, gonna need a shovel now
There's something of a mockery to the fact it's raining now. She's never taken weather personally before, but she's not sure how else to look up at the wet storms of the season and find the clouds shaped into a great, divine, middle finger pointed right at her. Seems in fact, that the heat and the unseasonal burns wore themselves out after chewing through her life. Rationally, she knows this isn't true, but at present she's a bit low on rations and it's a lot easier to place blame than to take it.
So after shooting off another scowl at the sky, her own screams just as liable to leap up at the next peal of unusual lightning, she gets back to the very important task at hand — getting fucking drunk. She might already be there, given that she’s sitting on the bank of the pool amidst the drizzle, jeans rolled up to her knees, boots lopsided beside her with socks for tongues so that she can dip her toes in the water. It’s not exactly toe-dipping weather, but Colt means to dip her toes into as many coping mechanisms as she can. Poolside stress relief a nice healthy balance to the liver damage she’s aiming for.
Her shirt is draped across her head like some makeshift umbrella, already damp though, revealing her bra and a few of her minor scars to the water. Her belt’s been pulled out, zipper and button undone, which is peak comfort aside from shuffling out of the jeans entirely. That’s all she’s really looking for right now, some modicum of comfort.
Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes against the storm and sings low and soft, bracing back on one hand that’s leaning out beside her, the chorus only interrupted for another swig.
So after shooting off another scowl at the sky, her own screams just as liable to leap up at the next peal of unusual lightning, she gets back to the very important task at hand — getting fucking drunk. She might already be there, given that she’s sitting on the bank of the pool amidst the drizzle, jeans rolled up to her knees, boots lopsided beside her with socks for tongues so that she can dip her toes in the water. It’s not exactly toe-dipping weather, but Colt means to dip her toes into as many coping mechanisms as she can. Poolside stress relief a nice healthy balance to the liver damage she’s aiming for.
Her shirt is draped across her head like some makeshift umbrella, already damp though, revealing her bra and a few of her minor scars to the water. Her belt’s been pulled out, zipper and button undone, which is peak comfort aside from shuffling out of the jeans entirely. That’s all she’s really looking for right now, some modicum of comfort.
Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes against the storm and sings low and soft, bracing back on one hand that’s leaning out beside her, the chorus only interrupted for another swig.
Colt
Maybe one day I'll get back the rhythm in my chest
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.
