Thalassa
The greeting isn't as biting as she'd expect, muted in comparison to what she's come to associate with the rancher. There's no insult or cocky grin beyond the slip of a smile and casual question that contain none of her usual energy. Intrigue flashes in Thal's eyes as she gets close enough to smell the damp scent of smoke. Her own fire trails through her fingers, sizzling as it eliminates the last bit of evidence.
"Not unless they lead to treasure." It's true that her cabin is covered in maps, but they're useless for anyone unfamiliar with the currents of the ocean, written in a code that few could understand. On the rare occasion she finds a treasure map, she'll claim it for herself (if there's anything left to claim) then pawn it off to some overly ambitious pompous ass who thinks they can turn rich in an afternoon.
But Colt doesn't seem to be looking for treasure, and she's a long way off from looking ambitious right now. In fact, she's spouting some depressing shit that threatens to be more stifling than the smoke she blows into the air. Thal can't help the raise in her eyebrow, curious and somewhat accusatory when she says, "You didn't strike me as the wallowing type."
"Not unless they lead to treasure." It's true that her cabin is covered in maps, but they're useless for anyone unfamiliar with the currents of the ocean, written in a code that few could understand. On the rare occasion she finds a treasure map, she'll claim it for herself (if there's anything left to claim) then pawn it off to some overly ambitious pompous ass who thinks they can turn rich in an afternoon.
But Colt doesn't seem to be looking for treasure, and she's a long way off from looking ambitious right now. In fact, she's spouting some depressing shit that threatens to be more stifling than the smoke she blows into the air. Thal can't help the raise in her eyebrow, curious and somewhat accusatory when she says, "You didn't strike me as the wallowing type."
But when I wake up,
I see You with me.
I see You with me.
