Colt
The devil's always on my heels, but I keep him on his toes
It might be the highway, and it might be these songs
It might be the whiskey or the smoke inside these lungs
It might be the highway, and it might be these songs
It might be the whiskey or the smoke inside these lungs
The funny thing about losing everything is that Colt feels light. Maybe that’s what having so much ripped out of you always feels like. It’s an emptiness that threatens to float her away with a strong enough breeze. In the past, any bit of her that’d been carved away, that always felt heavy. Almost as if it’d drag her down and pull her under if she didn’t fight back tooth and nail. She had something left to fight for all those times. Now? There’s nothing waitin’ for her back in King’s End, not really, so no reason to hurry on home and not sit on the side of the road in Torchline. In fact, some could say she’s avoiding heading back at all, where the reality of her situation stares back at her, and all the people hand out apologies to her like understanding suffering is enough to help her through it.
Flocking away her ash, Colt glances between her feet and simply says, ”I’m not wallowing.” She is, in fact, an expert wallower. She just normally does it in private, or tucks it into some sort of vice or another generally deemed publicly acceptable, especially drink where she could get halfway back to fun. Always inclined to put up a fight when being accused of an unfavorable truth, as if out of sheer spite, she’d do the opposite just to prove someone else wrong, she doesn’t immediately agree.
Instead, Colt glances around, as if searching for something. An answer maybe, out there in the mist. Her hand rides the cigarette around with her gaze as she gestures at the general vicinity, as if the picture should be clear to Thal. ”I’m… admiring.” She finally settles on the word, and nods after it, as if tasting a freshly poured drink rather than a dressed up truth. ”The road’s pretty, even when the surroundings are shit.” This is not a wild, energetic storm, this is a dreary cloud cover and miserable mist. Or, it had been, but it’d clearly been building into something more.
The sudden shriek across the sky makes Colt jump on the spot, her head whipping up and around, cigarette dropped from her limp hold. ”The fuck was that?!”
Flocking away her ash, Colt glances between her feet and simply says, ”I’m not wallowing.” She is, in fact, an expert wallower. She just normally does it in private, or tucks it into some sort of vice or another generally deemed publicly acceptable, especially drink where she could get halfway back to fun. Always inclined to put up a fight when being accused of an unfavorable truth, as if out of sheer spite, she’d do the opposite just to prove someone else wrong, she doesn’t immediately agree.
Instead, Colt glances around, as if searching for something. An answer maybe, out there in the mist. Her hand rides the cigarette around with her gaze as she gestures at the general vicinity, as if the picture should be clear to Thal. ”I’m… admiring.” She finally settles on the word, and nods after it, as if tasting a freshly poured drink rather than a dressed up truth. ”The road’s pretty, even when the surroundings are shit.” This is not a wild, energetic storm, this is a dreary cloud cover and miserable mist. Or, it had been, but it’d clearly been building into something more.
The sudden shriek across the sky makes Colt jump on the spot, her head whipping up and around, cigarette dropped from her limp hold. ”The fuck was that?!”
Ain't no way around it, one day I'm gonna die
If something's gonna kill me
Might as well be what makes me feel alive
If something's gonna kill me
Might as well be what makes me feel alive
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.
