Colt
Cold nights, a sleight of hand
No trace of innocence, long gone, long gone
I've been tangled up, I've been wrangling up heathens
I've been double-cupped neck-up in the deep end
No trace of innocence, long gone, long gone
I've been tangled up, I've been wrangling up heathens
I've been double-cupped neck-up in the deep end
When she swings her sights around on the slumped figure that’d caused all this, her grin races up the side of her face as if flame set there, adrenaline all the gasoline she needs. It’s a thrill that nips eagerly at her nerves, herding away everything that’d been heavy and cold as cleanly as a cattle dog on a cow. Her bad mood might be bellowing somewhere inside her still, but it’s been put into motion, quick decisions and confidence rolling back in neat as they ever were. All this time she’d been trying to fuck herself back straight, but it turns out she just needed to fuck someone over.
Could be the company too. Misery likes to keep a friend, but good times benefit equally from an audience. ”Don’t even think about it,” Colt warns, her voice as taut as her bowstring as she turns her aim back around on her good buddy nearest her. She pointedly directs her arrow tip to his crotch, brows lifting as if in dare. He’s in ragged shape, face twisted up in agony after the thorough clipping from the dragon. Whatever smart thought he might have had about reaching for the dagger dissipates, especially when over Colt’s shoulder, the last fringes of potential backup have scattered from the sleek lion that leapt between them all.
Her tongue clicks, a sound that speaks plain to the poor hand he’s holding. ”Gotta know when to fold,” she advises, and there’s something almost lamenting the hard learning of that lesson for him. ”Drop the dagger and get got.” Her arm and arrow move as one, directing towards the ground before zeroing in back on the last goods he’s got left. Fucking crazy skanks he shouts at them, sniveling as the metal slides from the meat of his body.
He throws the dagger down with a sloppy clang, eyes burning with a hate that stretches her grin taller just before he turns to limp away.
Could be the company too. Misery likes to keep a friend, but good times benefit equally from an audience. ”Don’t even think about it,” Colt warns, her voice as taut as her bowstring as she turns her aim back around on her good buddy nearest her. She pointedly directs her arrow tip to his crotch, brows lifting as if in dare. He’s in ragged shape, face twisted up in agony after the thorough clipping from the dragon. Whatever smart thought he might have had about reaching for the dagger dissipates, especially when over Colt’s shoulder, the last fringes of potential backup have scattered from the sleek lion that leapt between them all.
Her tongue clicks, a sound that speaks plain to the poor hand he’s holding. ”Gotta know when to fold,” she advises, and there’s something almost lamenting the hard learning of that lesson for him. ”Drop the dagger and get got.” Her arm and arrow move as one, directing towards the ground before zeroing in back on the last goods he’s got left. Fucking crazy skanks he shouts at them, sniveling as the metal slides from the meat of his body.
He throws the dagger down with a sloppy clang, eyes burning with a hate that stretches her grin taller just before he turns to limp away.
They all know it's the wrong road
But they still go, they still go
Fucking long days getting longer
And the dark days getting darker
But they still go, they still go
Fucking long days getting longer
And the dark days getting darker
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.
