COLT
She got smiles in a jar by the door
She likes her days better when the sun goes down
She loves the rain
She likes her days better when the sun goes down
She loves the rain
It’d take hell and high water to keep Colt from a worthwhile party. Which feels like she’s nearly there, to be honest, but she did need to restock supplies, and if some of that includes alcohol in her gut, what of it?
With few wardrobe options at her disposal these days, Colt has taken Flora’s shade for her eyeshadow. The sea-blue is the only bright and brilliant thing on her, decorated otherwise in an off-white sundress that depends on cut and shape to make it anything noteworthy. It’s above her knees in the front but trails to her ankle boots in the back, the hem there fringed with diamond cut-outs that create a swirling pattern. A similar style folds into her chest with a deep plunge to her bosom, opening up as much skin to the air as can be safely done. The straps vanish up beneath the fall of her wig.
Already half a drink in, though by no means any of the concoctions being lauded for the evening, she settles near the ice sculpture by the pool, margarita in hand as she hunkers. Earlier, she deposited her small gift for Flora on the table—a leather knife-holder for her thigh, slim and discreet for a small blade.
When the time comes, she doesn’t say words so much as add noise, a loud whoop and cheer added to the volley of surprise.
Colt is by the ice sculpture
With few wardrobe options at her disposal these days, Colt has taken Flora’s shade for her eyeshadow. The sea-blue is the only bright and brilliant thing on her, decorated otherwise in an off-white sundress that depends on cut and shape to make it anything noteworthy. It’s above her knees in the front but trails to her ankle boots in the back, the hem there fringed with diamond cut-outs that create a swirling pattern. A similar style folds into her chest with a deep plunge to her bosom, opening up as much skin to the air as can be safely done. The straps vanish up beneath the fall of her wig.
Already half a drink in, though by no means any of the concoctions being lauded for the evening, she settles near the ice sculpture by the pool, margarita in hand as she hunkers. Earlier, she deposited her small gift for Flora on the table—a leather knife-holder for her thigh, slim and discreet for a small blade.
When the time comes, she doesn’t say words so much as add noise, a loud whoop and cheer added to the volley of surprise.
Colt is by the ice sculpture
When the sky turns grey, you should see her face
She finds beauty in broken when nobody else can see
Maybe I got a shot of her seeing something in me
She finds beauty in broken when nobody else can see
Maybe I got a shot of her seeing something in me
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.
