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
The appreciation of a good drink and fine conversation has always come easily to Colt. She has never understood those who shy away from this sort of environment, or worse, those who actively shun and shame it. With all the hardships that come naturally with living, it doesn't seem worth it to purposefully make enjoyment difficult too. Bathed in the subtle glow of a woman too lovely to look away from, cradled with the warm hand of liquor in her veins, Colt's smile is unwilling to fully fade.
On topics of places past, Colt makes a wistful noise that's as much understanding as it is disagreement. Knowing something and accepting it aren't one and the same, and it's the latter that keeps her wandering these beaches like some forlorn ghost, head in a bottle wailing about tragedy and loss any time the stars come out and remind her doubly of it. "Yeah, home has a way of changing sometimes. Even when you least expect it to." She lifts her drink like a shield to her lips, tucking the fragile shape that dares bloom out behind the glass. The burn pulls it back, as light and heat have always done to the dreadful things that try to take hold in the dark. She doesn't say more on the topic, because there's no need to echo the sentiment between them. Home is no longer King's End, and it's not Halo either. For now, home is fine enough to be this barstool and this poison on ice. Tomorrow, maybe she'll discover it in the desert like she's hoping to.
Much more content to wonder at the power of hoes and the word they can do with seed, Colt listens. "You sound as if you have experience being ruined," Colt smirks, the motion faint, less amused than apologetic. The old sorrows and new worries tilt easily into the fresh laughter and daring grins they trade between them. Colt's laugh ripples out next as Hotaru soaks in the attention and shines all the brighter for it.
She does not hold back, and Colt does not begrudge the flood after asking for rain. "I disagree," she says with a tip of her glass towards the Valkyrie, hands starting to join the conversation readily now that she's nearing the bottom of her drink. "That's the perfect amount of words to show me how well you know your shit." A wink, as if this is a secret they can keep together. "My drug has always been adrenaline and tequila, but nicotine has kept me company when I find myself without any, and a chance to quiet my head with something more has done me wonders a time or two." She tips her head towards her shoulder, empty drink passed back along the bar. "It seems to me, finding pleasure is a rather worthy pursuit when there's already so much tugging it away from you. People could benefit from a considerate villain, such as indulgence, in the right hands."
On topics of places past, Colt makes a wistful noise that's as much understanding as it is disagreement. Knowing something and accepting it aren't one and the same, and it's the latter that keeps her wandering these beaches like some forlorn ghost, head in a bottle wailing about tragedy and loss any time the stars come out and remind her doubly of it. "Yeah, home has a way of changing sometimes. Even when you least expect it to." She lifts her drink like a shield to her lips, tucking the fragile shape that dares bloom out behind the glass. The burn pulls it back, as light and heat have always done to the dreadful things that try to take hold in the dark. She doesn't say more on the topic, because there's no need to echo the sentiment between them. Home is no longer King's End, and it's not Halo either. For now, home is fine enough to be this barstool and this poison on ice. Tomorrow, maybe she'll discover it in the desert like she's hoping to.
Much more content to wonder at the power of hoes and the word they can do with seed, Colt listens. "You sound as if you have experience being ruined," Colt smirks, the motion faint, less amused than apologetic. The old sorrows and new worries tilt easily into the fresh laughter and daring grins they trade between them. Colt's laugh ripples out next as Hotaru soaks in the attention and shines all the brighter for it.
She does not hold back, and Colt does not begrudge the flood after asking for rain. "I disagree," she says with a tip of her glass towards the Valkyrie, hands starting to join the conversation readily now that she's nearing the bottom of her drink. "That's the perfect amount of words to show me how well you know your shit." A wink, as if this is a secret they can keep together. "My drug has always been adrenaline and tequila, but nicotine has kept me company when I find myself without any, and a chance to quiet my head with something more has done me wonders a time or two." She tips her head towards her shoulder, empty drink passed back along the bar. "It seems to me, finding pleasure is a rather worthy pursuit when there's already so much tugging it away from you. People could benefit from a considerate villain, such as indulgence, in the right hands."
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.
