Tryin' to stay between the lines of who I am and who I used to be
He doesn't need to explain the benefits of losing oneself for a time to her. If she's ever down, one of the three fucks is always sure to cheer her up for a time: getting fucked, getting fucked up, or fucking someone up. If one isn't working, the others make a point to not let her down. The longevity of its effects might be questionable, but she has found it's better not to try to dismantle the few things that still work just so she can see them properly. So no, she doesn't judge his methods, especially not when they're clearly working.
All the more reason then to partake herself and be rid of the shaky, icky feeling of uncertainty that's thick enough to chew on with every word she forms. His encouragement only feeds the decision, and it's maybe the one compliment she'd never shy from, if only because it lands like applause for her favorite show beginning to start—happiness. It leaves her smiling back at him despite the wince in her brow and the heat in her teeth, the curl of her lip racing up to something brighter in the anticipation of it all.
After the initial swallow, the scathing feel of the whiskey settles into a familiar warmth pooling in her gut, reaching out into the rest of her with the slow crawl of reassurance for cover against all the cruelties of the world, like the cold. Rolling the pearl under her tongue, it melts gradually as she talks, a different sort of embrace to the liquor. Both trickle in with a steady promise, amplifying each other. Even so soon, it makes her laughter come rich and easy suddenly, as if all the unease she felt has been swallowed up by the new tide of euphoria she's just guzzled.
The sound of it splits her apart at the notion of beating him to the punch, the idea more hilarious than it deserves, tipping past the usual smug smile at approaching challenges differently. "Can't set up trade routes without a skyport!" she fires back, biting down on her grin and working to even out the stuttering breath of residual humor. "Which is very important," she says suddenly very sage and serious, drawn up tall and tight, before cracking near instantly the moment after with a too-wide smile. "Although I guess there's no point in making money if everyone's living in tents and choking on toxic pollens, is there!!" Skipping breakfast, it seems, has also helped the chemically created joy descend into her.
She sighs loftily before glancing down at the pale snow, the bright glittering quality of it shifting beneath the light when her head slightly turns, drawing her focus completely for the time being. It's beautiful in a way she's never appreciated before, and my, doesn't it almost look like sand in its own way? She stoops, reaching a hand out to drag her fingers through the crisp, winking surface of frost. "I should ask them for this!" she declares, almost awed. "Instead of just making it less hot and less poisonous in the jungle. D'ya think they'd give me desert snow?"
All the more reason then to partake herself and be rid of the shaky, icky feeling of uncertainty that's thick enough to chew on with every word she forms. His encouragement only feeds the decision, and it's maybe the one compliment she'd never shy from, if only because it lands like applause for her favorite show beginning to start—happiness. It leaves her smiling back at him despite the wince in her brow and the heat in her teeth, the curl of her lip racing up to something brighter in the anticipation of it all.
After the initial swallow, the scathing feel of the whiskey settles into a familiar warmth pooling in her gut, reaching out into the rest of her with the slow crawl of reassurance for cover against all the cruelties of the world, like the cold. Rolling the pearl under her tongue, it melts gradually as she talks, a different sort of embrace to the liquor. Both trickle in with a steady promise, amplifying each other. Even so soon, it makes her laughter come rich and easy suddenly, as if all the unease she felt has been swallowed up by the new tide of euphoria she's just guzzled.
The sound of it splits her apart at the notion of beating him to the punch, the idea more hilarious than it deserves, tipping past the usual smug smile at approaching challenges differently. "Can't set up trade routes without a skyport!" she fires back, biting down on her grin and working to even out the stuttering breath of residual humor. "Which is very important," she says suddenly very sage and serious, drawn up tall and tight, before cracking near instantly the moment after with a too-wide smile. "Although I guess there's no point in making money if everyone's living in tents and choking on toxic pollens, is there!!" Skipping breakfast, it seems, has also helped the chemically created joy descend into her.
She sighs loftily before glancing down at the pale snow, the bright glittering quality of it shifting beneath the light when her head slightly turns, drawing her focus completely for the time being. It's beautiful in a way she's never appreciated before, and my, doesn't it almost look like sand in its own way? She stoops, reaching a hand out to drag her fingers through the crisp, winking surface of frost. "I should ask them for this!" she declares, almost awed. "Instead of just making it less hot and less poisonous in the jungle. D'ya think they'd give me desert snow?"
Colt
I been livin', I been losin', findin' out that I can't run from 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.
