Tryin' to stay between the lines of who I am and who I used to be
"Bones," she agrees, drawing the word out with a sudden attention to its sound. "BoooooNessssssuh." Her tongue, tingling with the residual bits of the snapdragon pearl, feels much fuller than she remembers it being, like it's taking up too much space in her mouth or ...has it always been like that and she's just never noticed? Come to think of it, she can't remember the last time she noticed her tongue. Maybe when she accidentally bit it chewing steak months and months ago. She rolls it between her teeth, the sensation strangely floppy and yet somehow still rigid.
"We have lots of bones too," she hums, the line of the thought trickling back in slowly as her tongue loses its appeal, taken over by the numbing quality of the glittering 'sand' in hand. She narrows her gaze at it, tipping her palm slowly and watching it start to slide away little by little. He's drawn near, and with it, the smell of his cigarette clings, familiar in all the wrong ways.
Abruptly, Colt stiffens. Whatever he said passes right through her. Her nostrils flare as she breathes in. It's not just the cigarette, it's the undercurrent of his magic giving her what she wants most. There's leather, rich and comforting, and against it the fine dust that always gets kicked up in the haze of the summer heat when countless hooves keep drumming over it. There's the faint tang of sweat, well-earned and exhausting in the best way, and beside it hints of alfalfa. It's Cleveland sage on her front porch, welcoming her home, then lavender drifting in when she makes it to her room before bed. It's home that she smells, and around it, the damn smoke.
Every part of her loses color at once. Her hand reaches out to his leg, grip like a vice against his pant as she braces. The smoke suddenly feels hot in her lungs and it's difficult to talk through it. "It's on fire again," she barely manages to whisper, though he should manage to hear it without issue. Despairingly, she realizes they are not in a field of snow, nor the glisten of some god-touched desert. They're standing in ash, still white from the hot and complete burn. Shaking, she gets back to her feet from her crouch, using him like a handrail all the while, eyes as wide as the horrified pop of her mouth.
"We have lots of bones too," she hums, the line of the thought trickling back in slowly as her tongue loses its appeal, taken over by the numbing quality of the glittering 'sand' in hand. She narrows her gaze at it, tipping her palm slowly and watching it start to slide away little by little. He's drawn near, and with it, the smell of his cigarette clings, familiar in all the wrong ways.
Abruptly, Colt stiffens. Whatever he said passes right through her. Her nostrils flare as she breathes in. It's not just the cigarette, it's the undercurrent of his magic giving her what she wants most. There's leather, rich and comforting, and against it the fine dust that always gets kicked up in the haze of the summer heat when countless hooves keep drumming over it. There's the faint tang of sweat, well-earned and exhausting in the best way, and beside it hints of alfalfa. It's Cleveland sage on her front porch, welcoming her home, then lavender drifting in when she makes it to her room before bed. It's home that she smells, and around it, the damn smoke.
Every part of her loses color at once. Her hand reaches out to his leg, grip like a vice against his pant as she braces. The smoke suddenly feels hot in her lungs and it's difficult to talk through it. "It's on fire again," she barely manages to whisper, though he should manage to hear it without issue. Despairingly, she realizes they are not in a field of snow, nor the glisten of some god-touched desert. They're standing in ash, still white from the hot and complete burn. Shaking, she gets back to her feet from her crouch, using him like a handrail all the while, eyes as wide as the horrified pop of her mouth.
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.
