Raining on me so damn long, but that's relief to a man who calls a desert home
The champagne serves as a lovely point of focus, allowing Colt somewhere to look that is more than Flora and less obviously not-Flora than the surroundings. Alcohol has always been a dear friend in that way, and many others. Although it doesn't require effort to speak these words to Flora, the lauding of her accomplishments deserved and therefore simple to provide, it is difficult to face what comes after, this visit unfortunately not purely celebratory, and she won't make Flora struggle through the acceptance of the compliments with her stare in weighted pursuit.
Colt merely nods at the gratitude, not having offered what she did in order to garner anything in return, so she's no interest in holding onto it for longer than necessary. She appreciates it though, quietly. She hadn't quite known how much of Flora's bite she'd be navigating from the start, and it's a relief to find little of it steeled even when the queen smiles. Suspicious even, almost, given how neatly the same look had cut her last time. But then, Colt had been armed too, whereas now she's left everything holstered for the sake of drawing no further blood. It'd be an undue gift to spill any in the bar that didn't even open.
Her attention shifts from the too-warm glass of bubbles to the pale dragon that unwinds herself from the mantle of Flora's shoulders, the image of grace and might in one. Spice's experience in this matter is clear as she cleanly coats both their glasses and little else, only a few stray strands of chill tumbling over the counter. Colt's lips spread faintly, helplessly delighted for the time being at such a simply helpful display of mastery. "Much obliged, Spice," Colt murmurs with a nod of her head, hand reaching out to claim her chilly flute. Her fingers skim over the frosty surface, curling against the cold with appreciation, because ice makes alcohol nice. She lifts the edge of the glass to her lips to take the first crisp sip, the experience much improved thanks to the crystallized cold.
With her savior in hand, there's little else for Colt to focus on now except the sweeping draw of Flora's gaze as both women settle it upon one another, guarded in ways that the effervescence in their glass cannot slip past alone. "Oh?" Colt wonders, the word rolling just over the surface of her flute as she keeps it near her lips, resisting the urge to down it all in one gulp. Her curiosity is clear, this offer of inspiration is an unexpected one, but Flora soon enough connects the dots for her.
Fresh surprise reaches her brows at the clarity that's delivered. "An apt new name then," she comments, cautious in a new way, her tone edging to neutral as she wrestles with this new knowledge. Little is left to wonder when a memory surfaces beside them, Colt's attention snapping to it with a betrayal of interest when it's Flora and Soh that appear.
The scene plays out with some vague sense of knowing it, despite never seeing it before, never having been there. It's just as Soh had told her, in so few details, but there's little reassurance in knowing Soh hadn't lied to her when the truth still remains so sharp. Even expecting it, it's no easy thing to hear the way Soh's voice delivers the statement, the sound oddly cutting for a woman who balks at a knife. Colt's grip tightens unintentionally around the glass stem, fingers smearing away the external coating of ice with faint streaks where the pressure forces movement. A tight corner wrinkles both sides of Colt's lips where they press down in force over one another, broken only when she juts the edge of the glass between them to take a sobering sip.
Although this thing looks pretty and innocent on the surface, there's a nasty quality to this theater that doesn't sit well with Colt. What is a person, if not their memories? It's why even when it hurt to carry them, Colt long ago decided that'd be better than forgoing them, tempting as the absence of pain might be. She'd rather scrape herself against them time and time again than stare at a void where they once were. They're personal in such a way that witnessing the ease with which Flora pulls one forth in perfect clarity is alarming, this private moment put on such eager display that Colt immediately feels exposed in a way she has only had to worry about with the gods. Subtly, she shifts her weight away from Flora, the motion almost imperceptible, and hardly enough to provide any sense of safety, just the instinct to preserve some semblance of comfort when it feels like she's been stripped naked without permission.
The desire to rapidly erect every guard she can manage flares inside her, suddenly conscious that they aren't really alone here anymore. Perhaps nothing to be worried by if you've nothing to hide, but how you say something varies for the audience, the same truth sometimes settling differently depending on who's hearing it, and how. She's acutely aware now of every movement and word she selects, the bar having become a stage.
"That's," Colt's throat works over the meaning, pressing on a smile as she lowers the champagne back to the bartop. Something dies off, and she angles for a brighter, shinier answer. "Impressive." That's true too, because it's not many who can so cleanly flay a person apart into the core of their being, where the net of a person is nothing more than a tangle of every experience, even the ones that have begun to fade.
Yet, there's no denying the usefulness of this, and were Colt the one in possession of it instead of just tapdancing to the tune of it, she'd certainly be just as ruthless with the aim as she expects Flora will be. "Then," she starts, exhaling a bit too loudly through her nose as she works over the rising terror in her gut at offering Flora, or anyone, any more of her than they deserve, and equally wanting to bed this issue once and for all. A chance to prove what she already said, in words Flora might finally hear. "Maybe you should see the memory of my offer to Soh, and judge for yourself if it's poaching or not." Colt offers tightly, extending an upturned hand over the bar, expecting touch or something is needed to draw the wellspring of her mind and being forth. Her fingers tremble in betrayal of the risk she feels at offering this, unsure if Flora can fully rifle through all of her or not, but she could do this and then finally be done, and from then on be very careful around the Hot Take and her compatriots.
Colt merely nods at the gratitude, not having offered what she did in order to garner anything in return, so she's no interest in holding onto it for longer than necessary. She appreciates it though, quietly. She hadn't quite known how much of Flora's bite she'd be navigating from the start, and it's a relief to find little of it steeled even when the queen smiles. Suspicious even, almost, given how neatly the same look had cut her last time. But then, Colt had been armed too, whereas now she's left everything holstered for the sake of drawing no further blood. It'd be an undue gift to spill any in the bar that didn't even open.
Her attention shifts from the too-warm glass of bubbles to the pale dragon that unwinds herself from the mantle of Flora's shoulders, the image of grace and might in one. Spice's experience in this matter is clear as she cleanly coats both their glasses and little else, only a few stray strands of chill tumbling over the counter. Colt's lips spread faintly, helplessly delighted for the time being at such a simply helpful display of mastery. "Much obliged, Spice," Colt murmurs with a nod of her head, hand reaching out to claim her chilly flute. Her fingers skim over the frosty surface, curling against the cold with appreciation, because ice makes alcohol nice. She lifts the edge of the glass to her lips to take the first crisp sip, the experience much improved thanks to the crystallized cold.
With her savior in hand, there's little else for Colt to focus on now except the sweeping draw of Flora's gaze as both women settle it upon one another, guarded in ways that the effervescence in their glass cannot slip past alone. "Oh?" Colt wonders, the word rolling just over the surface of her flute as she keeps it near her lips, resisting the urge to down it all in one gulp. Her curiosity is clear, this offer of inspiration is an unexpected one, but Flora soon enough connects the dots for her.
Fresh surprise reaches her brows at the clarity that's delivered. "An apt new name then," she comments, cautious in a new way, her tone edging to neutral as she wrestles with this new knowledge. Little is left to wonder when a memory surfaces beside them, Colt's attention snapping to it with a betrayal of interest when it's Flora and Soh that appear.
The scene plays out with some vague sense of knowing it, despite never seeing it before, never having been there. It's just as Soh had told her, in so few details, but there's little reassurance in knowing Soh hadn't lied to her when the truth still remains so sharp. Even expecting it, it's no easy thing to hear the way Soh's voice delivers the statement, the sound oddly cutting for a woman who balks at a knife. Colt's grip tightens unintentionally around the glass stem, fingers smearing away the external coating of ice with faint streaks where the pressure forces movement. A tight corner wrinkles both sides of Colt's lips where they press down in force over one another, broken only when she juts the edge of the glass between them to take a sobering sip.
Although this thing looks pretty and innocent on the surface, there's a nasty quality to this theater that doesn't sit well with Colt. What is a person, if not their memories? It's why even when it hurt to carry them, Colt long ago decided that'd be better than forgoing them, tempting as the absence of pain might be. She'd rather scrape herself against them time and time again than stare at a void where they once were. They're personal in such a way that witnessing the ease with which Flora pulls one forth in perfect clarity is alarming, this private moment put on such eager display that Colt immediately feels exposed in a way she has only had to worry about with the gods. Subtly, she shifts her weight away from Flora, the motion almost imperceptible, and hardly enough to provide any sense of safety, just the instinct to preserve some semblance of comfort when it feels like she's been stripped naked without permission.
The desire to rapidly erect every guard she can manage flares inside her, suddenly conscious that they aren't really alone here anymore. Perhaps nothing to be worried by if you've nothing to hide, but how you say something varies for the audience, the same truth sometimes settling differently depending on who's hearing it, and how. She's acutely aware now of every movement and word she selects, the bar having become a stage.
"That's," Colt's throat works over the meaning, pressing on a smile as she lowers the champagne back to the bartop. Something dies off, and she angles for a brighter, shinier answer. "Impressive." That's true too, because it's not many who can so cleanly flay a person apart into the core of their being, where the net of a person is nothing more than a tangle of every experience, even the ones that have begun to fade.
Yet, there's no denying the usefulness of this, and were Colt the one in possession of it instead of just tapdancing to the tune of it, she'd certainly be just as ruthless with the aim as she expects Flora will be. "Then," she starts, exhaling a bit too loudly through her nose as she works over the rising terror in her gut at offering Flora, or anyone, any more of her than they deserve, and equally wanting to bed this issue once and for all. A chance to prove what she already said, in words Flora might finally hear. "Maybe you should see the memory of my offer to Soh, and judge for yourself if it's poaching or not." Colt offers tightly, extending an upturned hand over the bar, expecting touch or something is needed to draw the wellspring of her mind and being forth. Her fingers tremble in betrayal of the risk she feels at offering this, unsure if Flora can fully rifle through all of her or not, but she could do this and then finally be done, and from then on be very careful around the Hot Take and her compatriots.
Colt
Still gripping the shovel that got me here, fear if I let go I might disappear
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.
