Gonna show him what little girls are made of — gunpowder and lead
Her gaze narrows when she realizes her shot didn't land. She'd grown careless, it'd seem, and certainly had less stamina than the demigod. Stretching out her arm, alternating which held the bow so the other could shake away the climbing weariness of holding weaponry aloft and taut, Colt tried to reset herself for a moment.
She continues to move as she does so, glancing back the way she moves every once in a while to ensure it's still safe, not wanting to back herself into something with the thrashing gator before them. "Yeah, could be fun next year," Colt says with a smile, the shape of it not fully sealing the commitment, but instead holding the idea of it up to the light a bit to properly see it. Spending a week of darkness alongside people she doesn't know nearly as well is far less appealing than her current plans, and she's doubtful she'll manage to drag Thorn along with her.
The idea of sand races earns a swift turn of her head, brows lifting into the span of her hat. "Uh," she starts to say, suddenly aware by virtue of being asked that she might have to organize such things. She had some practice with the rodeo, but she knew that in and out, she knew fuck all about sand racing. "Well, maybe, someday. It seems a bit too hostile still for now." She steadies herself again with noticable progress towards removing hostility as she nocks another sharpened arrow to her bow. "Probably start with another rodeo, see how it fares in the desert. From there... maybe sand racing." She looses the ammunition towards the allogator. "Maybe make people jump camels or do glassmaking," she considers with a hum, not opposed to the idea the longer it settles in her, of celebrating and committing to revelry.
She continues to move as she does so, glancing back the way she moves every once in a while to ensure it's still safe, not wanting to back herself into something with the thrashing gator before them. "Yeah, could be fun next year," Colt says with a smile, the shape of it not fully sealing the commitment, but instead holding the idea of it up to the light a bit to properly see it. Spending a week of darkness alongside people she doesn't know nearly as well is far less appealing than her current plans, and she's doubtful she'll manage to drag Thorn along with her.
The idea of sand races earns a swift turn of her head, brows lifting into the span of her hat. "Uh," she starts to say, suddenly aware by virtue of being asked that she might have to organize such things. She had some practice with the rodeo, but she knew that in and out, she knew fuck all about sand racing. "Well, maybe, someday. It seems a bit too hostile still for now." She steadies herself again with noticable progress towards removing hostility as she nocks another sharpened arrow to her bow. "Probably start with another rodeo, see how it fares in the desert. From there... maybe sand racing." She looses the ammunition towards the allogator. "Maybe make people jump camels or do glassmaking," she considers with a hum, not opposed to the idea the longer it settles in her, of celebrating and committing to revelry.
Colt
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.
