COLT
She's a runner, she's a lover, always stuck in her ways
Pull her closer, think you know her, now she's turning the page
She gave a warning if it's storming, she'll be gone with the rain
Pull her closer, think you know her, now she's turning the page
She gave a warning if it's storming, she'll be gone with the rain
The gesture plucks a new chord through her. So stupidly simple, but the movement of his hand in the dark, offering up a line of silver where the raised stick catches the face of the moon on his palm, pulls the faintest smile into one corner of her mouth. A peppermint stick had been enough to bridge them once before, and even as she wonders if it wouldn't have been better that it never had, one of her hands uncurls from her knees and pinches it into her possession.
"I never can smell this now without thinking of you," she murmurs as she rolls it between forefinger and thumb. Maybe a truth he already knows, not even sure there's a point to her voice now, but it just kind of comes out without much regard, the way holding something back too tightly always seems to cause little cracks where it leaks out anyway. "When you found me loading up lumber that one day, and you had one of these in your mouth, that's when it stuck." She glances up from the sprig to look at him, discovering a shape to him she'd never noticed before now. A crease that's normally in the corner of his eyes is gone, smoothed out with the funny kind of relief that comes from being unburdened, even when letting go is hell. All that careful indifference he always maintained that chafed against her so often. It'd been this.
"I always did wonder how you knew what his face looked like. Thought I put it there." The wall of shadow he'd given her to set her anger into, giving her respite for what she can't seem to entirely get out from under, hard as she's tried. She'd conquered it for a while, because of that. Thought maybe she'd move past it for good because of him too, but that'd been more than he deserved to carry. "That's when I knew you were good, too." It's not just any man who can sit with the pain of a dislocated shoulder and not rage at the source of it. It's some of the reason his power had never frightened her, not the magical kind anyway.
She sets the stick between her teeth, the same way she had when she'd stolen it from him that day. The mint nips immediately at the inside of her mouth, especially potent with all the work he'd done to it. It's no cigarette, but it gives her something better to chew on than herself.
Her head bows, the weight of everything still pulling her down. Her gaze, her chin, her shoulders, everything pitched forward like she'd stumble if the wind so much as put a hand on her back. A part of her turns a bit, enough to shift her hair but not her eyes, as she catches what he says with an angle of mild curiosity. The sound of her. She's never considered how someone sounds before, not the way he means. She's glad something had been nice for him.
The careful admission he offers up afterwards finally brings her back to the blue of him. It doesn't last, not when she can see the corners of him start to splinter, and she affords him the chance to gather himself without the undue pressure of her stare. Though nothing stops the sound of it, and her teeth press in hard enough on the peppermint that it bends. All the times she'd wished him to lose control, to show her something as wild as the way she felt, she had never intended for it to be this. Tightness finds her throat with enough abrupt force that her breath becomes an audible struggle. Wetness lines her cheeks on her next blink, and she keeps it pressed down as she turns her head further away from him. She runs the heel of her hand above her brows a few times before tipping the weight of her head into her palm completely, holding her forehead to the pressure as though there are wounds at risk of bleeding out otherwise.
The stick clicks melodically against her teeth as her tongue rolls it from one corner of her mouth to the other. "Real bad," she agrees, the sound reedy with the misery of an apology for being his first heartbreak. She never should have held his lack of scars against him, but she shouldn't have ignored them either. His first discovery of affection should have been with someone equally as unblemished as him, and maybe then it wouldn't have bruised him so thoroughly.
The good wafts in like smoke after a fire. With a startled jerk of her head, just enough to set him back at the corner of her view, her bleary gaze reaches back for him. Gone raw with everything that's been pulled away from her, being given this now feels too intense, and her entire body tightens in an attempt to endure it. It's the first undeniable certainty she's had that this didn't just wreck him in all the worst ways, but all the best ones too. That among the mess, she isn't standing alone, not the only one broken apart by affection as surely as injury. "Ves..." Something too close to a sob threatens to run over his name, so she quickly slackens the breath, and it looses with a short, ruined noise that has more shape than an exhale.
The peppermint stick sags off the corner of her lip as her mouth draws open faintly, then tumbles free completely as she heaves herself back like a young colt that's just hit the end of a lead for the first time, every limb suddenly forgetting the shape of restraint with no regard for the boundary of the ground. Both hands rise and rake through her hair, as though by tugging on her roots she could yank out all the turmoil with it. The motion pops her hat off, and her fingers form a fist, holding the grip. "Why tell me now?" Her voice crawls over to him, slinking low like it half means to hide, barely a whisper. She lifts it, though it trembles with the effort. "Why not tell me before?" Her hair rustles over the grass as she turns her head, gaze pitching from the overhead stars to him.
"I never can smell this now without thinking of you," she murmurs as she rolls it between forefinger and thumb. Maybe a truth he already knows, not even sure there's a point to her voice now, but it just kind of comes out without much regard, the way holding something back too tightly always seems to cause little cracks where it leaks out anyway. "When you found me loading up lumber that one day, and you had one of these in your mouth, that's when it stuck." She glances up from the sprig to look at him, discovering a shape to him she'd never noticed before now. A crease that's normally in the corner of his eyes is gone, smoothed out with the funny kind of relief that comes from being unburdened, even when letting go is hell. All that careful indifference he always maintained that chafed against her so often. It'd been this.
"I always did wonder how you knew what his face looked like. Thought I put it there." The wall of shadow he'd given her to set her anger into, giving her respite for what she can't seem to entirely get out from under, hard as she's tried. She'd conquered it for a while, because of that. Thought maybe she'd move past it for good because of him too, but that'd been more than he deserved to carry. "That's when I knew you were good, too." It's not just any man who can sit with the pain of a dislocated shoulder and not rage at the source of it. It's some of the reason his power had never frightened her, not the magical kind anyway.
She sets the stick between her teeth, the same way she had when she'd stolen it from him that day. The mint nips immediately at the inside of her mouth, especially potent with all the work he'd done to it. It's no cigarette, but it gives her something better to chew on than herself.
Her head bows, the weight of everything still pulling her down. Her gaze, her chin, her shoulders, everything pitched forward like she'd stumble if the wind so much as put a hand on her back. A part of her turns a bit, enough to shift her hair but not her eyes, as she catches what he says with an angle of mild curiosity. The sound of her. She's never considered how someone sounds before, not the way he means. She's glad something had been nice for him.
The careful admission he offers up afterwards finally brings her back to the blue of him. It doesn't last, not when she can see the corners of him start to splinter, and she affords him the chance to gather himself without the undue pressure of her stare. Though nothing stops the sound of it, and her teeth press in hard enough on the peppermint that it bends. All the times she'd wished him to lose control, to show her something as wild as the way she felt, she had never intended for it to be this. Tightness finds her throat with enough abrupt force that her breath becomes an audible struggle. Wetness lines her cheeks on her next blink, and she keeps it pressed down as she turns her head further away from him. She runs the heel of her hand above her brows a few times before tipping the weight of her head into her palm completely, holding her forehead to the pressure as though there are wounds at risk of bleeding out otherwise.
The stick clicks melodically against her teeth as her tongue rolls it from one corner of her mouth to the other. "Real bad," she agrees, the sound reedy with the misery of an apology for being his first heartbreak. She never should have held his lack of scars against him, but she shouldn't have ignored them either. His first discovery of affection should have been with someone equally as unblemished as him, and maybe then it wouldn't have bruised him so thoroughly.
The good wafts in like smoke after a fire. With a startled jerk of her head, just enough to set him back at the corner of her view, her bleary gaze reaches back for him. Gone raw with everything that's been pulled away from her, being given this now feels too intense, and her entire body tightens in an attempt to endure it. It's the first undeniable certainty she's had that this didn't just wreck him in all the worst ways, but all the best ones too. That among the mess, she isn't standing alone, not the only one broken apart by affection as surely as injury. "Ves..." Something too close to a sob threatens to run over his name, so she quickly slackens the breath, and it looses with a short, ruined noise that has more shape than an exhale.
The peppermint stick sags off the corner of her lip as her mouth draws open faintly, then tumbles free completely as she heaves herself back like a young colt that's just hit the end of a lead for the first time, every limb suddenly forgetting the shape of restraint with no regard for the boundary of the ground. Both hands rise and rake through her hair, as though by tugging on her roots she could yank out all the turmoil with it. The motion pops her hat off, and her fingers form a fist, holding the grip. "Why tell me now?" Her voice crawls over to him, slinking low like it half means to hide, barely a whisper. She lifts it, though it trembles with the effort. "Why not tell me before?" Her hair rustles over the grass as she turns her head, gaze pitching from the overhead stars to him.
When she's in it, she's all in it, ain't no holding her back
When I'm with her, she's a river moving steady and fast
She's afraid of all the ways her heart is broke like glass
When I'm with her, she's a river moving steady and fast
She's afraid of all the ways her heart is broke like glass
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.
