[SE] Cold shoulders ain't no good for crying

Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread

The fence bears her weight but complains at the shift of her elbows. It's enough to make her hesitate, just for a moment, keeping the range of her balance more on her feet than the whining rails. It wobbles beneath her, but as she sinks in slower, it holds up to her test, so she settles with her legs canting out at a sharp angle beneath her. She slips her matchbook back in her front jean pocket, thumb hooking over the denim once she's done. Her other hand pulls the cigarette from her lips, falling limp along the fence, barely keeping hold of the freshly lit stick. She exhales smoke up into the herd of clouds gathering overhead, looking obnoxiously like a challenge for the work ahead of her.

Dear ol’ Edith’s house is still looking nice after the paint job it received a few seasons ago. That’s not a memory she dares dwell on, though she can’t keep it from flickering to life briefly behind her eyes with the same cherry glow she brings back to her lips. Just like the ash afterwards, she taps it away, purposefully keeping her back to the house and her attention on the muddy road before her. The same one Edith slipped and hurt herself on, so it needs some smoothing and drying, pouting clouds be damned.

A bag of wood chips awaits nearby, and some tools, but Colt’s waiting on the rest of the help to show up. They’re late, and she’s itching to get done, but for now she’s content to stand here and do her best not remembering things that pretended to be happy.

Colt

My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep

Zavien

Zavien hadn't been planning to help. He's already been away from Stormbreak for longer than he's comfortable with these days and he's itching to get back, to bury himself in the work so he doesn't linger on unpleasant thoughts. And yet, as he's departing Talyson's place for the skyport, he spots a familiar blonde perched on some fence slats, smoke billowing in the air like a beacon. 

His boots crunch in the dirt along the road, occasionally sinking deeper in the wet patches of mud that cling to the leather. Sol has long since opted to fly, only diving down when he spots something in the long grass, his golden scales catching the sunlight. It's drawn his attention until now, until Colt is within range, the supplies sitting beside her in quiet invitation.

Pulling a hand from his pocket, he raises it in greeting before returning it to the denim jeans. "Colt." His head dips towards the woodchips and tools, sidestepping a wobbly bit of mud attempting to trip him. "How are things going? Do you need some help?"

We wear our scars as proof

that we are still alive.

Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread

His approach is something she marks well before he's in earshot. This place is mostly dotted with residential homes so the road's not too busy, not with the time of day putting most people at work elsewhere, and not with the threat of more rain keeping everyone warmly tucked indoors. Her head tilts, watching him get closer with the lazy interest of someone needing distraction, therefore able to find it in what is ordinarily mundane. Although once she starts to recognize him she becomes more curious, even expectant. Her letter had left things rather open-ended for when he could come by and taste test some ribs, and his response had suggested he'd been so busy ruling a city that spelling isn't something he could bother with any longer, yet here he is.

No longer alone, she seals away the last bit of her grief with all the expertise of someone used to sweeping dust under rugs and calling it clean. A practiced smile reaches out, shiny as an emerald city promise, though it costs her something to hoist it up when everything behind it is so hollow. A price she'll pay later, when he's gone and she goes to fold it away, only to find it takes more than familiar creases to manage it. Something will tear then, stripping down further than surface level, same as the painted-on kiss she earned here that's since peeled back and exposed the rot beneath. For now though, the warm tilt of her lips fits into spaces with enough habitual ease that it feels like it could fool her too if she wears it long enough, and about now feeling fooled seems a better bet than keeping smart.

"Zaaaavien!" she trills brightly, smoke puffing out both ends of her cheeks as the grin yanks them up. "Fancy seeing you 'round these parts darlin', I hope you brought your appetite." She lifts up a foot, leaning down to put out the cigarette on the toe of her boot, tucking it in her back pocket with a loud smack of her lips to his question as she moves. "A complete mess," she informs him, and whether he meant her or the road, the answer is much the same. She rather figures he means the situation at hand, the muddy one specifically, plain as it is to see. With the amber shine of her gaze lifting back to him, mischief like a constant streak in the corner, her lips tilt into something crooked. "Why, how incredibly considerate of you, I do just so happen to be needing some helpful man in my life." Luckily for her, the golden boy doesn't need any arm twisting, he just offers 'em up easy, and she has no qualms taking advantage of something being given. Whether he only said it to be nice or not, he's let the cat out of the bag already and that sucker's run off.

Nodding her chin towards the supplies, "gotta even and dry this patch of road, especially before the next rainfall. Had a crew lined up, but guess they got better things to do than help ensure old women don't go breaking their hips. You don't though, looks like, so I say we make quick work and get you that meal you're due." She's careful not to trust the fence enough to push off it as she gets back onto her own balance, reaching for a rake to smooth the road, the shovel remaining for him to help carve ir out. She tosses the handle from one hand to the other before staking a claim over a patch of muddy ground, turning the tool over so the flat part is down and the teeth smile up. She pushes and pulls with some effort, leveling the lumpier parts of the ground like this is nothing more than a batch of brownies needing to cook even in the oven. "So what brings you out to this neck of the woods city boy?"

Colt

My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep

Zavien

He's not expecting animosity, but he's also not expecting the bright enthusiasm that greets him, eyebrows raising a hint to take it in. She doesn't sound high this time, her eyes clear and words flowing logically. It quickly brings out a smile, knowing the excitement has nothing to do with drugs or his relationship to zucchinis. 

Food hadn't been his first thought when spotting Colt, but as she brings up the topic, his mouth already begins to water, his curiosity piqued. "Always," he pauses, looking to the gold glint in the sky as he chuckles, "but even if I didn't, Sol has enough for the both of us." Hearing his name along with the shift in attention, the dragon gives a chirp of passionate agreement. It distorts into a trill of reptilian greeting when he drifts down to perch on a nearby post, hopping and tilting his head as if waiting for her to offer forth the food at this exact moment. 

Rolling his eyes at his shameless companion, Zavien holds out on his apology to take in the state of the road with the scrutiny of a soldier plotting their battle, rallying troops and analyzing strategy. His eyes flit up, a playful grin spreading. "Sounds like it's a good thing I ran into you." On the basis of needing assistance for old ladies as much as the prospect of delicious food. 

Zavien steps closer to grab a shovel, the tool feeling familiar against the callouses after weeks of manual labor. His muscles don't even feel as sore right now, responding without a single ache when he begins dragging the edge of the shovel over the mud to flatten it. The scrape echoes across the road, mixing with his laughter and the silent shrug of his shoulders. "I might have taken a wrong turn. I was heading to the skyport after visiting a friend." It's quite the understatement considering his directional capabilities, and if he didn't have Sol, he'd probably have found himself in the middle of a field. 

"How's the ranch?"

*

We wear our scars as proof

that we are still alive.

Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread

Her eyes dart skyward for a moment too, following the line of Zavien's gaze and the glint of something quick and small catching the stormlight. Though she's more keen on the sort of critters she keeps, Colt doesn't fully ignore the antics of the little companion, especially when he extends an adorable trill. "Food enough for the both of you, dontchu worry," she reassures with all the threat of good hospitality threaded through it, winking at the gold dragon.

Though she doesn't remember much about the epic battle the three of them waged down the Stormbreak streets—the ribs are really what stuck with her the most—she knows Zavien's the easy sort to get along with, too wholesome for his own good, if she had to wager. Case in point, getting roped into labor on his own offer. "Oh, best part of my morning, hands down," she croons, happily securing his time and strength.

As they settle into the work, his explanation of being here brings about a mild laugh on her part. "Lost and so helpful, sugar you can't be setting the bar so high, gonna make the rest of us look bad." She can't claim she'd ever be in the mood to scrub roads if she's been wandering aimless, in fact that'd put her temper on the shorter end real quick. Ain't much that grinds worse than wasting time, especially when it's your own damn fault. Every so often amid raking the ground even, she sprinkles out some of the wood chips. They pull in the moisture like a slow sponge, and she folds them in like cheese to the mixture of earth, giving it something with a bit more substance to hold onto. All of it should help keep the ground firmer and less slick, though enough rain would wash it out in time, but it'll hold for now.

With both hands on the handle of the rake she leans in, mud resisting for a moment before giving with a much easier slide. "Gearing up for another cattle drive soon. Gonna wean the babies, brand 'em and turn 'em from bulls to steers." She glances up at him briefly before getting her focus back to the ground that'd put her on her ass quick if she doesn't pay attention. "Then gonna be getting the place ready for another rodeo. You gonna ride again?"

Colt

My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep

Zavien

Smiling, he watches as Sol gives another chirp, tail wagging playfully behind him. Zavien can already feel the dragon's impatience, ready to be done with the work so they can get on with the food. A trail of thin gray smoke drifts up from his snout, making Zavien laugh as he explains to Colt, "Good. Sol gets smokey when he's hungry." 

Always the dutiful Dragoon companion, the golden dragon doesn't let his anticipation for food keep him from assisting in the work. Any memory mud that thinks it can get the jump on his friends is met with a small, fiery blast and a trill of victory. 

Colt's laughter has him glancing up from the work, a small grin on his face. "Don't sell yourself short. I'd say helping old ladies puts your bar pretty high." Shrugging his shoulders, he dumps a handful of woodchips into the mud. "And there's always time to get lost." There's a glint in the green of his eyes, brighter with the humor of experience. 

Mixing the woodchips with the fidgeting wet mud, he listens to her own plans, wondering if he'll have any time in the coming seasons to assist in her efforts. Where he might have previously offered, he resists the urge to commit to something he may not be able to fulfill. Instead, he tilts his head, curious as he asks, "What's the difference between a bull and a steer?" Then he pulls the handle of his shovel, flattening out the earth beneath. 

Thoughts of the rodeo seem simple enough. He remembers falling and laughing it off with Ronin, the wound to his pride worse thanthe physical injuries, and Lena... The familiar ache hits him when he recalls her gentle smile, healing him and offering her constant stream of encouragement despite the embarrassment. 

Zavien swallows, lowering his head to push the shovel through another section of mud. "Maybe. We'll see."

*

We wear our scars as proof

that we are still alive.

Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread

Becoming smoky when things aren't going the way they're supposed to is something extremely relatable. Food sometimes for her too, usually when she doesn't realize that all she's been downing is beers and dust, but typically for her it's life that gets her coals going. She can appreciate some nice food, but she's just as liable to content herself with kibble as the dogs are, which could be what her nightly crackers are in actuality.

The humor she pawns off dries up quicker than the ground, though in part because of it. The task at hand pulls her back in, sprinkling wood chips like the ashes of proper roads past, mixing them with the rake into the mire. As he returns her tease with genuine kindness though, her gaze briefly lifts up, skirting over him before dipping back to the handle in her palm with a small shake of her head. Zavien the risen sun, aptly named given how he's something like sunlight trying to reach through the depths of a snowbank to warm what's been layered over underneath, working to thaw it out. Sometimes it's best to leave things frozen, to meet the cold and know winter is a season that has its place too. As for the rising, each day starting with crisp promise, she's always preferred the setting sun. It marks the survival of another hard day won, and it doesn't gild the world in golden potential, it lays out every bloody streak and dappling bruise, unafraid of showing off the hurt that exists. She's endured too many long days to look forward to the breaking dawn, she only wants to make it through to the next quiet night, rich with stories and laughter over everything that's been put to rest beneath the blankets of the sea.

Her lips press into a line, though it curls subtly at the edges for his words. "Just the old familiar paths for me these days," she murmurs idly in response, not bothering to tell him Edith is much easier to put up with by doing some labor than to hear her endless stream of complaints. Colt genuinely can't tell if she just forgets that she's already told everyone the same story a few times, or if she's aiming to imitate a squeaky wheel until someone feels like becoming oil. Today, they're oil.

After testing out the road's newfound firmness with some toe taps, feeling very much like this is just some sort of chocolate custard setting after being made, she moves on to the next goopy section. She gets to work smoothing it out much like the other, pulling her rake towards her and pushing it out, spreading the muck back and forth until it fills its own grooves into something more solid and full. As his question drifts her way, she glances up again, this time her smile streaking like flame to a wick. "The steer's what you get after you make some Rocky Mountain oysters. I can send you some, if you like? An acquired taste, but a delicacy just the same." The dogs certainly like them, and some of the hands. She just likes tricking people into eating them, otherwise they're too chewy for her tastes.

She'd shrug at his uncertainty if she weren't leaning over mud and trying to smooth it out at present. "Well, even if ya don't ride, should at least come and enjoy yourself some," she offers, but leaves it at that. "How's Stormbreak holding up? Seems it was just yesterday y'all were staying here with us, but it's already been seasons." She grunts as she sets the rake down and reaches for more wood chips, tossing them out generously. "Funny, feels short for me but likely forever for you, but equally...I'm sure it feels too short still for getting everything back up and running, huh? Time's a bitch."

Colt

My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep

Zavien

Zavien really can't blame Colt, although even with all his efforts and desires to stay within the comfort of his own familiar paths, duty and the chaos of the world always seem to find him; and now, he can't afford to stay within this comfort zone. People depend on him to represent the city, to go where they need him and do whatever needs doing, no matter how far from his home that may take him. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to being insignificant, to the time when he could walk down the street and play with the kids, when his biggest dream was to be a Dragoon. Then other times he's so grateful that people have put their trust in him, that he's had the opportunity to make a difference, to become stronger and experience more of the world. 

In the end, his desire for comfort and ease and predictability is outweighed by his own nature, but that doesn't mean he can't understand Colt's sentiments or decision to stay along the paved paths. It has Zavien nodding his head, offering a small smile and a chuckle. "Fair enough, especially when you have views of beautiful open fields around those paths." Not that they hold a flame to the expanse he can see from his office in Stormbreak.

Sol's blast fire sends a warm brush of air against his cheek when he leans to push the shovel through the mud. Had he been aware of what ingredients go into Rocky Mountain oysters, the pinkish hue of his face would have been much worse, turning a pale, deep red. But in his naivety, Zavien simply glances up at her excitement, intrigued by what this 'delicacy' could be and how they make bulls into steers.

Blinking, he pauses in his work to tilt his head, the light casting his hair in a golden hue. "Hm. I'm not usually a fan of oysters, but I'll try them. Do they travel well?" He'd hate for them to go cold or rubbery in their transport. Perhaps he'd have to try them next time he was in King's End.

He returns to the work as the topic shifts, dropping handfuls of mulch into mud like he might bury the grief as easily as the dry pieces. "I'll try to make it." And he honestly would, even if he can't guarantee what his mindset will be when the time comes.

The shovel pulls wet mud over the wood, strengthening the earth while he smiles a little more, relieved to talk about Stormbreak. "We're doing better. You were all so kind to welcome us, but it's actually starting to feel like home again." At her apt description of time and it's fluid nature, Zavien chuckles, shoving his shoulder into the handle of the shovel. "That's exactly right."

Moving to another portion of the road, he adds, "Time's moving too fast and too slow. I want to do a million things and I wish I had more time to do them all, but I also wouldn't mind skipping to the part where it's already done." He laughs again, shaking his head as he shoots Colt a grin, sure she can understand in her own line of work.

*

We wear our scars as proof

that we are still alive.

Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread

The meager sound of amusement he lifts up in response drags her gaze back to him across the work, her own features puckering in response, as if they've just shared a little joke and not a small confession about shutting the world away. She's grateful for the ease of it, even if they don't know each other well and their words are dancing around anything actually real, she just needs it simple right now. Even if it's fake, pretending still feels nice. "Exactly," she beams, and there's an honesty to that acceptance, because she does love this region. She doesn't need more than this, really. No one told her she should be happy, it just seemed maybe it could be possible. She understands now though, she gets to be alive, and they're not the same, but that's enough. It has to be.

The sound of their tools becomes less of a squelch and more of a grind as metal glides over gravel and dirt that's begun to harden from their efforts. Mud gradually drains to the absorption of wood and withers beneath the heat of the dragonflame. Her testing taps lead her in various stances now as she works to fix the areas that still have too much give, almost more deadly now than before if they're just small pockets instead of an obvious sea of slippery muck. She sprinkled more woodchips in, mixing them with her rake.

Biting back the smile that could give her away completely, she dips her head lower, feigning severe interest in the ground and she nods and hums in response. "Tell ya what sugar, I'll hand deliver you some if you come to the rodeo. They can travel well, but I can keep them on ice at home, and I'd love to see you try one." By the time she wrangles her words into just a pleasant hum, her expression is equally reined back into a hospitable kindness instead of rampant mischief. "Now you'll have even more incentive to come have some fun. Gotta have some fun now and again honey, otherwise what's all the work for?" Happiness may not be something that can be had, but it can be grabbed, like wind in passing, and for that moment you get to feel it. She knew that, once, and then the wind got to blowing so often she figured she could keep it. How wrong she'd been.

Ass mud is beat and worked into submission the same way she would a dough ball, the road continues to improve. Leaning back with a sigh for the effort, she swipes the back of her hand over the sweat that's started to collect at her hairline. "I'm so glad to hear it," she murmurs with genuine sincerity for their home finally starting to feel that way again. She can't even imagine what it'd be like if she had to just up and move from here, much less piece it all back together. "Oh no," she warns with a firm wag of her finger at him. "You say that, but you ain't never wanna skip nothin' Zavien. It's not the other side that matters as much as the gettin' there." Which is what she keeps telling herself whenever the urge to beg the gods to take these memories away strikes her. It's the suffering that she needs; pain is just a teacher, after all.

"I'd say Edith's got little to worry about now," Colt says with a nod of approval as her toe glides over fairly firm road. The clouds above might undo some of their efforts, but at least they've smoothed out the pockets where the water could collect and sit.

Colt

My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep

Zavien

Oblivious to all the fun Colt is having, Zavien sends her a genuine smile. He's pleasantly surprised by her hospitality, warmed by her willingness to set aside some of these 'delicacies' for her. It reaffirms his faith in humanity, the appreciation in his voice sincere and bright as he says, "I guess I'll have to come then." He guesses it wouldn't hurt anything for him to take a day to see the rodeo, and he's heard the same comments from multiple people recently. 

The wagging of her finger draws him from the last portion of mud he's working out, patting the drying earth into a smooth spot that's less likely to trip anyone along the way. Another laugh precedes his words, a small shrug to dismiss any sense that he's diminishing her sage wisdom. "I'd generally agree with you, although it's hard to tell that to people who still need their roofs fixed or their streets repaired." In any other scenario, he's the kind to value the training, process, or experience over any of the results. Similar to how he's found himself spreading mulch and mud when he'd been meaning to catch a skyship. 

However, nothing about the smile on Zavien's face suggests he's put off by the detour, nodding his head at her determination of their work. "Perfect timing. I think Sol is going to combust soon." The dragon gives another puff of smoke as he settles on the firm ground, chest puffing dramatically at their accomplishment.

We wear our scars as proof

that we are still alive.

Wrapping my ribs in the clothes that you left, call that hanging on by a thread

Definitely more pleased to hear him agree to attend rather than to think about it, which is just a polite way of saying no, she nods in approval. "Fantastic! I'll be looking for you, then." Her jaw works to keep back the deepening of her grin lest it give her away, tilting herself even so that she's working the mud with her back more turned to him until she can get a grip again. Honestly,, she is glad to have anyone come by and have some fun, and seems like he needs some too. She just might have to make an actually nice steak for him to go with his little treat. Although hey, he could end up loving it, she won't judge.

The next thing he says sounds promising at first, until it folds into the but of the matter. "Sounds like you don't need to skip then, you need to be faster, or have a double." That thought gives her a moment of pause, finger tapping her chin as she reaches for a memory. "Ronin can do that, if I remember right. Who knows, maybe you could get something like it." She shrugs, the bit of advice doled out like food on a cafeteria plate, take it or leave it.

They finish up the road work right as lunch time settles. She's no idea where the original crew up and wandered off to, but all the better for her wallet, now she only owes some for Zavien, and Sol. "Save it for the meats Sol," she teases, suggesting maybe he could be the one smoking them. "C'mon then, follow me and I'll show you the best ribs in the whole world." She sets aside the tools back near Edith's house, confidently walking over the dried and repaired dirt road as she moves. Dusting off her hands on her pants, she falls into step with Zavien, pointing out anything worth note (uncluding juicy town gossip) as they head for lunch.

---

"He's pleasantly surprised by her hospitality, warmed by her willingness to set aside some of these 'delicacies' for her. It reaffirms his faith in humanity..."

LMAO SHUT UP

[FIN]

Colt

My heart is a hoarder, collecting things she shouldn't keep