She's noticed Colt, swept over by lavender eyes and inspected. Colt feels needles waltz up her spine in an unfamiliar dance, her own sights resting on the face of the mare as her smile falls after her first word. She lets her features fall flat, her ears at ease atop her head and her eyes becoming critical in the observation of movements. Every breath is counted by her, every twitch of the whiskers, every movement of a gnarled curl— she catches it all. Eventually Colt eases back into seriousness, looking at the mare and expecting a response from her. It wasn't instantaneous, nor was it polite. Colt shrugged it off, rather liking the idea of the beauty biting back. She listened to her sharp words with interest, not bothering to react to the way the mare had snapped so easy. Colt liked the temper. 

She almost feels— sad when the mare closes her eyes. She wants her to open them again, to see what power lies before her, what offer stands at her feet. Colt wanted to be acknowledged and admired, wanted the woman to notice the strength rippling beneath her faded brass hide.

"I'm merely here to offer you a place to stay—" Colt lets her eyes wander, drinking up the luscious curves presented to her. She kept from her licking her lips, not wanting too seem predatory in the way she in turn admired this poisonous woman. "What shall I call you then? Hmm?" She lets her words roll from her tongue, smooth and without fault, without emotion. Perhaps if one listened hard enough they'd find undertones of unfamiliar playfulness, but no one ever bothers to listen so closely. "You may call me Colt." She offers a prideful smirk, perhaps a quick half lidded gaze drawn out in hopes the woman would catch her implications. 

Colt never thought it odd her name was such, but maybe once upon a time she had. She'd long since forgotten the name originally given to her, sometimes even forgot her name has been anything but Colt. Her father imprinted it into her mind, made it clear that bearing this name meant bearing his disappointment and frustrations with her unintentional weakness. He beat it into her and out of her, she watched helplessly as he broke her down and built her up just the way he wanted— and it all revolved around her name and his dreams of having a son. It was like some crude joke, and she shouldered it pitifully for the rest of her life. 

The shitty names ran in the family, she supposed (Just look at her son, Kid).

"TALK TALK TALK"