[b]Colt "The Devil Spawn" Jackson
Fairbank[/b]

"You're a strong and tough fella, y'know? Makes me wish I could be like you.”

“Tough to kill, sure. Or so I’ve been told, you know, there’ve been more attempts on my life than you can imagine.” He could feel the muscles of his neck tense and burn at the comment. He hated being touched there, he couldn’t stand contact in certain places, his neck and chest most notably – places where he was marked with brutal scars. “I’m heartless, Miss Susanna, I wouldn’t want to think a woman such as yourself could ever be like me.” Colt affirmed matter-of-factly. 

He carefully examined the cards on the counter and then regarded her hand as it made contact with his and at that precise moment felt a jolt of electricity that almost made him flinch. It wasn’t pain but a different feeling. Wanting? Longing? No, he’d felt desire for a woman before, this wasn’t it; he desired her, sure, she was attractive as hell, he’d admitted that already but he felt empathetic towards her. It was the surprising human tone of her words. She was vulnerably sincere toward him and he couldn’t help but feel the need to correspond. [i]Dammit, Jackson, don’t open your mouth and say something you’ll end up regretting later.[/i] He thought but it was too late.
 
“The Hermit...a bit of a wanderer, aren't you?”

“You wouldn’t be wrong to refer to me as one,” he responded rather cool. 

"And here, the Queen of Cups...well, the Queen of Hearts for most of you fellas. Ya lonely or something? Maybe you'll find...someone soon, maybe along the way? She's probably the most romantic Queen, that one –”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically and regarded her hand still nestled on top of his. “Well then guess I’m [i]not[/i] just wandering around aimlessly. Maybe I’m here to meet you or maybe I’m here to murder your bosses. Take ‘yer pick.” He smirked at the irony of his statement but tried to reveal nothing.

Then, he turned his hand to gently grip hers and softly tugged her toward him. “A person like me don’t deserve a Queen, Miss Susanna,” he whispered into her ear, lost in the unfamiliar scent of roses that decorated her crimson hair, “freedom comes with a price.” Their idle conversation quickly caught the attention of a man that stood directly across from them, situated behind Cordelia. Colt noticed the man. [i]You’re beginning to look suspicious, Jackson, the hell are you doing, you’re here for a job.[/i] His conscience snarled. Colt moved from her profile so that his nose was just centimeters from hers, their lips separated by a hairline. His eyes instinctively trailed from her eyes to her red lips and remained without him realizing it but he continued talking as low key as he could. “Queen of Hearts, hu? Never met a romantic woman but she sure as hell sounds like one.” Her lips were so distracting, his coherency became impaired. “…So tell me, Miss [i]Cordelia[/i] just how romantic is this fabled Queen of Hearts,” he said in a husky voice full of desire, tilting his head slowly and just before he could kiss her, he stopped and pulled away when he realized what he was doing. 

He leaned both elbows against the counter and looked away from her. “Name’s Colt, Colt Jackson although you might hear people refer to me by lots of different names depending on the region just comes with the territory of being a wanderer. You don’t really belong anywhere so you don’t really have a name…and yes, it gets lonesome.” He sounded distant once more but masked within his tone was a hint of uncharacteristic reticence. “I can offer you that freedom you seem to want…but I must ask for something in return. That light at the end of the tunnel. Promise me you’ll help me search.” There was resolve in his proposal and that was what made Colt the dangerous man he was, his powerful drive to push forward and withstand the consequences of his actions. Almost every night, he had nightmares of being hanged, impaled by vicious creatures of the night or burned alive and he’d wake drenched in cold sweat.[i]You can’t do this to her, Jackson…she’d hate you for it. Leave, this has been pleasant, better you live for the rest of your life with this memory of her than with the regret of failing to save her…but you already like her don’t you?

She’s different. Maybe…she…can…save…[/i]

He queued for yet another drink and upon receiving it refreshed his dry throat once more. “Miss Cordelia, don’t suppose there’s somewhere private where we can be a little loud? Don’t like the way that big, ugly fella’ over there is looking at us. The kitchen, perhaps?” The man in question was surely some sort of bodyguard.