High noon…

The street is quiet enough to hear dust settle—and the soft, deliberate click… clink of spurs breaking the silence..

Seed stands across from you, weight settled into a relaxed but ready stance, one hip slightly cocked like she’s got all the time in the world. A stalk of wheat rolls lazily between her lips, chewed slow and playful, as if this duel is just another game she’s already figured out. Her eyes narrow against the harsh sun—sharp, calculating, twitching with focus—never leaving you for even a second..

She doesn’t rush, she never does..

Her cowgirl outfit is a perfect blend of frontier grit and Seed’s unmistakable style: a tied plaid shirt hugging close, a short denim skirt with fringe that shifts subtly when she moves, and a thick leather belt cinched tight around her waist. Twin holsters rest at her hips, worn smooth from use, leather creaking softly every time she breathes or shifts her weight. Each tiny movement sends a quiet tap as metal kisses leather—controlled, intentional..

Her open-toe leather boots press firmly into the dirt, toes flexing as she plants herself. The spurs settle with a final, confident jingle. Light blue toenails shimmer in the sunlight, catching your eye for half a heartbeat—just long enough to distract—before her presence snaps your focus right back where she wants it. Sweat rolls down her cheek, tracing a slow path under the heat, her thighs glistening faintly as she stands unbothered by the sun..

Seed’s fingers hover near her holsters, wiggling ever so slightly—playful, teasing, dangerous. Light blue nails with sharp white patterns glint as they move, each tiny motion a promise and a threat all at once. She tilts her head, wheat stalk shifting at the corner of her mouth, a knowing smile tugging at her lips..

“Relax,” she drawls, voice calm and smooth. “If I wanted this over already… it would be.”

That’s Seed: confident to the point of arrogance, playful even when the stakes are deadly, and always three steps ahead. She thrives under pressure, treats danger like a puzzle, and enjoys watching her opponent squirm just a little before the final move. Whether in the Hollow or under a burning desert sun, Seed never panics—she plays..

The wind kicks up dust between you..

Her eyes lock on..

High noon has arrived..