your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

At her teasing, he laughs lightly. “I think most anyone would catch his eye.” He shrugs, supposing that provided they’re the right preference for the Ascended. “Tall drink, I think is what he called me.” He muses, shaking his head to that. He also recalls the man had flirted, and how Sunjata had mentioned he might have to charge for how much Amun had looked at him – only to have Amun ask how much he’d charge to touch. He doesn’t mention that – nor the comments of performance.

But still, his gaze flits to her as he turns from the door, a hint of amusement lingering on his face. “Bops your nose, huh?” He teases, wondering how she reacts to that – if she bats the mans hand away. Though… Somehow, he finds it doesn’t bother him much? Not like it might have were it anyone else. Regardless, Haai is plenty willing to be moved and bounced around, rubbed wherever Maea chose to before growing playful, nipping playfully at the pale woman.

But when the game is done, the griffin goes to stand and curl up in a bed along the wall – one she’d claimed as her home as evidenced by the feathers that stuck out of the small opening. But Sunjata approaches on far more even feet, reaching for her to support her to get to the bed. He’d likely just pick her up and place her in it, but with the state of her bruising he’s unsure how that might go, so he refrains. Instead, he pulls the covers back for her to give her a space to settle in. “Whales aren’t technically fish.” He says easily, knowingly. A confident smirk crossing his face. “But I understand the confusion.” He teases her, aiming to rest both of his hands on either side of her, to lean down and press a kiss to her nose.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint