SUNJATA
the flood
i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
“That’s still not an answer.” He replies back to her with a huff of a laugh as he settles on the couch. She arrives soon enough with the furs in hand, and the comment that leaves her with the teasing grin has him rolling his eyes, though the amused smile remains. “Ah, that’s where we make room.” He teases back with another half smirk before a chuckle leaves him and he’s settling, shirt off, laying back in the comfort of the couch – wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept on a guild couch, after all. And when she goes to set the furs down, sitting in front of the couch beside him, his gaze finds her.
Mostly it finds the hand that she places along his torso, tracing along those crescent shaped scars, a silent question in the ghost-like touch of them. He takes a deep inhale of breath, tilting his head back against the pillow a brief amount. “Maea and I were attacked by sharks a month or so ago.” He explains, the reason why the shark bites might seem a bit more pink in areas it had taken longer to heal. But Loren had healed him relatively fully, relatively recently, and so there weren’t any wounds to his body. Just the shark bite scars on his abdomen, until he rolls slightly to show her his side. He has mirrored scars along his sides, one not nearly as long, the other jagged and 3 long swipes. “This one is from a dragon Loren summoned.” He explains, pointing to that one. “And this one is from Deimos.” A quiet huff of amusement leaves him, at how much he’d simply gotten fucked up in so many ways.
“The scar above my hip is where Lusea stitched me up the first time.” He offers, reaching for her hand to pull it over to the stab wound scar, before lifting it to the tattoos on his neck, the compasses that didn’t point north, but pointed to whatever stood in front of him, but it stops at the scar that trails from behind his ear to the top of his chest. “And this is where I almost died when I pushed back against the guards when my father killed her.” And gods, how he had wanted to, but they’d revived him somehow, through all the blood loss and the stitches, leaving him dazed and confused.
But he keeps his hand by hers, gaze sliding over to scan her face and see how she takes it, before he’s listening to her mention her mother tucking them in, a small half smile crossing his face. “She didn’t want to get attached.” He explains, as if it made it better. It didn’t, but it was worth a shot. So instead, his smirk grows somewhat feline when she comments that she’d find him frozen in the morning. “Do you feel how warm I am right now? Trust me, I’ll be fine.” A raise of his brow to that – of the myriad of shifts beneath his skin that would keep him warm with or without the furs.
Mostly it finds the hand that she places along his torso, tracing along those crescent shaped scars, a silent question in the ghost-like touch of them. He takes a deep inhale of breath, tilting his head back against the pillow a brief amount. “Maea and I were attacked by sharks a month or so ago.” He explains, the reason why the shark bites might seem a bit more pink in areas it had taken longer to heal. But Loren had healed him relatively fully, relatively recently, and so there weren’t any wounds to his body. Just the shark bite scars on his abdomen, until he rolls slightly to show her his side. He has mirrored scars along his sides, one not nearly as long, the other jagged and 3 long swipes. “This one is from a dragon Loren summoned.” He explains, pointing to that one. “And this one is from Deimos.” A quiet huff of amusement leaves him, at how much he’d simply gotten fucked up in so many ways.
“The scar above my hip is where Lusea stitched me up the first time.” He offers, reaching for her hand to pull it over to the stab wound scar, before lifting it to the tattoos on his neck, the compasses that didn’t point north, but pointed to whatever stood in front of him, but it stops at the scar that trails from behind his ear to the top of his chest. “And this is where I almost died when I pushed back against the guards when my father killed her.” And gods, how he had wanted to, but they’d revived him somehow, through all the blood loss and the stitches, leaving him dazed and confused.
But he keeps his hand by hers, gaze sliding over to scan her face and see how she takes it, before he’s listening to her mention her mother tucking them in, a small half smile crossing his face. “She didn’t want to get attached.” He explains, as if it made it better. It didn’t, but it was worth a shot. So instead, his smirk grows somewhat feline when she comments that she’d find him frozen in the morning. “Do you feel how warm I am right now? Trust me, I’ll be fine.” A raise of his brow to that – of the myriad of shifts beneath his skin that would keep him warm with or without the furs.
you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
