We're riding 'round this carousel, getting dizzy 'til we're sick
It doesn’t last long – because Sunjata’s out of options to spite and thrive against. As far as he knew, the majority didn’t care for him, his name wasn’t as known as it had been years ago. Part of that is relieving, he can start anew like his newfound friendship with Sohalia, who didn’t know the dark things he’d done, not that he could tell anyway.
Realistically, if he did some self-searching, he’d realize he’s still just a shell, living because of the purpose and duties Frey had given him. And if it weren’t for the deity, then he thinks he’d have been long gone. A fear he’d held with his own irrationality (notably, one that the last time they’d talked and he’d told her he had to live because of his children, had come to a head when he’d found a safe place for them to grow up in where he visits occasionally, but he didn’t trust himself enough to take care of them while he suffered and starved himself.)
Now he just floats between duties, as it were. Nothing in between but books he hoards and memories in the spiderweb catacombs of his soul, already ravaged from the loss of so many.
They settle in the warm sand, however, and he tucks one leg beneath him, letting the other stretch out as he leans on his lightning scarred arm, watching her as she contemplates it. “Whatever works for you, Ru.” He offers gently, drawing silent again to let her speak, listening – seeing in his mind just how different it was to what he’d known. And suddenly, Sunjata wonders if he’s never known.
He bites back those thoughts, drinking her in as she continues, watching the firelight play along the panes of her face, the way it glows in her grey eye, recalling once upon a time when Nate had sported that manufactured eye that resembled a match for both the Flood and her, and his heart pangs a little too sharply. Sharp enough that he doesn’t filter his thoughts before he speaks it.
“Torchline warm or…?” There was a difference between the warmth of a room and humidity clinging to everything, after all. And if he remembers right, they did share a room not too far from here before the war started – even if nothing happened, she’d still worn his shirt, still made people question it.
Realistically, if he did some self-searching, he’d realize he’s still just a shell, living because of the purpose and duties Frey had given him. And if it weren’t for the deity, then he thinks he’d have been long gone. A fear he’d held with his own irrationality (notably, one that the last time they’d talked and he’d told her he had to live because of his children, had come to a head when he’d found a safe place for them to grow up in where he visits occasionally, but he didn’t trust himself enough to take care of them while he suffered and starved himself.)
Now he just floats between duties, as it were. Nothing in between but books he hoards and memories in the spiderweb catacombs of his soul, already ravaged from the loss of so many.
They settle in the warm sand, however, and he tucks one leg beneath him, letting the other stretch out as he leans on his lightning scarred arm, watching her as she contemplates it. “Whatever works for you, Ru.” He offers gently, drawing silent again to let her speak, listening – seeing in his mind just how different it was to what he’d known. And suddenly, Sunjata wonders if he’s never known.
He bites back those thoughts, drinking her in as she continues, watching the firelight play along the panes of her face, the way it glows in her grey eye, recalling once upon a time when Nate had sported that manufactured eye that resembled a match for both the Flood and her, and his heart pangs a little too sharply. Sharp enough that he doesn’t filter his thoughts before he speaks it.
“Torchline warm or…?” There was a difference between the warmth of a room and humidity clinging to everything, after all. And if he remembers right, they did share a room not too far from here before the war started – even if nothing happened, she’d still worn his shirt, still made people question it.
the flood
Love is like a circle, there's no easy way to end
totally sniped from odd ilu
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.
