// ships are launching from my chest
some have names but most do not //
some have names but most do not //
Was he all that different? Was he any different than what he’s doing right now? His pessimistic mind continues to point him in the spiral of no again and again to the point where it starts to warp and sound in his mind like an alarm that has a terrible familiarity to his father’s accented voice rumbling in his ears. He shuts it out, the second her lighter voice breaks through and proves it to him, by how he hasn’t shut her out, but has shut out the directness of looking at her while he speaks. And perhaps that’s enough. Perhaps it’s a baby step that’s needed, despite how he constantly chastises himself with why can’t I just do it.
At least he hasn’t slipped the shield of his dragon shift’s scales over his arms. He’s open, as much as he doesn’t realize it. And maybe it’s because her voice is a tether, one that speaks reason to his spiraling mind that had spent those nights before she’d gotten back home in a constant war. He can, however, cast a small glance her way, nodding. And in the low light of the oil lamps in the room, there’s the glimmer of tears that add to his distant look. No relics this time. It’s a terrible attempt at a joke, but its truthful nonetheless. Had he never embarked on that journey, Haai would still be here. Haai would have had to go through the grief of losing Nate. And he doesn’t know which is better.
Nate had been Haai’s favorite too. Nate had always been the more liked between the two of them, even to his own soul bonded companion. Just another thing Sunjata continues to blame himself for. Being too sharp, too much or not enough, always needing to reach a goal when there wasn’t even an option to win on the playing field. And he wonders why he strikes out time and time again.
How do I stop feeling guilty? It’s exactly why he wouldn’t open himself up to loving anyone else after Nate. The very same feeling that he’s replacing them rather than honoring them. How do I stop feeling like I'm replacing her? Like I didn't love her or appreciate her enough when she was here because I have another one? This is what gets him, this is what has his head turning sharply, shoulders curving inward, hand covering his face as he desperately and stubbornly brushes the tears away. Like if he hides the evidence he can prove he hasn't cracked, even though there's no reason for it.
Old habits are hard to kill, at least. And this one has been trained into him for the past thirty - plus - years.
At least he hasn’t slipped the shield of his dragon shift’s scales over his arms. He’s open, as much as he doesn’t realize it. And maybe it’s because her voice is a tether, one that speaks reason to his spiraling mind that had spent those nights before she’d gotten back home in a constant war. He can, however, cast a small glance her way, nodding. And in the low light of the oil lamps in the room, there’s the glimmer of tears that add to his distant look. No relics this time. It’s a terrible attempt at a joke, but its truthful nonetheless. Had he never embarked on that journey, Haai would still be here. Haai would have had to go through the grief of losing Nate. And he doesn’t know which is better.
Nate had been Haai’s favorite too. Nate had always been the more liked between the two of them, even to his own soul bonded companion. Just another thing Sunjata continues to blame himself for. Being too sharp, too much or not enough, always needing to reach a goal when there wasn’t even an option to win on the playing field. And he wonders why he strikes out time and time again.
How do I stop feeling guilty? It’s exactly why he wouldn’t open himself up to loving anyone else after Nate. The very same feeling that he’s replacing them rather than honoring them. How do I stop feeling like I'm replacing her? Like I didn't love her or appreciate her enough when she was here because I have another one? This is what gets him, this is what has his head turning sharply, shoulders curving inward, hand covering his face as he desperately and stubbornly brushes the tears away. Like if he hides the evidence he can prove he hasn't cracked, even though there's no reason for it.
Old habits are hard to kill, at least. And this one has been trained into him for the past thirty - plus - years.
the flood
// if you find one, please,
let me know what piece i've lost //
let me know what piece i've lost //
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.
