// and i love vermont, but it's the season of the sticks and i
saw your mom, she forgot that i existed //
saw your mom, she forgot that i existed //
“I might.” He isn’t that arrogant these days to actually go through with the idea, but the thought is amusing all the same. It’s nothing compared to the probing that occurs as Frey reaches out, distracted as he is by the smile that greets him, a fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach that blooms into something of bewilderment, something he’s unused to these days.
Steel eyes trail the path Frey’s fingertips take down his arm, watching the water that blooms in a floral tattoo-like pattern across his skin, the lightning scars flaring with a pale blue light as he suddenly grows overwhelmed, letting go of the walls that he’d kept himself from prodding at too much when he had felt stronger. “I…” He trails off in yet another uncharacteristic gasp of sound, tugged along as he is toward the open waters, the feathers flattening on his shoulders as he feels everything surge into him like the crashing of the waves that greet them.
He dashes with Frey, a huff of a laugh leaving him as any restraint seems to be cut free, digging deep into him to reach for those shiny and new sensations. At first, the rain that he’d tried so hard to morph into rain begins, dropping along the surface of the water with a refreshing feel, only for him to tug a little harder and watch as a moving current of water surrounds both his deity and himself, a shield of the see through liquid, glimmering in the dim overcast light of the day. It drops as he plucks another string, facing away from Frey only to watch as he creates an explosive wave, seeing it travel down, knocking over a few of the half hazard set trinkets left behind for Frey at their shrine. “Oh shit, sorry.” He laughs far freer than he has before in Caido, he thinks, turning to Frey with a surprisingly boyish grin. It takes a mere second before he feels that additional thread within him, one more familiar than the others in his years as an Attuned, and he plucks that one to shift into scaley, serpent like hydra, three heads with varying vision almost enough to spur on a headache until he gets used to it, peering down at Frey with so much adoration and love and surprise that it almost hurts.
How? He asks, incapable of stopping himself. One head lowers toward Frey, the other winding around them similarly to how they had wrapped around him not long before. And how do I make you a shrine in King’s End? He asks with another, soft mental laugh, anything to thank the god he curls around.
Steel eyes trail the path Frey’s fingertips take down his arm, watching the water that blooms in a floral tattoo-like pattern across his skin, the lightning scars flaring with a pale blue light as he suddenly grows overwhelmed, letting go of the walls that he’d kept himself from prodding at too much when he had felt stronger. “I…” He trails off in yet another uncharacteristic gasp of sound, tugged along as he is toward the open waters, the feathers flattening on his shoulders as he feels everything surge into him like the crashing of the waves that greet them.
He dashes with Frey, a huff of a laugh leaving him as any restraint seems to be cut free, digging deep into him to reach for those shiny and new sensations. At first, the rain that he’d tried so hard to morph into rain begins, dropping along the surface of the water with a refreshing feel, only for him to tug a little harder and watch as a moving current of water surrounds both his deity and himself, a shield of the see through liquid, glimmering in the dim overcast light of the day. It drops as he plucks another string, facing away from Frey only to watch as he creates an explosive wave, seeing it travel down, knocking over a few of the half hazard set trinkets left behind for Frey at their shrine. “Oh shit, sorry.” He laughs far freer than he has before in Caido, he thinks, turning to Frey with a surprisingly boyish grin. It takes a mere second before he feels that additional thread within him, one more familiar than the others in his years as an Attuned, and he plucks that one to shift into scaley, serpent like hydra, three heads with varying vision almost enough to spur on a headache until he gets used to it, peering down at Frey with so much adoration and love and surprise that it almost hurts.
How? He asks, incapable of stopping himself. One head lowers toward Frey, the other winding around them similarly to how they had wrapped around him not long before. And how do I make you a shrine in King’s End? He asks with another, soft mental laugh, anything to thank the god he curls around.
the flood
// and it's half my fault, but i just like to play the victim //
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.
