// now we are hanging out in the backyard //
The stars had never been the same for the Flood as they had been when he’d first arrived.
He’d dabbled with it, the whole expanse of cosmos bottled up into one singular goddess, transforming him from Accepted into Attuned, shifts that he had felt as if he’d owed her for. She had gained his loyalty and with it, the blades in his hands.
And then the stars turned dark, shadowed and hidden away, with deals made in order to keep loved ones alive (the bargain that had brought his daughter to him). And while the circumstances weren’t received well, he hadn’t regretted it. The reasonings, the ways he’d done it, sure.
But having the bright speck of his daughter in his life, even if Safrin whispered lies into her mind like snakes slithering through tall grasses, was one thing he was proud of. He’d always been so terrified of becoming his father, of letting himself turn into the iron willed monster that he’d hated ever since he could think for himself, even if he tried desperately to gain that man’s approval.
He had surprised himself when he’d been good at it. Up to a point.
Because then he had betrayed the stars. He had them burned out of him. He spurned the goddess that had granted him so much until he was incapable and unwilling to give her more.
And then, Kamaria, as a teenager still trying to understand and manage her emotions, warped by Safrin’s tongue rather than letting Sunjata explain, had slipped away into Ronin’s care — for however long it had been — before she’d returned to the stars.
Since then, he’d never looked at the stars the same again.
He tried to avoid them as much as possible, truthfully, and the only reason he did cast a glance up now and then to the glittering domain was the fleeting thoughts that maybe she was up there looking down. Maybe she wouldn’t hate him for the rest of his life. Maybe she’d understand one day why he’d done what he did.
So it had been another thought and series of feelings that had been long since buried amongst the abyss of another life.
He could only hope she was happy wherever she was. And he, himself, would try to be just as happy all the same. And one day, maybe, he would see her again.
Sunjata doesn’t anticipate that day being today, of all days. If he had, maybe he would have dressed a bit nicer. Instead, the Flood stands amongst the docks in naught more than a white sleeveless shirt, paired with jeans that seem faded at the knees, flashing a bright and crooked smile to the merchant who’s showing him a variety of fish while Petronella tries to pounce on the wiggling tail of a fresh catch, still in the water of a bucket on the dock. In his other hand, as he chastises the sea panther with a soft little laugh, he holds a bag with warm pastries from one of Hotaru’s favorite places here in the market.
Focused and busy as he is, he doesn’t notice his daughter from where he’s standing, but the wing tattoos that spread down the backs of his arms are quite visible from this distance, even as he gestures to the fish Petronella keeps tormenting.
He’d dabbled with it, the whole expanse of cosmos bottled up into one singular goddess, transforming him from Accepted into Attuned, shifts that he had felt as if he’d owed her for. She had gained his loyalty and with it, the blades in his hands.
And then the stars turned dark, shadowed and hidden away, with deals made in order to keep loved ones alive (the bargain that had brought his daughter to him). And while the circumstances weren’t received well, he hadn’t regretted it. The reasonings, the ways he’d done it, sure.
But having the bright speck of his daughter in his life, even if Safrin whispered lies into her mind like snakes slithering through tall grasses, was one thing he was proud of. He’d always been so terrified of becoming his father, of letting himself turn into the iron willed monster that he’d hated ever since he could think for himself, even if he tried desperately to gain that man’s approval.
He had surprised himself when he’d been good at it. Up to a point.
Because then he had betrayed the stars. He had them burned out of him. He spurned the goddess that had granted him so much until he was incapable and unwilling to give her more.
And then, Kamaria, as a teenager still trying to understand and manage her emotions, warped by Safrin’s tongue rather than letting Sunjata explain, had slipped away into Ronin’s care — for however long it had been — before she’d returned to the stars.
Since then, he’d never looked at the stars the same again.
He tried to avoid them as much as possible, truthfully, and the only reason he did cast a glance up now and then to the glittering domain was the fleeting thoughts that maybe she was up there looking down. Maybe she wouldn’t hate him for the rest of his life. Maybe she’d understand one day why he’d done what he did.
So it had been another thought and series of feelings that had been long since buried amongst the abyss of another life.
He could only hope she was happy wherever she was. And he, himself, would try to be just as happy all the same. And one day, maybe, he would see her again.
Sunjata doesn’t anticipate that day being today, of all days. If he had, maybe he would have dressed a bit nicer. Instead, the Flood stands amongst the docks in naught more than a white sleeveless shirt, paired with jeans that seem faded at the knees, flashing a bright and crooked smile to the merchant who’s showing him a variety of fish while Petronella tries to pounce on the wiggling tail of a fresh catch, still in the water of a bucket on the dock. In his other hand, as he chastises the sea panther with a soft little laugh, he holds a bag with warm pastries from one of Hotaru’s favorite places here in the market.
Focused and busy as he is, he doesn’t notice his daughter from where he’s standing, but the wing tattoos that spread down the backs of his arms are quite visible from this distance, even as he gestures to the fish Petronella keeps tormenting.
the flood
// looking at a new point of view //
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.
