SUNJATA
angel loves to keep me spinning, much too high to see
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free
that all these chains have started thinning & hell is breaking free
Perhaps, if he was more focused on the conversation, the Flood might see precisely why Danta had been caught up in the web of the butcher. But instead, he’s too busy snagging the bottle away and asking whether it was fine for him to simply down the whole bottle (expecting it to do very little). And while he’s collecting it, he makes a mental note of the other man’s accent and flashes Danta a small yet somewhat amused smile. “Ahh, he has good taste.” And not just for the whiskey, though he isn’t in a charming enough mind to admit that portion out loud.
Instead, he shrugs a shoulder and huffs a soft laugh, crooked and more relaxed than he had been when he’d darkened Danta’s doorstep, the Flood inclines his head in an agree to disagree kind of motion before he’s drifting over toward the couch. “You too.” He calls back softly as he sinks onto the couch and the flames sink lower, plunging the room into an orange ember kind of darkness that should be comforting and warm.
It has Sunjata downing the bottle of whiskey with perhaps a bit too much ease – finding that it’s strength is actually strong enough to affect him in ways that have him feeling a buzz yet not being sloppily drunk (a boon, he thinks), because it’s enough for him to shift into that canine shift of his to curl up as a german shepherd on the Maverick’s couch.
It’s a fitful sleep, restless in the way he wakes himself up repeatedly with the sensation that he’s either falling, or his own whines rouse him awake. And it’s about the third time that he does – staring into the darkness as if a threat were to walk among the unfamiliar to him room. It’s when he spots the full-length mirror, angled in a way that has the fire’s glow reflecting around his fur in a halo, and warping his face momentarily into something gruesome and half full of eyes. His stomach drops and he shakes his head with a whine that has him scrambling, seeing a second later that his reflection is just that - himself as he should be – when he finds himself slinking off of the couch to shift back into himself and feeling quite alone were it not for the soft snores from within the den that call to him despite the prickly nature of the butcher.
A blanket is found to cover the mirror before he can startle himself again, and with his mind full of stressors and restlessness, the Flood wars with himself whether he should bother them at all or not. In the end, they had both said to let them know, and so the Flood finds himself with eyes partially shifted to see better in the dark of the den after snagging a blanket from the couch, leaning into the side of the bed that Danta faces and away from the sleeping butcher (wearing a muzzle of all things??) and reaches out slowly and carefully to nudge Danta hopefully into a position awake enough to ask in a quiet whisper if he minded.
You see, he’d sleep at the foot of the bed in his canine shift, provided there was room for him. But with the way the two had slept and with the way the dark-haired Ancient’s horns appear to have scratched the headboard, there really isn’t that much room. So, in light of that, the Flood nudges Danta just enough to ask whether it was okay he joins them, waits for the confirmation, and leaves the two of them to remain beneath the sheets as he twists to sleep on the edge of the bed on top of the sheets – facing out of the den with the borrowed blanket wound around him, trying to be as small as possible (which is quite a feat when all three of them are tall men).
Instead, he shrugs a shoulder and huffs a soft laugh, crooked and more relaxed than he had been when he’d darkened Danta’s doorstep, the Flood inclines his head in an agree to disagree kind of motion before he’s drifting over toward the couch. “You too.” He calls back softly as he sinks onto the couch and the flames sink lower, plunging the room into an orange ember kind of darkness that should be comforting and warm.
It has Sunjata downing the bottle of whiskey with perhaps a bit too much ease – finding that it’s strength is actually strong enough to affect him in ways that have him feeling a buzz yet not being sloppily drunk (a boon, he thinks), because it’s enough for him to shift into that canine shift of his to curl up as a german shepherd on the Maverick’s couch.
It’s a fitful sleep, restless in the way he wakes himself up repeatedly with the sensation that he’s either falling, or his own whines rouse him awake. And it’s about the third time that he does – staring into the darkness as if a threat were to walk among the unfamiliar to him room. It’s when he spots the full-length mirror, angled in a way that has the fire’s glow reflecting around his fur in a halo, and warping his face momentarily into something gruesome and half full of eyes. His stomach drops and he shakes his head with a whine that has him scrambling, seeing a second later that his reflection is just that - himself as he should be – when he finds himself slinking off of the couch to shift back into himself and feeling quite alone were it not for the soft snores from within the den that call to him despite the prickly nature of the butcher.
A blanket is found to cover the mirror before he can startle himself again, and with his mind full of stressors and restlessness, the Flood wars with himself whether he should bother them at all or not. In the end, they had both said to let them know, and so the Flood finds himself with eyes partially shifted to see better in the dark of the den after snagging a blanket from the couch, leaning into the side of the bed that Danta faces and away from the sleeping butcher (wearing a muzzle of all things??) and reaches out slowly and carefully to nudge Danta hopefully into a position awake enough to ask in a quiet whisper if he minded.
You see, he’d sleep at the foot of the bed in his canine shift, provided there was room for him. But with the way the two had slept and with the way the dark-haired Ancient’s horns appear to have scratched the headboard, there really isn’t that much room. So, in light of that, the Flood nudges Danta just enough to ask whether it was okay he joins them, waits for the confirmation, and leaves the two of them to remain beneath the sheets as he twists to sleep on the edge of the bed on top of the sheets – facing out of the den with the borrowed blanket wound around him, trying to be as small as possible (which is quite a feat when all three of them are tall men).
every choice, every lie, demons that he kept inside
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?
angel now that i've stopped spinning, could you come clean?
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.
