SUNJATA
the flood
'cause my life is like a bedroom door
don't lead me in when you feel low
don't lead me in when you feel low
His imagination does run wild with it – and a part of him wonders if it’s just a Grounds thing with making random rooms do a variety of the impossible (reminiscent of the Ascended room from way back when). But, pushing those and the simultaneously sad thoughts it reminds him of, to the side, the Flood flashes her an easy smile with a soft laugh. “Huh. That’s pretty cool.” And it would be, if he wasn’t sure what exactly everyone was getting up to in it.
Sounds like murders, though. Not that he can say anything, given the whole fact that he was also a murderer. Just… In most cases, he didn’t want those people to make a reappearance.
Anyway, an accented laugh leaves him to hear her purr as she tries her best to wrap around him. She feels like nothing in his arms as he lifts her and takes to the skies, murmuring a soft thanks against the wind as he dives toward the Temple, keeping her tucked into his arms as easily as ever. When they land and her thanks is aired, Sunjata tucks his wings in, flashing a crooked smile made all the more so with the scar that trails up his cheek, before he’s nodding. “You’re welcome.”
She finds the note with ease, and Sunjata (unknowing what it says and finding he doesn’t really care), takes the few steps up the Temple’s steps to the entrance at her beckoning, wings vanishing and leaving just the Flood himself in all of his Frey-designed glory. He watches her step in, the way her tail accentuates her curves, before he finds his attention flitting away to the inside of the Temple – so much different than it had been when he’d last been in here.
“Gods, it’s been… Probably at least four years?” His nose wrinkles with the memory, stepping through the foyer to the back, following at her heels. “Maybe longer.” It was hard to say. “Looks way different, though.” Not that he’s complaining, either. It wasn’t his land, and he certainly didn’t miss the statues to Safrin that had lingered in the midst of this Temple. To see it all entirely Dygra, though, was a unique surprise – realizing how very little he knew about their goddess. “Do you live here? As the priestess, I mean.” He asks, his voice a touch distracted.
Sounds like murders, though. Not that he can say anything, given the whole fact that he was also a murderer. Just… In most cases, he didn’t want those people to make a reappearance.
Anyway, an accented laugh leaves him to hear her purr as she tries her best to wrap around him. She feels like nothing in his arms as he lifts her and takes to the skies, murmuring a soft thanks against the wind as he dives toward the Temple, keeping her tucked into his arms as easily as ever. When they land and her thanks is aired, Sunjata tucks his wings in, flashing a crooked smile made all the more so with the scar that trails up his cheek, before he’s nodding. “You’re welcome.”
She finds the note with ease, and Sunjata (unknowing what it says and finding he doesn’t really care), takes the few steps up the Temple’s steps to the entrance at her beckoning, wings vanishing and leaving just the Flood himself in all of his Frey-designed glory. He watches her step in, the way her tail accentuates her curves, before he finds his attention flitting away to the inside of the Temple – so much different than it had been when he’d last been in here.
“Gods, it’s been… Probably at least four years?” His nose wrinkles with the memory, stepping through the foyer to the back, following at her heels. “Maybe longer.” It was hard to say. “Looks way different, though.” Not that he’s complaining, either. It wasn’t his land, and he certainly didn’t miss the statues to Safrin that had lingered in the midst of this Temple. To see it all entirely Dygra, though, was a unique surprise – realizing how very little he knew about their goddess. “Do you live here? As the priestess, I mean.” He asks, his voice a touch distracted.
'cause i might make a move
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.
