SUNJATA
the flood
'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
“Gods,” Sunjata groans the second that Ronin’s relief is evident in the crookedness of his smile, Sunjata huffing a small laugh as he sighs and does indulge in a sip from the bottle. Swallowing it down without so much of a wince at the sharpness of the liquor, the Flood hums his approval before he continues to speak. “It’s like… I was wearing these glasses that made everything fine and perfect and now without them… it’s a lot. I can see who’s infected and everything that’s happened to the creatures and… Yeah.” He admits, sighing and leaning into the other man a touch when he squeezes his shoulder.
His jaw works, before he makes his clarifying statement – that he had wanted to help as much as he could. So when he nods, Sunjata’s nose wrinkles with the memory and he nods a touch sadly. “Yeah, that’s the consensus.” He drawls as he pops the cap back onto the bottle and turns when Ronin does – steel gaze focusing on the rough bones of the Slagveld, listening to the explanation.
It honestly sparks a soft huff of a sound from the Flood’s throat, his head tilting toward Ronin with a raise of his brow despite the fondness that flickers over his face from a time when they had been best of friends. “Ronin, I don’t have any stakes in Torchline anymore. If you want to use it, use it. I’m surprised someone hasn’t already.” He pulls his gaze away to step closer to the old boxing building, ducking beneath the frame of the door in a practiced motion, stepping into its dusty confines before memories seize his chest.
His jaw works, before he makes his clarifying statement – that he had wanted to help as much as he could. So when he nods, Sunjata’s nose wrinkles with the memory and he nods a touch sadly. “Yeah, that’s the consensus.” He drawls as he pops the cap back onto the bottle and turns when Ronin does – steel gaze focusing on the rough bones of the Slagveld, listening to the explanation.
It honestly sparks a soft huff of a sound from the Flood’s throat, his head tilting toward Ronin with a raise of his brow despite the fondness that flickers over his face from a time when they had been best of friends. “Ronin, I don’t have any stakes in Torchline anymore. If you want to use it, use it. I’m surprised someone hasn’t already.” He pulls his gaze away to step closer to the old boxing building, ducking beneath the frame of the door in a practiced motion, stepping into its dusty confines before memories seize his chest.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
