// now we are hanging out in the backyard //
He doesn’t have the fatherly touch that her own father could provide. Not even the kind Ronin could, these days. But he does the best that he can as he relays his own experiences – not to berate or try to claim one was worse than the other, but to simply share. He gets it. He understands. And it fucking sucks.
“Both, in my experience.” An almost sad smile ghosts across his face, lopsided by the scar that bisects it as he pauses to take a sip of the coffee to warm the chill that’s crept into his bones by the Flowerbirth morning and the memories the conversation brought. He remains silent, though, cradling the warm mug as she speaks, ensuring he hears each and every portion of her heart that hurts. Gods knew he had a hard enough time explaining his feelings without them getting twisted up halfway through – he doesn’t want to give her the same treatment.
Frowning as she looks up at him and he meets dimmed blues – so far from the confident, strong woman he’d known her to be, that he’s grateful she doesn’t have an attuned bond to feel the way he hurts for her. “Yeah.” He murmurs, taking a few moments to think of what he could say to all of that when she takes a sip and asks her own question.
“I was a mess.” Sunjata says softly, able to let the soft huff of a laugh leave him because it was pure honesty. “I couldn’t be a complete mess, because I had Kamaria and I was horrified of being a father, like I’d do something wrong. But when I wasn’t taking care of her or had help in, I spent too much time at the Hanged Man and the Halenani.” It wasn’t his finest moment, but it was how he’d always coped – at least until the war. “That’s when Maeve and I got kind of close. Too close, on her side, I think. But I was grieving not one but two relationships and raising a toddler and it was fucking lonely.” He looks away from her, because the answer didn’t justify anything, but it might make sense why there’d been those strange rumors going around Torchline about Edmund’s true lineage.
But that was neither here nor there. “And Nate.. Before he left, he told me I’d made him a stranger in his own home. That he couldn’t trust me anymore until at least the war was over.. and...” Then he’d died. And each and every digression that occurred before then was simply empty, a box that’s been crushed a few too many times to stand up fully on its own so its left in the dusty cupboards of his memories where he doesn’t have to look at it for too long lest it crumble under the weight of his gaze.
“Anyway, he did come back eventually. And while he was gone when I had my moments of clarity, I uh.. put together the mushiest thing for him. Trinkets from when we met and a few of our dates, all kept in a box under the bed for if he ever did come back.” He laughs a little at the memory, clearing his throat and following it up with a sip of the coffee. “It took seasons for him to feel comfortable enough to be around me again. Seasons after that for us to kinda work out what I did, but I think the worry was still there, especially each time I saw Safrin.”
Flashing her a softer, almost sorrowful frown, he sets the mug down and winds his arm back around her shoulder. “Your mother and I weren’t on speaking terms until after the war. I told her about Nate and she told me about Enzo. And we went our separate ways for… a long time. Years. I didn't think it was recoverable, but I had to do a lot of learning how to communicate. Dunno if you've noticed but I'm pretty fucking bad at it.” Giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, he knows deep down that it was unlikely to be the problem for her and Jack given that he does also know the secret of the Ark's Captain.
"Jack might come around eventually.. If I had to guess he's probably hurting and still upset since it's so fresh.. Do you want me to reach out to him?" He asks softly, his steel gaze focusing on the panes of her face and the way her youth seems to shine through - more so with her grief shining through.
“Both, in my experience.” An almost sad smile ghosts across his face, lopsided by the scar that bisects it as he pauses to take a sip of the coffee to warm the chill that’s crept into his bones by the Flowerbirth morning and the memories the conversation brought. He remains silent, though, cradling the warm mug as she speaks, ensuring he hears each and every portion of her heart that hurts. Gods knew he had a hard enough time explaining his feelings without them getting twisted up halfway through – he doesn’t want to give her the same treatment.
Frowning as she looks up at him and he meets dimmed blues – so far from the confident, strong woman he’d known her to be, that he’s grateful she doesn’t have an attuned bond to feel the way he hurts for her. “Yeah.” He murmurs, taking a few moments to think of what he could say to all of that when she takes a sip and asks her own question.
“I was a mess.” Sunjata says softly, able to let the soft huff of a laugh leave him because it was pure honesty. “I couldn’t be a complete mess, because I had Kamaria and I was horrified of being a father, like I’d do something wrong. But when I wasn’t taking care of her or had help in, I spent too much time at the Hanged Man and the Halenani.” It wasn’t his finest moment, but it was how he’d always coped – at least until the war. “That’s when Maeve and I got kind of close. Too close, on her side, I think. But I was grieving not one but two relationships and raising a toddler and it was fucking lonely.” He looks away from her, because the answer didn’t justify anything, but it might make sense why there’d been those strange rumors going around Torchline about Edmund’s true lineage.
But that was neither here nor there. “And Nate.. Before he left, he told me I’d made him a stranger in his own home. That he couldn’t trust me anymore until at least the war was over.. and...” Then he’d died. And each and every digression that occurred before then was simply empty, a box that’s been crushed a few too many times to stand up fully on its own so its left in the dusty cupboards of his memories where he doesn’t have to look at it for too long lest it crumble under the weight of his gaze.
“Anyway, he did come back eventually. And while he was gone when I had my moments of clarity, I uh.. put together the mushiest thing for him. Trinkets from when we met and a few of our dates, all kept in a box under the bed for if he ever did come back.” He laughs a little at the memory, clearing his throat and following it up with a sip of the coffee. “It took seasons for him to feel comfortable enough to be around me again. Seasons after that for us to kinda work out what I did, but I think the worry was still there, especially each time I saw Safrin.”
Flashing her a softer, almost sorrowful frown, he sets the mug down and winds his arm back around her shoulder. “Your mother and I weren’t on speaking terms until after the war. I told her about Nate and she told me about Enzo. And we went our separate ways for… a long time. Years. I didn't think it was recoverable, but I had to do a lot of learning how to communicate. Dunno if you've noticed but I'm pretty fucking bad at it.” Giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, he knows deep down that it was unlikely to be the problem for her and Jack given that he does also know the secret of the Ark's Captain.
"Jack might come around eventually.. If I had to guess he's probably hurting and still upset since it's so fresh.. Do you want me to reach out to him?" He asks softly, his steel gaze focusing on the panes of her face and the way her youth seems to shine through - more so with her grief shining through.
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.
