the sea speaks a little more honestly
He feels her lingering fingertips brush against his side while he remains in his shift, but when she gives him space to turn back, the Flood starts the shift back into himself. Standing there briefly, feathered wings damp with water, he shakes them out away from Colt to not sprinkle her with more water if he doesn’t have to when the summer rain was doing a beautiful enough job on its own. His attention is on the sunset when he speaks, the one far off from the storm before he’s moving back over toward her - dropping beside her atop the hilly knoll they’d found, watching from his peripheral as she lays back in it.
He turns to her, then, as her question breaks the air, his crooked and scarred smile blooming on his face as his accented laugh paints the air. “Nope.” He admits, sighing before he sinks down onto the grass beside her, feathered wings flattening against the ground and the tips of his flight feathers brushing against her side in the process - a gentle, velveteen movement. “I got these when I was fighting a sea panther in Torchline.” He recalls, lifting the hand with all the lightning scars running along it.
“Some miscommunication happened and next thing I knew I was making glass under my feet on the beach. Goes all the way up my arm and halfway to my heart. Thought I was gonna die.” He snorts, his amusement flickering to something akin to snickering before he sighs and twists onto his side, facing her as he props his head up on a fist, the opposite one of the lightning scarred hand, the one that boasts the tattooed sleeve of rushing waves. “The one on my cheek is courtesy of my old man. The eyebrow? Ronin.” His smile is lopsided because of said scar, but it doesn’t stop him from raising a brow toward her as he asks his next question. “You wanna see the rest of them?” As if remembering himself, his smile softens a touch.
“It’s kind of a thing back where I’m from. Scars were like… A right of passage. So we wore them with pride, I guess. Never quite got that kicked out of my head.” He shrugs lightly, pulling the grey of his eyes from her back to the storm in the sunset, water dripping from his lashes as he blinks them away.
He turns to her, then, as her question breaks the air, his crooked and scarred smile blooming on his face as his accented laugh paints the air. “Nope.” He admits, sighing before he sinks down onto the grass beside her, feathered wings flattening against the ground and the tips of his flight feathers brushing against her side in the process - a gentle, velveteen movement. “I got these when I was fighting a sea panther in Torchline.” He recalls, lifting the hand with all the lightning scars running along it.
“Some miscommunication happened and next thing I knew I was making glass under my feet on the beach. Goes all the way up my arm and halfway to my heart. Thought I was gonna die.” He snorts, his amusement flickering to something akin to snickering before he sighs and twists onto his side, facing her as he props his head up on a fist, the opposite one of the lightning scarred hand, the one that boasts the tattooed sleeve of rushing waves. “The one on my cheek is courtesy of my old man. The eyebrow? Ronin.” His smile is lopsided because of said scar, but it doesn’t stop him from raising a brow toward her as he asks his next question. “You wanna see the rest of them?” As if remembering himself, his smile softens a touch.
“It’s kind of a thing back where I’m from. Scars were like… A right of passage. So we wore them with pride, I guess. Never quite got that kicked out of my head.” He shrugs lightly, pulling the grey of his eyes from her back to the storm in the sunset, water dripping from his lashes as he blinks them away.
to those who are willing to drown
SUNJATA
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.
