the sea speaks a little more honestly
Sunjata has zero qualms with personal space, especially right now as close and as drenched as they are. And everything Colt does seems reciprocal, not shying away from the light and gentle touches. So Sunjata invades her space to show her the scars, huffing a soft laugh at her quip about his rivals in the sea. “I was in my orca shift.” And sharks were really the only thing that would try and fuck with an orca, so somehow it kind of made sense.
But that’s neither here nor there, amusement flaring in the lines of his face at her response to imagining them. He could show her, eventually, but for right now he’s got more scars to list out. And eventually, lands at the one that meant the most. Not the scars received from betraying Safrin. Not the scar from him beating his father in their own one on one.
But the change of tradition, the difference from continuing a cycle or breaking the chains. “Nah. It didn’t. I got in with the resistance for a while before I appeared here.” And all the horrible things that had happened when he’d gotten caught there, the break he had to make for him and his sister.
It’s the question of Nate, though, that softens him. “He was my husband.” Sunjata says softly, gaze pulling away from the wedding ring to the scar on his palm. “He became a demigod for the Voice. He, uh, didn’t make it through the war.” And it had nearly destroyed him. He’d avoided seeing Frey because he couldn’t handle to see Nate in their face to the point he could only interact with them wearing a blindfold. It was only recently that he’d been able to do it without.
“I was lost after that. And usually I coped with the shittiness of things by drinking too much and sharing whomever's bed that was interested. Y’know, just to feel something else for a while.” He scans her face for a brief moment before his tattooed shoulders shrug. “I made the House of Midnight after that. Made sense, with me being Frey’s demigod, that I might be able to help everyone else that way too if they needed.” And now, with the ache of the years buried and his easy closeness with Hotaru, both of them demigods for the same god, the Flood returns to those coping mechanisms.
Only the alcohol doesn’t hit the way it used to. The sex still did, though. A boon, at least. “So yeah. If you ever need to forget about something shitty or just want a good time, I can be your guy.” It’s playful with the underlying truth glinting in the grey clouds of his eyes, an offer if Colt wanted to take it, if she needed it.
But that’s neither here nor there, amusement flaring in the lines of his face at her response to imagining them. He could show her, eventually, but for right now he’s got more scars to list out. And eventually, lands at the one that meant the most. Not the scars received from betraying Safrin. Not the scar from him beating his father in their own one on one.
But the change of tradition, the difference from continuing a cycle or breaking the chains. “Nah. It didn’t. I got in with the resistance for a while before I appeared here.” And all the horrible things that had happened when he’d gotten caught there, the break he had to make for him and his sister.
It’s the question of Nate, though, that softens him. “He was my husband.” Sunjata says softly, gaze pulling away from the wedding ring to the scar on his palm. “He became a demigod for the Voice. He, uh, didn’t make it through the war.” And it had nearly destroyed him. He’d avoided seeing Frey because he couldn’t handle to see Nate in their face to the point he could only interact with them wearing a blindfold. It was only recently that he’d been able to do it without.
“I was lost after that. And usually I coped with the shittiness of things by drinking too much and sharing whomever's bed that was interested. Y’know, just to feel something else for a while.” He scans her face for a brief moment before his tattooed shoulders shrug. “I made the House of Midnight after that. Made sense, with me being Frey’s demigod, that I might be able to help everyone else that way too if they needed.” And now, with the ache of the years buried and his easy closeness with Hotaru, both of them demigods for the same god, the Flood returns to those coping mechanisms.
Only the alcohol doesn’t hit the way it used to. The sex still did, though. A boon, at least. “So yeah. If you ever need to forget about something shitty or just want a good time, I can be your guy.” It’s playful with the underlying truth glinting in the grey clouds of his eyes, an offer if Colt wanted to take it, if she needed it.
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.
