now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat
it's a bearable bruise on your conscious
For everyone else it’s just an average day at the House of Midnight. Business was bustling and they were able to clear enough mud and what not to get the workers back on track. Which means that it isn’t Sunjata that greets Colt immediately upon her entrance, but the usual reception that greets most of the visitors to the House of Midnight. The worker eyes her curiously as she seems to hide her face, a slight nudge offered to her coworker that zips away as if he hadn’t been there at all as she tells Colt to follow her.
The stairs are a familiar trek up to the second floor of the House of Midnight, the dark wood flooring worn but impeccably clean and the walls decked out in a deep navy paint with a floral kind of decal that changes for each and every room they walk past. It’s the furthest one down the hall on the left, and precisely the one that cracks open nice and empty, boring and plain and just waiting to be changed into whatever the rancher wished it to be.
But before she gets too close to it, a quiet call of “Colt?” is heard, accented and yet somehow both quiet and not as the tall figure of the Flood cuts down the hall, relieving the worker to the room so that Sunjata can guide her the rest of the way. He gives her a precursory glance and despite all the fun and games and bullshit of the past season or so, he does like to think he’s still her friend. That they said they could count on each other for the harder times and fuck it if this doesn’t seem like a hard time for her.
Between the tears and the puffy face and the twigs still in her hair that she hadn’t quite gotten rid of just yet. “Let me help.” He murmurs, though the accent makes it sound more like a request than a demand. He’d leave if she wanted him to, but he has to at least try, right?
The stairs are a familiar trek up to the second floor of the House of Midnight, the dark wood flooring worn but impeccably clean and the walls decked out in a deep navy paint with a floral kind of decal that changes for each and every room they walk past. It’s the furthest one down the hall on the left, and precisely the one that cracks open nice and empty, boring and plain and just waiting to be changed into whatever the rancher wished it to be.
But before she gets too close to it, a quiet call of “Colt?” is heard, accented and yet somehow both quiet and not as the tall figure of the Flood cuts down the hall, relieving the worker to the room so that Sunjata can guide her the rest of the way. He gives her a precursory glance and despite all the fun and games and bullshit of the past season or so, he does like to think he’s still her friend. That they said they could count on each other for the harder times and fuck it if this doesn’t seem like a hard time for her.
Between the tears and the puffy face and the twigs still in her hair that she hadn’t quite gotten rid of just yet. “Let me help.” He murmurs, though the accent makes it sound more like a request than a demand. He’d leave if she wanted him to, but he has to at least try, right?
but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?
i am the way and the life in the best looking truth
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.
