SUNJATA
the heartless
i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
He does want to help. But he should have known that it would come with some vitriol. These days, everything did. The feathers twitch down his neck, flaring slightly as she starts to pinpoint her tornado of anger onto him, realizing quickly that it wasn’t fair to him for her to aim the knife at him, not when he’d been working on it, when he’d made the deal with Danta — and Sunjata is no rancher, but something tells him even if the fences had become electrified, she wouldn’t have been enough to prevent this.
Ah, but it doesn’t stop there, either. She continues to lob knife after knife at him, and try as he might to stop the surprise flick lightning through his features, he fails superbly as it cracks through each scar and the navy feathers start to shift. They vanish, replaced by the interlocking scales of his dragon shift as if he could prevent more of her accusations from finding a home in the hollow of his gut, like he could prevent himself from becoming her dart board.
And he could take it, let her spin and hope that it made her feel better to use him as a target, but honestly?
He’s so, so tired of being the one that took the blame. He’s tired of being the one that bends and twists so that everyone else felt better while he continued to feel worse. To smile through the holes left behind of the arrows that strike through him as though everything was fine.
He isn’t fine. He hasn’t been in a while.
And he could tell her all the things that he’s doing and has done to prove the point to her that he isn’t selfish, that he’s given piece and piece of himself to everyone fucking else and obviously that never mattered. His body was littered with the scars of everything he’d done for someone else that he’d taken the fall for. And he’s so fucking tired of it.
“Just because I don’t revolve every minute of what I do around making your life easier, doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything, Colt.” He starts, voice deep, fingertips twitching where the water that threads through his fingers warbles and drips into the remnants of ash and destroyed building.
He could tell her that the last time he’d done something for her was when she asked exactly that which she accuses him of. Of sharing her bed so they could forget about everything for a minute. Or how before that, when she had been broken with the reminders of Vesper, how he’d held her when she’d arrived torn up and not herself. How he’d talked to her, given his time to her just to help her.
He could tell her about the town he’d made for the region, the Skyport, the fact he’d just talked to Rae to make a healing river. And yet he figures none of it matters. It won’t anyway, not when she’s blinded herself by the pain and grief and has to shift the blame onto something. He just wishes for the millionth time that it wasn’t him at the end of the rope.
His jaw tightens, muscles feathering in his temple as he does chew on the inside of his cheek, raw and until he can taste blood, before he finds it in him to speak again, voice lower and controlled, a shift in the air that has him deciding perhaps for the first time that he can use his new moniker as a shield. If he was known as the Heartless now, he might as well prove it.
It beat the alternative of laying down to be a doormat for everyone to walk all over. He’d already heard how much of a disappointment he was his entire life, and he’ll be damned if Colt’s words bring everything he’d long since buried to the surface again. And maybe if she knew the half of it she would’ve been more careful to blame him.
Or maybe she’d have doubled down. “I have done things for other people almost every fucking day of my life. So if you’re going to blame me or accuse me of being selfish because I don’t have eyes on your ranch every hour of the day, maybe it’s because the problem isn’t me.” He turns from her, draconic leathery wings snapping out from his back, rustling in the wind briefly as he looks over to the groups of her hands that have started to make the recovery parties, sure that he could track them and help them out if it meant avoiding being the poster of Colt’s rage.
Ah, but it doesn’t stop there, either. She continues to lob knife after knife at him, and try as he might to stop the surprise flick lightning through his features, he fails superbly as it cracks through each scar and the navy feathers start to shift. They vanish, replaced by the interlocking scales of his dragon shift as if he could prevent more of her accusations from finding a home in the hollow of his gut, like he could prevent himself from becoming her dart board.
And he could take it, let her spin and hope that it made her feel better to use him as a target, but honestly?
He’s so, so tired of being the one that took the blame. He’s tired of being the one that bends and twists so that everyone else felt better while he continued to feel worse. To smile through the holes left behind of the arrows that strike through him as though everything was fine.
He isn’t fine. He hasn’t been in a while.
And he could tell her all the things that he’s doing and has done to prove the point to her that he isn’t selfish, that he’s given piece and piece of himself to everyone fucking else and obviously that never mattered. His body was littered with the scars of everything he’d done for someone else that he’d taken the fall for. And he’s so fucking tired of it.
“Just because I don’t revolve every minute of what I do around making your life easier, doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything, Colt.” He starts, voice deep, fingertips twitching where the water that threads through his fingers warbles and drips into the remnants of ash and destroyed building.
He could tell her that the last time he’d done something for her was when she asked exactly that which she accuses him of. Of sharing her bed so they could forget about everything for a minute. Or how before that, when she had been broken with the reminders of Vesper, how he’d held her when she’d arrived torn up and not herself. How he’d talked to her, given his time to her just to help her.
He could tell her about the town he’d made for the region, the Skyport, the fact he’d just talked to Rae to make a healing river. And yet he figures none of it matters. It won’t anyway, not when she’s blinded herself by the pain and grief and has to shift the blame onto something. He just wishes for the millionth time that it wasn’t him at the end of the rope.
His jaw tightens, muscles feathering in his temple as he does chew on the inside of his cheek, raw and until he can taste blood, before he finds it in him to speak again, voice lower and controlled, a shift in the air that has him deciding perhaps for the first time that he can use his new moniker as a shield. If he was known as the Heartless now, he might as well prove it.
It beat the alternative of laying down to be a doormat for everyone to walk all over. He’d already heard how much of a disappointment he was his entire life, and he’ll be damned if Colt’s words bring everything he’d long since buried to the surface again. And maybe if she knew the half of it she would’ve been more careful to blame him.
Or maybe she’d have doubled down. “I have done things for other people almost every fucking day of my life. So if you’re going to blame me or accuse me of being selfish because I don’t have eyes on your ranch every hour of the day, maybe it’s because the problem isn’t me.” He turns from her, draconic leathery wings snapping out from his back, rustling in the wind briefly as he looks over to the groups of her hands that have started to make the recovery parties, sure that he could track them and help them out if it meant avoiding being the poster of Colt’s rage.
you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
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.
