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
It has been a year. He’s well aware of that. “It has been a year, yeah, but gathering and then trading takes time.” He knows it probably seems like it was simple, but it wasn’t. Like he could just message whomever and trade the items in question without much fanfare. But it wasn’t – and didn’t work like that, and Sunjata was acutely aware of just how long it took to gather all the shavings the unicorns left across their vast region, to then have enough to trade. It took a whole season.
He realizes quickly that it all sounds like excuses anyway, even as he returns to her to talk since it seems like that might be what she wants to do – or maybe it’s just a way for her to target him again, to take the arrows shot into herself and lob them back at him, and whatever answer he gives doesn’t matter to her.
When she tells him he should have prioritized the fires over everything else, his jaw flexes and he’s grateful for the draconic plating on his neck that hide the way he swallows down the immediate retort he wants to give her. “What do you want me to say? That I should have prioritized the fires over protecting the region from the Family? From making a healing river? It isn’t always this bad.” He tries to stress the point, standing in the ashes of what used to be her home.
He sees the irony, he really does. But it doesn’t stop there, because whatever he says is from a point of view of someone where things did not get better. And there’s some seething in her voice that grinds against the way his stomach has sunk, the hurt there for various reasons he doesn’t want to name – content to leave them like ghosts lingering in the edges of his vision so he doesn’t have to look directly at it and see what he can’t deal with right now.
Honestly, he should he happy for her, that this is the worst thing that she thinks could have happened to her.
He’s seen worse. He’s been through worse. And while he doesn’t want her to deal with a fraction of what he’s gone through, he wants her to understand that he’s been trying, that he hasn’t spent the last year hidden away in the rooms of the brothel. That at least an entire season had been searching for Hotaru that had just finally ended and that he was human just as much as her when she couldn’t handle the responsibilities of the ranch immediately after everything happened with Vesper to where she’d used part of the House of Midnight. She hadn’t had the bandwidth and neither did he.
But he’d done what he could, even if it didn’t seem like it was enough. And it burns against him when he can’t formulate the words that might help alleviate his blunder – because words weren’t his strong suit and he constantly had a way of speaking where his words would get twisted around. It’s what kept him in shitty situations time and time again. “I’m not saying I don’t care, Colt. I do. But I won’t let you blame me and attack me for this when it wasn’t either of our faults. It wasn’t your fault either.” He tries to urge that point, quelling some of his anger even as his wings rustle and vibrate a touch with the tension of his restrained frustration and the lingering echo of her palm smacking her thigh. “Blame Tanau, blame Frey for all I care. Just,” there’s a crack in the armor – the lack of sleep, the destruction that weighs on him that has his emotions cracking, the build up he’s tried so hard to hide away that burns in his eyes to the point he has to look away. “Don’t blame me.” Please.
He’s been the blame for far too many things that the weight of them all now that he can feel them again starts to drag him under, sharp and fast, a riptide when he's no longer the Flood.
He realizes quickly that it all sounds like excuses anyway, even as he returns to her to talk since it seems like that might be what she wants to do – or maybe it’s just a way for her to target him again, to take the arrows shot into herself and lob them back at him, and whatever answer he gives doesn’t matter to her.
When she tells him he should have prioritized the fires over everything else, his jaw flexes and he’s grateful for the draconic plating on his neck that hide the way he swallows down the immediate retort he wants to give her. “What do you want me to say? That I should have prioritized the fires over protecting the region from the Family? From making a healing river? It isn’t always this bad.” He tries to stress the point, standing in the ashes of what used to be her home.
He sees the irony, he really does. But it doesn’t stop there, because whatever he says is from a point of view of someone where things did not get better. And there’s some seething in her voice that grinds against the way his stomach has sunk, the hurt there for various reasons he doesn’t want to name – content to leave them like ghosts lingering in the edges of his vision so he doesn’t have to look directly at it and see what he can’t deal with right now.
Honestly, he should he happy for her, that this is the worst thing that she thinks could have happened to her.
He’s seen worse. He’s been through worse. And while he doesn’t want her to deal with a fraction of what he’s gone through, he wants her to understand that he’s been trying, that he hasn’t spent the last year hidden away in the rooms of the brothel. That at least an entire season had been searching for Hotaru that had just finally ended and that he was human just as much as her when she couldn’t handle the responsibilities of the ranch immediately after everything happened with Vesper to where she’d used part of the House of Midnight. She hadn’t had the bandwidth and neither did he.
But he’d done what he could, even if it didn’t seem like it was enough. And it burns against him when he can’t formulate the words that might help alleviate his blunder – because words weren’t his strong suit and he constantly had a way of speaking where his words would get twisted around. It’s what kept him in shitty situations time and time again. “I’m not saying I don’t care, Colt. I do. But I won’t let you blame me and attack me for this when it wasn’t either of our faults. It wasn’t your fault either.” He tries to urge that point, quelling some of his anger even as his wings rustle and vibrate a touch with the tension of his restrained frustration and the lingering echo of her palm smacking her thigh. “Blame Tanau, blame Frey for all I care. Just,” there’s a crack in the armor – the lack of sleep, the destruction that weighs on him that has his emotions cracking, the build up he’s tried so hard to hide away that burns in his eyes to the point he has to look away. “Don’t blame me.” Please.
He’s been the blame for far too many things that the weight of them all now that he can feel them again starts to drag him under, sharp and fast, a riptide when he's no longer the Flood.
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.
