SUNJATA
the flood
you killed a man there, and i cried
but the rain masked the hurt behind your face
but the rain masked the hurt behind your face
It was a long night – a long night of saying next to nothing after leaving the remains of the Deadiron Ranch. He’d done his best to help her hands retrieve a few of the livestock that had bolted when the fences burned, but it certainly wasn’t all of them and it adds to the rest of the failings he’s become uniquely aware of.
It’s early the next day, having made his way to New Haven once there was nothing else he could do and he wasn’t willing to stick around to be a dartboard for Colt any longer. Covered in soot and ash, smoke clings to his skin and clothes despite the passive magic that might change the outcome of that. At any rate, he looks like a mess even if he doesn’t fully smell like one – wishing for the umpteenth time that there was something strong enough to take the edge off and quietly cursing himself again that he’d become too strong to be able to self medicate the way he used to.
So he’s found his way to the courtyard, hidden from the clouded light that pours through the town, nearby the Sunbean where he thought he might be able to drop by and snag some coffee or something because it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Sat on a wood bench, his dragon wings droop behind him like a pool of leather, flat across the ground. It’s early enough that nobody has ventured out too much yet, not that Sunjata thinks he’d care much to be viewed like this (it’s a lie, because he does, but fuck he’s exhausted).
Fruitlessly rubbing his palms against his ashy face, he eventually settles on pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed as a few tiny raindrops begin to fall from the clouds that had formed.
And fuck, if he doesn’t think that’s horribly ironic.
It’s early the next day, having made his way to New Haven once there was nothing else he could do and he wasn’t willing to stick around to be a dartboard for Colt any longer. Covered in soot and ash, smoke clings to his skin and clothes despite the passive magic that might change the outcome of that. At any rate, he looks like a mess even if he doesn’t fully smell like one – wishing for the umpteenth time that there was something strong enough to take the edge off and quietly cursing himself again that he’d become too strong to be able to self medicate the way he used to.
So he’s found his way to the courtyard, hidden from the clouded light that pours through the town, nearby the Sunbean where he thought he might be able to drop by and snag some coffee or something because it was obvious he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Sat on a wood bench, his dragon wings droop behind him like a pool of leather, flat across the ground. It’s early enough that nobody has ventured out too much yet, not that Sunjata thinks he’d care much to be viewed like this (it’s a lie, because he does, but fuck he’s exhausted).
Fruitlessly rubbing his palms against his ashy face, he eventually settles on pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed as a few tiny raindrops begin to fall from the clouds that had formed.
And fuck, if he doesn’t think that’s horribly ironic.
by the way, dear, we're alive
and it hurts 'cause we survived it
and it hurts 'cause we survived it
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.
