relive who i've been at my worst,
every single night, looking for a distraction
every single night, looking for a distraction
He’s very unaware of just how his movements have managed to wake someone as inebriated as the necromancer is. All he knows is that it feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff – like one of the few that has spurred the tumultuous trauma of his life, because where Niki wakes up sluggishly and drunkenly and cold and tries to let his soft voice reach him, it’s only one of the mixtures of voices currently in his head.
All he can see is a pale marble floor, the stinging, bone deep pain lancing through his leg, and a trail of blood he can only assume he knows where it came from. It’s a strange combination of multiple events all wrapped into one deliciously awful pit of regret. And Niki’s attempt to tell him he’s okay is only meshed with the hushed urgency of his mother’s voice and the sharp commanding tone of his father that still seems somehow disapproving and simultaneously probably the proudest of him he’d ever been and ever would be.
The dream itself is the aftermath of Sunjata’s Trial when he turned seventeen, where he’d gotten shot in the leg and somehow managed to be the last survivor. The marble floor is the manor he’d grown up in, blank and minimalist, especially for the Heartless in the years it had taken him to grow and survive each encounter Shaju was certain would take him out. And this was just another in the mix.
There’s the regret, there, too. Of just how many had suffered before him, only for him to become the face of this year’s winner. Another face in the running of taking his father’s place, which was the very last thing he wanted to be. And unfortunately for him, the way the dream begins to spread through him, it reflects in how he starts to wake, jittery and stuttered, has Sunjata surging up on the edge of the emerald bed that’s far too large. Head in his hands, running over his face multiple times with quiet curse mutterings, it’s when he fully opens his eyes and peeks through his fingers does he see the dark room of the House of Midnight, with bloodstained marble flooring to greet him and a winding staircase that leads to a variety of rooms that he wants nothing more than to forget. “Stop.” He grits out in a whisper, knowing very well that he’s not alone and hoping he hasn’t woken Niki, shutting his eyes tight to try and shift the room back to how it had been but not keeping his eyes open enough to see whether it does or doesn’t.
All he can see is a pale marble floor, the stinging, bone deep pain lancing through his leg, and a trail of blood he can only assume he knows where it came from. It’s a strange combination of multiple events all wrapped into one deliciously awful pit of regret. And Niki’s attempt to tell him he’s okay is only meshed with the hushed urgency of his mother’s voice and the sharp commanding tone of his father that still seems somehow disapproving and simultaneously probably the proudest of him he’d ever been and ever would be.
The dream itself is the aftermath of Sunjata’s Trial when he turned seventeen, where he’d gotten shot in the leg and somehow managed to be the last survivor. The marble floor is the manor he’d grown up in, blank and minimalist, especially for the Heartless in the years it had taken him to grow and survive each encounter Shaju was certain would take him out. And this was just another in the mix.
There’s the regret, there, too. Of just how many had suffered before him, only for him to become the face of this year’s winner. Another face in the running of taking his father’s place, which was the very last thing he wanted to be. And unfortunately for him, the way the dream begins to spread through him, it reflects in how he starts to wake, jittery and stuttered, has Sunjata surging up on the edge of the emerald bed that’s far too large. Head in his hands, running over his face multiple times with quiet curse mutterings, it’s when he fully opens his eyes and peeks through his fingers does he see the dark room of the House of Midnight, with bloodstained marble flooring to greet him and a winding staircase that leads to a variety of rooms that he wants nothing more than to forget. “Stop.” He grits out in a whisper, knowing very well that he’s not alone and hoping he hasn’t woken Niki, shutting his eyes tight to try and shift the room back to how it had been but not keeping his eyes open enough to see whether it does or doesn’t.
the flood
waiting for the sun to rise
pretty sight for some hollow eyes
pretty sight for some hollow eyes
totally sniped from odd ilu
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.
