SUNJATA
the flood
i can still see your face looking back through the flames
and i search it, was it worth it?
and i search it, was it worth it?
Unfortunately. Comes the quiet response, an attempt at an easy smile as well that seems a bit more strained, a bit more pained. It’s always him, despite how much he wished it wasn’t, how much he wished everything would just leave him alone. But here he is, broken again, for Nate to fix. How he hates that he is.
The good wing folds in tight, the other hanging limply as Sunjata listens to his husband, mulling over the thought of Nate heading into the jungles as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “There are a lot of macaws.” He replies with some ease, picking apart the good memory rather than the memories of his father’s boot on his neck, of the pained crack that echoed through the trees. So he pushes back past it, moving to stand as Nate questions if he could lay down. He doesn’t need to agree verbally, so he simply does, moving to a softer space on the floor – knowing just how painful and shitty this would be.
So he slides down, a huff of a sound leaving him as the wing bounces against his back as he lowers himself, the tri-toned appendage spread out over the floor halfway open and halfway not, as if he hasn’t put in the effort to try and tuck it in (he hasn’t). Luckily, Haai returns with a bottle, however, and moves to hand it to him before he manages to make it to the floor completely. He has no need for glasses, simply popping open the bottle and taking quite a generous gulp while the griffin moves to observe from the edge of the wall, and Sunjata fully lays himself along the floor.
His head lifts at the offer of a belt, and he swallows hard, because he knows what’s next and knows just how horrible it’ll be. So he places the belt between his teeth, already indenting the leather with the bite before anything’s even started, hoping the warmth and buzz of the alcohol will numb most of him from the pain it’ll cause. He knows it won’t, but he hopes it does regardless. Alright. He rumbles quietly, taking a sharp enough inhale that his nostrils flare, to slowly exhale. One… Two… Three? He hums to Nate’s mind, getting them on the same page, as he moves to grit against the pain, folding that tri-toned wing in slowly with Nate’s help to push it all the more into position. A growl of pain slips from him as he does it, but he manages it, if not for the shakiness of the joint and the suddenly glimmering sheen of sweat that appears along his shoulders and the bruise in between his shoulder blades.
The good wing folds in tight, the other hanging limply as Sunjata listens to his husband, mulling over the thought of Nate heading into the jungles as he chews on the inside of his cheek. “There are a lot of macaws.” He replies with some ease, picking apart the good memory rather than the memories of his father’s boot on his neck, of the pained crack that echoed through the trees. So he pushes back past it, moving to stand as Nate questions if he could lay down. He doesn’t need to agree verbally, so he simply does, moving to a softer space on the floor – knowing just how painful and shitty this would be.
So he slides down, a huff of a sound leaving him as the wing bounces against his back as he lowers himself, the tri-toned appendage spread out over the floor halfway open and halfway not, as if he hasn’t put in the effort to try and tuck it in (he hasn’t). Luckily, Haai returns with a bottle, however, and moves to hand it to him before he manages to make it to the floor completely. He has no need for glasses, simply popping open the bottle and taking quite a generous gulp while the griffin moves to observe from the edge of the wall, and Sunjata fully lays himself along the floor.
His head lifts at the offer of a belt, and he swallows hard, because he knows what’s next and knows just how horrible it’ll be. So he places the belt between his teeth, already indenting the leather with the bite before anything’s even started, hoping the warmth and buzz of the alcohol will numb most of him from the pain it’ll cause. He knows it won’t, but he hopes it does regardless. Alright. He rumbles quietly, taking a sharp enough inhale that his nostrils flare, to slowly exhale. One… Two… Three? He hums to Nate’s mind, getting them on the same page, as he moves to grit against the pain, folding that tri-toned wing in slowly with Nate’s help to push it all the more into position. A growl of pain slips from him as he does it, but he manages it, if not for the shakiness of the joint and the suddenly glimmering sheen of sweat that appears along his shoulders and the bruise in between his shoulder blades.
no i don't mind the smoke, but your tears make me choke
are you okay? should i go away?
are you okay? should i go away?
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.
