i am the man we both couldn't stand, i can't wash the dirt from my hands
what was it like to feel in love?
He knows it’s going to hit her hard, he knows he’s going to regret it further as the words slip from his lips. All he can do is draw his knee up, rest his forearm along it, and rub at the side of his face. And had she told him, her thoughts on it, that he had grown weak, he would agree. There is no steel, there is no strength to him now. Aluminum foil and tape stitch up the broken man before her. Had he always been this way and she the steel? Or had her death and the years after changed him in a way where he doesn’t know how to handle anything anymore?
While she doesn’t expect the words to hurt as deep as they do, it cuts him too. And he takes a deep breath, eyes closing against the words that leave her. And he knows, knows how shit it had been. He doesn’t know why he did it, why he claimed he didn’t care what Lusea thought. The woman before him was his whole life, the flame to his flood, and here he was throwing it all away. And for what? Because he’s confused, broken, sad, soft? Sick? Incapable of making his own decisions?
“I know.” He tells her, gravely, their native tongue slipping from his lips with an ease to convey the emotions he feels within. And he spends a moment to break through the clarity, of the results of his actions, eyes drifting to look at her, to see the battle she wars with herself. Does she blame herself? That she’s not enough? He doesn’t know, but he knows that it’s not her. It’s never been her. She is everything he could dream of, and here he is throwing it away.
Against his better judgement, he leans toward her, reaching for her. He had expected retaliation before, but this hurt worse, and he almost hopes she fights him back. “Luci, I’m sorry.” He manages, hoarse and exhausted. “I don’t know what came over me. I fucked up.” What else can he say? He doesn’t tell her that Phoebe had asked him to choose her over Lusea, he doesn’t tell her his decision. Because he’s here now, despite a night of weakness and impaired judgement. There’s no excuse for it, not even as the arm that reaches for her is veined with black, like the veins in his eyes.
While she doesn’t expect the words to hurt as deep as they do, it cuts him too. And he takes a deep breath, eyes closing against the words that leave her. And he knows, knows how shit it had been. He doesn’t know why he did it, why he claimed he didn’t care what Lusea thought. The woman before him was his whole life, the flame to his flood, and here he was throwing it all away. And for what? Because he’s confused, broken, sad, soft? Sick? Incapable of making his own decisions?
“I know.” He tells her, gravely, their native tongue slipping from his lips with an ease to convey the emotions he feels within. And he spends a moment to break through the clarity, of the results of his actions, eyes drifting to look at her, to see the battle she wars with herself. Does she blame herself? That she’s not enough? He doesn’t know, but he knows that it’s not her. It’s never been her. She is everything he could dream of, and here he is throwing it away.
Against his better judgement, he leans toward her, reaching for her. He had expected retaliation before, but this hurt worse, and he almost hopes she fights him back. “Luci, I’m sorry.” He manages, hoarse and exhausted. “I don’t know what came over me. I fucked up.” What else can he say? He doesn’t tell her that Phoebe had asked him to choose her over Lusea, he doesn’t tell her his decision. Because he’s here now, despite a night of weakness and impaired judgement. There’s no excuse for it, not even as the arm that reaches for her is veined with black, like the veins in his eyes.
i can't scrub the black from my lungs
SUNJATA
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.
