if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
He’s too distracted, too torn between wanting to get some form of revenge for this crime and wanting to ensure that Nate’s okay. Despite his precision in his abilities, of his favored weapon being a dagger, he still doesn’t strike where he wishes he had. But it’s far better than a slight slash, far better than missing at all as he feels the resistance of the blade sinking deep, drawing red scarlet blood along the blade before she’s moving again, and Sunjata has his choice to make once more.
His heartbeat thunders in his ears, watching her twist away before she bolts and the decision is made easily then. Especially when his head shifts back toward Nate, toward the sudden realization that fuck, it’s bad, the panic growing larger in his throat, tightening like a choker around and growing tighter and tighter with each inhale of breath.
It’s not the throat, at least, that part of the memory can remain hidden. And his blood isn’t red – another small mercy that had the wounds not cauterized, that his hands would fill with that iridescent sheen and not that deep red he could have drowned himself in so many years ago. But already the daggers have dropped between him and Nate, latching onto the hand that’s outstretched for him with all his focus and panic and rage and fear burning in his gut.
He pulls Nate toward him now, inspecting as quickly as he can, knowing that they’ve got to get somewhere better than the middle of the fucking street, a place where Sunjata can ensure that he’s safe. So the boxing ring is the best choice, the only thing he can think of where he can lock the doors and promise himself that it’s safe. “I’ve got you.” He says, though his voice shakes and quakes in ways that he hasn’t heard in years.”ek het jou, liefde.” He manages again, scrambling for the daggers to cut a piece of his shirt off, hands trembling as he goes to apply a makeshift bandage around it, wincing internally because holy fucking hell –
– He puts the daggers in his belt, jaw clenching tight enough it hurts as he goes to grab Nate to lift him into his arms, moving to stand, to take him to a place they’re far better prepared to deal with the damage and unable to fully think about what’s just happened other than a mix of wanting to ensure Nate’s safe and a sudden bout of blood lust. All he can do is keep saying the mantra, a voice for Nate to follow through the panic. I've got you, love. I've got you. I've got you.
His heartbeat thunders in his ears, watching her twist away before she bolts and the decision is made easily then. Especially when his head shifts back toward Nate, toward the sudden realization that fuck, it’s bad, the panic growing larger in his throat, tightening like a choker around and growing tighter and tighter with each inhale of breath.
It’s not the throat, at least, that part of the memory can remain hidden. And his blood isn’t red – another small mercy that had the wounds not cauterized, that his hands would fill with that iridescent sheen and not that deep red he could have drowned himself in so many years ago. But already the daggers have dropped between him and Nate, latching onto the hand that’s outstretched for him with all his focus and panic and rage and fear burning in his gut.
He pulls Nate toward him now, inspecting as quickly as he can, knowing that they’ve got to get somewhere better than the middle of the fucking street, a place where Sunjata can ensure that he’s safe. So the boxing ring is the best choice, the only thing he can think of where he can lock the doors and promise himself that it’s safe. “I’ve got you.” He says, though his voice shakes and quakes in ways that he hasn’t heard in years.”ek het jou, liefde.” He manages again, scrambling for the daggers to cut a piece of his shirt off, hands trembling as he goes to apply a makeshift bandage around it, wincing internally because holy fucking hell –
– He puts the daggers in his belt, jaw clenching tight enough it hurts as he goes to grab Nate to lift him into his arms, moving to stand, to take him to a place they’re far better prepared to deal with the damage and unable to fully think about what’s just happened other than a mix of wanting to ensure Nate’s safe and a sudden bout of blood lust. All he can do is keep saying the mantra, a voice for Nate to follow through the panic. I've got you, love. I've got you. I've got you.
are we laughing at the danger?
are we dancing after death, you and I?
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.
