if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
Nate latches on, and there’s a slight exhale that shakes him, that the pressure the other man has and the strength beneath the way he grips Sunjata’s arm. But honestly? Sunjata doesn’t mind. Not as he’s lurching forward to grab onto him, to get anything he can to help cover the wound, to staunch any of the fluid that slips from the open gash in Nate’s face – horrified and terrified of everything about it. But he continues on, because that’s what he does, clenches his jaw and keeps as much of a level head as he can in a situation like this even though every bit of the Korofian within him screams for blood.
The bandage is applied, as shakily as he can, wrapping Nate’s hand within it and not caring – not even bothered by the fact he wants to keep his hand there. If anything, Sunjata understands. Soon enough, however, his hands are beneath Nate, lifting and doing his best to latch onto him and likewise letting Nate latch onto him again – his arm finding Sunjata’s shoulder as the Attuned does his best to not jostle Nate too much.
There’s a huff that comes from the Ascended, and it breaks Sunjata’s heart, fuels more of that fiery rage and panic that he swallows down as hard as he can, before the ragged response is heard and Sunjata’s clutching Nate closer, trying to offer some semblance of pressure, of him that would scream that he’s there and that he won’t let anything happen to him – not unlike a guard dog in that way. “I’ve got you. It’s Sunny. I’m here.” He says again, as much a promise as it is a plea for it to break through. A sharp whistle is sent out as he uses all his strength in his arms to hold Nate as well as his legs, rushing toward the boxing ring.
A shadow of wings and Haai’s there, guiding the way and keeping an extra eye so Sunjata can focus on Nate. They make it through the doors of the Slagveld, Sunjata choosing to use whatever strength he has left and channeling his adrenaline through it to get Nate to upstairs portion – only the door’s locked, there’s flights of stairs in the way, and he curses himself for the problems of this. So he has to settle, setting Nate onto the couch down below – darting toward the door to lock it closed while Haai goes and lights the oil lanterns that illuminate the destruction.
He’s never been a healer – that was always Lusea’s job. Sunjata was always the one too busy getting fucked up to learn a thing or two on how to help someone that it draws his throat tighter, his mouth dryer, his mind screaming out with the rage and fury of everything else. The bristling of feathers coats his neck as he finally kneels beside the couch, reaching into the drawer to pull out one of the many kits they leave in the boxing ring for the inevitable, before shaking hands move to try and brush Nate’s hair out of the way. “Ek is so jammer, my maanlig.” He begins, voice cracking, hoarse with the dryness and the tightness within. “What can I do?”
The bandage is applied, as shakily as he can, wrapping Nate’s hand within it and not caring – not even bothered by the fact he wants to keep his hand there. If anything, Sunjata understands. Soon enough, however, his hands are beneath Nate, lifting and doing his best to latch onto him and likewise letting Nate latch onto him again – his arm finding Sunjata’s shoulder as the Attuned does his best to not jostle Nate too much.
There’s a huff that comes from the Ascended, and it breaks Sunjata’s heart, fuels more of that fiery rage and panic that he swallows down as hard as he can, before the ragged response is heard and Sunjata’s clutching Nate closer, trying to offer some semblance of pressure, of him that would scream that he’s there and that he won’t let anything happen to him – not unlike a guard dog in that way. “I’ve got you. It’s Sunny. I’m here.” He says again, as much a promise as it is a plea for it to break through. A sharp whistle is sent out as he uses all his strength in his arms to hold Nate as well as his legs, rushing toward the boxing ring.
A shadow of wings and Haai’s there, guiding the way and keeping an extra eye so Sunjata can focus on Nate. They make it through the doors of the Slagveld, Sunjata choosing to use whatever strength he has left and channeling his adrenaline through it to get Nate to upstairs portion – only the door’s locked, there’s flights of stairs in the way, and he curses himself for the problems of this. So he has to settle, setting Nate onto the couch down below – darting toward the door to lock it closed while Haai goes and lights the oil lanterns that illuminate the destruction.
He’s never been a healer – that was always Lusea’s job. Sunjata was always the one too busy getting fucked up to learn a thing or two on how to help someone that it draws his throat tighter, his mouth dryer, his mind screaming out with the rage and fury of everything else. The bristling of feathers coats his neck as he finally kneels beside the couch, reaching into the drawer to pull out one of the many kits they leave in the boxing ring for the inevitable, before shaking hands move to try and brush Nate’s hair out of the way. “Ek is so jammer, my maanlig.” He begins, voice cracking, hoarse with the dryness and the tightness within. “What can I do?”
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.
