so show me your love under a bad moon // we'll find your pieces in your bedroom
'cause it's bringing me back // it's bringing me back
'cause it's bringing me back // it's bringing me back
There’s a strange sensation that fills Sunjata, an odd combination of the attention on him that’s entirely Nate and the officiant, nobody else around. It wasn’t like Korofi, where often times he’d stood before hundreds of people, it wasn’t like any of that. There’s a small sensation that fills him with the awkwardness of being seen that only Nate can do. The way the Ascended can look at him and see everything he’s done in the past, everything he’s ashamed of, everything he’s proud of, and still stand there with tears in his eye. It feels like a blessing. And he’s not sure what to do with it other than to squeeze Nate’s hand back.
And he listens when the man speaks, having them confirm it, Sunjata’s voice a bit hoarse from swallowing back the emotions that tighten his throat. “We are.” He agrees, he breathes, he vows. But then it’s their turn, for the backwards tradition of Korofi, one hand slipping out of Nate’s to reach for his boot, to pull out the familiar dagger he always kept there.
One swipe of the blade across the palm of his right hand has blood pooling into it, two fingers dipping into the ruby hue before he’s focusing back on Nate. Typically it’d be done around the collarbones, but they’re dressed up so nice it’d be a shame to ruin it. So he opts for a different approach, reaching for Nate’s neck instead, to trace a line of blood to surround it like a necklace, like a choker, like a collar. “deur my bloed is jy myne van vandag af.” He hums, settling back and handing the dagger to Nate to do the same.
Blood drips to the ground from his hand while he waits, not willing to let his gaze or other hand depart from Nate for too long until Nate’s part is finished. Only when it is, does he reach for a cloth in his front pocket to tie around his palm to stop the bleeding.
And he listens when the man speaks, having them confirm it, Sunjata’s voice a bit hoarse from swallowing back the emotions that tighten his throat. “We are.” He agrees, he breathes, he vows. But then it’s their turn, for the backwards tradition of Korofi, one hand slipping out of Nate’s to reach for his boot, to pull out the familiar dagger he always kept there.
One swipe of the blade across the palm of his right hand has blood pooling into it, two fingers dipping into the ruby hue before he’s focusing back on Nate. Typically it’d be done around the collarbones, but they’re dressed up so nice it’d be a shame to ruin it. So he opts for a different approach, reaching for Nate’s neck instead, to trace a line of blood to surround it like a necklace, like a choker, like a collar. “deur my bloed is jy myne van vandag af.” He hums, settling back and handing the dagger to Nate to do the same.
Blood drips to the ground from his hand while he waits, not willing to let his gaze or other hand depart from Nate for too long until Nate’s part is finished. Only when it is, does he reach for a cloth in his front pocket to tie around his palm to stop the bleeding.
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.
