Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us
The first thing Sunjata notices when he wakes up, is that he’s not breathing.
The second thing he notices is that somehow, through the dark room, he can see very well.
He suddenly wonders if he’s a ghost – sitting up from the floor, brows threading together, a hand moving rapidly toward his chest as if he might be able to feel the beat of his heart beneath it. He doesn’t, which only ignites more of the sudden panic that settles in. But he takes a deep breath, realizing shortly after that he doesn’t need to. The hand raises, moving from his chest to his neck, finding rather long hair in comparison to his own usual crop of hair – lips parting in his surprise. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe he’s been dead for a long time. Hair continues to grow, doesn’t it? After you’re gone?
No, that can’t be right. He can’t be dead. His tongue drags along his teeth briefly, snagging on fangs that he can’t retract with a partial shift, the feel of them sharp and pointed, something that is intimately well known by the Flood now. The hand moves into his vision now, a ring of suns set upon the pale skin, a scar that dances across the palm. Both hands move to his face now, feeling the angles of a sharp jaw, the edge of a scar that trails from above one eyebrow down across his nose, across an eye, part of the way down a cheek.
Is he Nate? What the fuck happened?
All those thoughts disappear in an instant as he suddenly spots someone else as he pulls his hands away from his face. “Zeph?” It’s a croak of a sound that leaves him, accent familiar as his own, but not right as it leaves his lips. So he scrambles, then, not giving Zeph time to respond, shifting with a surprising amount of speed to reach the mirror he spies, scanning a bi-toned gaze, a face he'd know anywhere.
The second thing he notices is that somehow, through the dark room, he can see very well.
He suddenly wonders if he’s a ghost – sitting up from the floor, brows threading together, a hand moving rapidly toward his chest as if he might be able to feel the beat of his heart beneath it. He doesn’t, which only ignites more of the sudden panic that settles in. But he takes a deep breath, realizing shortly after that he doesn’t need to. The hand raises, moving from his chest to his neck, finding rather long hair in comparison to his own usual crop of hair – lips parting in his surprise. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe he’s been dead for a long time. Hair continues to grow, doesn’t it? After you’re gone?
No, that can’t be right. He can’t be dead. His tongue drags along his teeth briefly, snagging on fangs that he can’t retract with a partial shift, the feel of them sharp and pointed, something that is intimately well known by the Flood now. The hand moves into his vision now, a ring of suns set upon the pale skin, a scar that dances across the palm. Both hands move to his face now, feeling the angles of a sharp jaw, the edge of a scar that trails from above one eyebrow down across his nose, across an eye, part of the way down a cheek.
Is he Nate? What the fuck happened?
All those thoughts disappear in an instant as he suddenly spots someone else as he pulls his hands away from his face. “Zeph?” It’s a croak of a sound that leaves him, accent familiar as his own, but not right as it leaves his lips. So he scrambles, then, not giving Zeph time to respond, shifting with a surprising amount of speed to reach the mirror he spies, scanning a bi-toned gaze, a face he'd know anywhere.
these, our bodies, possessed by light
Tell me we'll never get used to it
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.
