// grass stains cut my bloody knees, it's goodpain, it means i can't be phased
that little death inside my sides, won't make it right //
that little death inside my sides, won't make it right //
The macaw is sent, a breath held internally as he watches the red and blue feathers disappear into the rest of the vibrant jungle. And with nothing else to do, he exhales with a quiet sigh, a hand raising to run through his hair as he tries to figure out what to do next in the meantime. His steel gaze flickers along the winding veins of the streams, winding and winding until a voice is heard, until a presence is shown, until he realizes he’s not alone.
There’s a few choices Sunjata can choose between – flight is a strong one, one that he very nearly gives into. The second is to freeze, which he does do. The third is to fight, which is something he absolutely doesn’t do. Because while it looks like his father has done well for himself here, to blend in and mix well, the voice is one that makes him shiver, it makes him fragile and brittle and lined with anger and frustration.
He’s always hated it when his father was right. His father was right a lot.
So he bristles, clenches his sore jaw, the partial shift of his dragon shift appearing along the skin of his chest and neck, covering over the scar he’d gotten when his father had murdered Lusea, even if it’s one of the last things to go. He keeps his distance regardless, muscles feathering in his jaw, his throat dry and suddenly hoarse. “You are actually here.” It also isn’t a question. A defiance, with the native tongue and noble undertones that leave his lips, neither confirming nor denying the previous Arbiter’s sentence.
It’s a new season, it should have ended by now, and part of him questions whether to get close enough to touch him just to be sure. The smarter part of Sunjata avoids that completely and keeps his distance, wariness glimmering in the dull steel of his gaze.
Like a cornered animal.
There’s a few choices Sunjata can choose between – flight is a strong one, one that he very nearly gives into. The second is to freeze, which he does do. The third is to fight, which is something he absolutely doesn’t do. Because while it looks like his father has done well for himself here, to blend in and mix well, the voice is one that makes him shiver, it makes him fragile and brittle and lined with anger and frustration.
He’s always hated it when his father was right. His father was right a lot.
So he bristles, clenches his sore jaw, the partial shift of his dragon shift appearing along the skin of his chest and neck, covering over the scar he’d gotten when his father had murdered Lusea, even if it’s one of the last things to go. He keeps his distance regardless, muscles feathering in his jaw, his throat dry and suddenly hoarse. “You are actually here.” It also isn’t a question. A defiance, with the native tongue and noble undertones that leave his lips, neither confirming nor denying the previous Arbiter’s sentence.
It’s a new season, it should have ended by now, and part of him questions whether to get close enough to touch him just to be sure. The smarter part of Sunjata avoids that completely and keeps his distance, wariness glimmering in the dull steel of his gaze.
Like a cornered animal.
he wins every time i find myself inside, alone all night
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.
