// 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 //
A mistake and a trap that he’s fallen into again. What number of mistakes are we up to now? Too many, because as the wing snaps out, it’s grabbed, and it’s all Sunjata can do to try and tug it out of his fathers iron grip. It’s another terrible plan, because he tugs just as Shaju twists and yanks back, and the pain that shoots through him yet again is enough to have his father’s wants come true. A cry that echoes, that brings in a mouthful of water and soil, of a wing that goes limp and shooting with twinging pain with every heartbeat. There’s tears there, in his eyes and along his cheeks when his father steps back, he hopes the stream disguises them.
The ringing pain is added to, mentally, at the mention of his mother. And if it weren’t for that comment he might have simply stayed there, heaving and fragile and in pain along the veined streams. It takes him a bit of time, of arms that tremble, that push him up, unable to partially shift the wing back just yet because of the pain. He’s kneeling in the stream now, the wing a useless block to the words he hears, flinching with each accusation. “I didn’t even see it.” He hisses. A lie, because he had watched it happen, a broadcast to every single place in Korofi. He had known, and he had done nothing.
Keep walking. He spends as long as he can before he stands again, the wing drooped and dragging along the stream and rocks with each step, a hissed huff of pain with each and every one. His head remains down, focused intensely on anything but his father.
The ringing pain is added to, mentally, at the mention of his mother. And if it weren’t for that comment he might have simply stayed there, heaving and fragile and in pain along the veined streams. It takes him a bit of time, of arms that tremble, that push him up, unable to partially shift the wing back just yet because of the pain. He’s kneeling in the stream now, the wing a useless block to the words he hears, flinching with each accusation. “I didn’t even see it.” He hisses. A lie, because he had watched it happen, a broadcast to every single place in Korofi. He had known, and he had done nothing.
Keep walking. He spends as long as he can before he stands again, the wing drooped and dragging along the stream and rocks with each step, a hissed huff of pain with each and every one. His head remains down, focused intensely on anything but his father.
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.
