SUNJATA
the flood
but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?
He is acutely aware of the sounds around him even if it’s hard to hear with the blood thundering in his ears. It makes him feel small, his skin twitching with every turn, every click, until a voice pipes up that’s familiar and yet not familiar in the way he expects. He half expects to find Shaju there, to see how well Sunjata has done with cleaning up the mess he’s made. Probably to see if he cleans it up at all.
But it isn’t.
One glance over his shoulder confirms that as he moves to pull another nail from large feathered wings, as he moves to pull just enough of the nails that perhaps Declan might prove useful in lowering Arsen from the wall and not simply letting the man fall flat. Underneath the partial mix of feathers and skin, the man is pale — and so is Sunjata as his head lowers with Declan’s question. “Someone who wanted to leave a message.” He says flatly, void of emotion because it’s warring within him.
He could tell him it’s his father, but it wouldn’t do any good. Shaju had never looked the same to Sunjata twice. There isn’t a way he could explain it and catch him. But the letter, the letter is evidence. Declan, now, a witness. And it’s something, even if he can’t do anything about it right now.
The blood is cold, so cold that Sunjata’s jaw clenches as it clings to him and he tosses the nails into a heap on the floor. “Can you flip the sign and lock the door, then come help me remove him from the wall?” It’s a quiet request, but Sunjata isn’t the mood for masks and faces right now, not with this gaping hole in his chest.
But it isn’t.
One glance over his shoulder confirms that as he moves to pull another nail from large feathered wings, as he moves to pull just enough of the nails that perhaps Declan might prove useful in lowering Arsen from the wall and not simply letting the man fall flat. Underneath the partial mix of feathers and skin, the man is pale — and so is Sunjata as his head lowers with Declan’s question. “Someone who wanted to leave a message.” He says flatly, void of emotion because it’s warring within him.
He could tell him it’s his father, but it wouldn’t do any good. Shaju had never looked the same to Sunjata twice. There isn’t a way he could explain it and catch him. But the letter, the letter is evidence. Declan, now, a witness. And it’s something, even if he can’t do anything about it right now.
The blood is cold, so cold that Sunjata’s jaw clenches as it clings to him and he tosses the nails into a heap on the floor. “Can you flip the sign and lock the door, then come help me remove him from the wall?” It’s a quiet request, but Sunjata isn’t the mood for masks and faces right now, not with this gaping hole in his chest.
so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything
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.
