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’s glad that Declan is calm, because if someone had walked in and been frantic, he doesn’t know how he would’ve reacted. For now, however, he can pretend that he’s alright. Besides, it isn’t like he hasn’t seen this before. It isn’t like he hasn’t killed before. But it had been a part of his life long since forgotten, shoved under the rug, hardly ever to be brought up and looked at again. A dark pit within him that he constantly tries to fill with light in the hopes it makes him a better person.
The only difference is he’s never had to hide the bodies before.
Brought back in the moment, the mention of it working in their favor has his muscles feathering in his jaw again, that pit wide within him growing with every second. “I think he was a drifter.” He rumbles offhandedly, as if it makes it better (it doesn’t). Declan catches his gaze, however, as he’s standing from wrapping the body, the boy’s face no longer seen – a relief, and yet no relief.
Brother is a term he hasn’t heard since the resistance either. But he nods, chews on the inside of his cheek. “Thank you.” He repeats, the bags under his eyes appearing darker somehow even if the boxing ring grows lighter as the sun rises higher. He’s half tempted to comment that he’s worried about the person that’s sent the message far more than he wanted to. How it had been months of it. He doesn’t, of course.
While Declan rummages around the kitchenette for cleaning supplies, Sunjata grabs a bucket and a shovel – to pull the bloody sand from the floor to dump somewhere and replace with fresh sand as they often did after fights. And he’s already lifting a bit of the bloody sand into the bucket when Declan’s question hits, a low sigh slipping through his lips as he debates it. “It just says; ‘I did you a favor. Clean this up now.’” And he says nothing else, just grabs another shovelful of sand to dump into the bucket, head ducked a bit more and feathered shoulders tense with the tension and the burden of it all.
The only difference is he’s never had to hide the bodies before.
Brought back in the moment, the mention of it working in their favor has his muscles feathering in his jaw again, that pit wide within him growing with every second. “I think he was a drifter.” He rumbles offhandedly, as if it makes it better (it doesn’t). Declan catches his gaze, however, as he’s standing from wrapping the body, the boy’s face no longer seen – a relief, and yet no relief.
Brother is a term he hasn’t heard since the resistance either. But he nods, chews on the inside of his cheek. “Thank you.” He repeats, the bags under his eyes appearing darker somehow even if the boxing ring grows lighter as the sun rises higher. He’s half tempted to comment that he’s worried about the person that’s sent the message far more than he wanted to. How it had been months of it. He doesn’t, of course.
While Declan rummages around the kitchenette for cleaning supplies, Sunjata grabs a bucket and a shovel – to pull the bloody sand from the floor to dump somewhere and replace with fresh sand as they often did after fights. And he’s already lifting a bit of the bloody sand into the bucket when Declan’s question hits, a low sigh slipping through his lips as he debates it. “It just says; ‘I did you a favor. Clean this up now.’” And he says nothing else, just grabs another shovelful of sand to dump into the bucket, head ducked a bit more and feathered shoulders tense with the tension and the burden of it all.
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.
