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?
”Don’t.” He hears at first and he pauses in his work, letting Declan continue, to briefly explain, to glance to him as he too glances back at the man, silent aside from chewing on the inside of his cheek. There’s a nod, the way the other man trails off. He knows that all too well. And so he keeps it to himself, drawing silent and in on himself, focused on everything else rather than the obvious. He keeps himself together, though his eyes stray to the body wrapped in sheets, his thoughts stray to what exactly Declan would do with him.
He supposes it’s best he doesn’t know.
So he translates, instead, letting Declan understand what the note says before he draws silent to clean more of the sand up, the ebony feathers that drift around – and if there’s a few navy ones out of his own shoulders from the pure shock and upset this has caused, he pretends he doesn’t notice. And Declan cuts through it – questioning him directly. But he can’t answer, not truthfully, despite how much he wants to. So he beats around the bush with it, chewing on the inside of his cheek more and more until it’s raw.
“I don’t know what’s going on or what to look out for.” That, perhaps, is what makes it worse. He doesn’t know what his father plans on doing. He doesn’t know what the next step is. “I just know that whomever this was knows a lot more about me than most people here.” That’s not entirely a lie. Because his father had known all, and it seemed he’d been here long enough to learn tidbits here as well.
So he finishes putting the sand in that one bucket to set aside, to grab another and sift the rest of the sand for feathers, to drop into a new bucket while Declan cleans up the blood. “Which means it’s all targeted. It’s all at me.” Because why else would his father want to get at anyone else? This wasn’t Korofi, this wasn’t home. This was Sunjata’s new home, and if there’s one thing he knew about Shaju, is that Sunjata doesn’t ever get to keep the things he likes or he wants.
It’s better to keep the Attuned miserable rather than let him thrive. And unfortunately, Sunjata begins to believe it.
He supposes it’s best he doesn’t know.
So he translates, instead, letting Declan understand what the note says before he draws silent to clean more of the sand up, the ebony feathers that drift around – and if there’s a few navy ones out of his own shoulders from the pure shock and upset this has caused, he pretends he doesn’t notice. And Declan cuts through it – questioning him directly. But he can’t answer, not truthfully, despite how much he wants to. So he beats around the bush with it, chewing on the inside of his cheek more and more until it’s raw.
“I don’t know what’s going on or what to look out for.” That, perhaps, is what makes it worse. He doesn’t know what his father plans on doing. He doesn’t know what the next step is. “I just know that whomever this was knows a lot more about me than most people here.” That’s not entirely a lie. Because his father had known all, and it seemed he’d been here long enough to learn tidbits here as well.
So he finishes putting the sand in that one bucket to set aside, to grab another and sift the rest of the sand for feathers, to drop into a new bucket while Declan cleans up the blood. “Which means it’s all targeted. It’s all at me.” Because why else would his father want to get at anyone else? This wasn’t Korofi, this wasn’t home. This was Sunjata’s new home, and if there’s one thing he knew about Shaju, is that Sunjata doesn’t ever get to keep the things he likes or he wants.
It’s better to keep the Attuned miserable rather than let him thrive. And unfortunately, Sunjata begins to believe it.
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.
