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 wants to withdraw completely, despite his refrain. He has to be in the moment, cleaning up the boxing ring, fixing the mess his father has left him with, horrified that the handwriting on the paper is so similar to his own that he wonders if someone would think that he did it. Luckily, however, Declan was here to bear witness to Sunjata’s quiet rolling horror, his sorrow evident in the way he aimed to remove the boy from the wall.
His thoughts are irrational right now, a game of tennis in his head that bounds him to and fro, sometimes out of bounds, sometimes hitting a net – that he doesn’t notice when his words begin to send Declan into his own quiet spiral, his own quiet rage. Silent tension has overcome them while they work, and Sunjata’s only brought out of his thoughts to hear that he knows who it is. “I have ideas who it could be.” But again, no actual face to be able to scout for. He doesn’t even know where his father resides in order to try and enact any justice for this horror.
So Sunjata continues to silently work, as Declan airs out his fears on a plate right before him – Sunjata’s thoughts growing darker, his mind spiraling more internally, withdrawing himself so much that when the wet slap of the rag hits the ground it makes him flinch. He recovers quickly, as if it hadn’t happened, simply continuing to sift the feathers out of the sand in silence as he mulls his thoughts together, as he swallows against the tightness of his throat, as he tries to keep himself from breaking apart here and now.
That’s for later, after all.
“There is no place to start.” His voice has shifted again toward sounding a bit more regal, that Korofi switch within him flipping again. “All I have is this. No trail to follow. He wasn’t killed here, but there’s only four people who have a key here.” He informs the courier in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “None of them would do this.” Not if they could help it. “Which leaves it up to chance, if someone saw something. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. I don’t know yet.”
His thoughts are irrational right now, a game of tennis in his head that bounds him to and fro, sometimes out of bounds, sometimes hitting a net – that he doesn’t notice when his words begin to send Declan into his own quiet spiral, his own quiet rage. Silent tension has overcome them while they work, and Sunjata’s only brought out of his thoughts to hear that he knows who it is. “I have ideas who it could be.” But again, no actual face to be able to scout for. He doesn’t even know where his father resides in order to try and enact any justice for this horror.
So Sunjata continues to silently work, as Declan airs out his fears on a plate right before him – Sunjata’s thoughts growing darker, his mind spiraling more internally, withdrawing himself so much that when the wet slap of the rag hits the ground it makes him flinch. He recovers quickly, as if it hadn’t happened, simply continuing to sift the feathers out of the sand in silence as he mulls his thoughts together, as he swallows against the tightness of his throat, as he tries to keep himself from breaking apart here and now.
That’s for later, after all.
“There is no place to start.” His voice has shifted again toward sounding a bit more regal, that Korofi switch within him flipping again. “All I have is this. No trail to follow. He wasn’t killed here, but there’s only four people who have a key here.” He informs the courier in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “None of them would do this.” Not if they could help it. “Which leaves it up to chance, if someone saw something. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. I don’t know yet.”
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.
