// the edge is getting closer, it's a long spiral down. it's so fun to fly 'til you hit the ground
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //
i think i'm getting too close, i think i'm getting too close //
He should have guessed, should have known that’s the reason Ronin would come. As for sorting it out, Sunjata stills when Ronin refuses to let him go, his gaze shuddering, an apology on the wind that only barely has a few seconds to register before he’s… Thrown, with magic that feels so familiar, a momentary remembrance of the shadows of the Climb Fever. It charges through him, his body growing limp in Ronin’s arms, a sharp shooting pain that spirals through every nerve in his body. And he cries out from it, heaving breaths as he sags further into Ronin’s arms, eyes opening just enough to spy the animalistic sharpness of Remi’s appearance.
And Sunjata, with all those shifts in him, the mix edged toward predatory, knows when to give in. Feathers flit through his shoulders, melding with the thick fur of the nyala, his prey shifts overtaking his skin, some internal line of his attunedness offering his submissive forms to the Lullaby. “It wasn’t me.” He protests, weakly, gritting against the nausea that speaking causes. “Ask… Ask Zeph about Kane. He’s…” He grits his teeth again, squeezing his eyes shut as it rolls through him again. “Same accent. Same place. Korofi.” He manages with his thundering heart, swallowing again and again as he attempts to recover.
The idea of telling them that this strange man nobody had seen nor heard from unless appropriately timed was his father didn’t seem to help his case any. “It wasn’t me, Remi. It wasn’t me.” This is said so weakly, that dread and terror turning to ice in his veins.
And Sunjata, with all those shifts in him, the mix edged toward predatory, knows when to give in. Feathers flit through his shoulders, melding with the thick fur of the nyala, his prey shifts overtaking his skin, some internal line of his attunedness offering his submissive forms to the Lullaby. “It wasn’t me.” He protests, weakly, gritting against the nausea that speaking causes. “Ask… Ask Zeph about Kane. He’s…” He grits his teeth again, squeezing his eyes shut as it rolls through him again. “Same accent. Same place. Korofi.” He manages with his thundering heart, swallowing again and again as he attempts to recover.
The idea of telling them that this strange man nobody had seen nor heard from unless appropriately timed was his father didn’t seem to help his case any. “It wasn’t me, Remi. It wasn’t me.” This is said so weakly, that dread and terror turning to ice in his veins.
it's hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands
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.
