// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //
He doesn’t agree with her there. Because Ronin was still his friend, he thinks, even if the thought of embracing his friend again felt like a trap. Remi, on the other hand, he doesn’t know if he could ever look at him again. A shame, because Nate and the Ludo demi were friends too. How long until Nate came home and Sunjata shattered that too? “They were my friends.” He whispers to her, as if afraid of letting his fears out, having no need to keep them tucked in, not around her, but it still remains.
“They… Well. I told Remi I had been here only. He didn’t believe me. Told him the only marks on me were my face, none from an attack. He didn’t… well.” Here he shakes his head, drawing into himself and drawing on the cigarette until it’s gone and he stamps it out in the ashtray, gritting his teeth. “It was a dream but I hadn’t known it at the time. I was killed in the dream.” He nearly whispers, unable to keep his hand from lifting to his throat. Killed, under the idea that magic remained under his skin that he might heal himself. But he doesn’t. Just water. Just lightning. A storm.
He pulls himself out of it when she asks who had done it, and his gaze is just as empty, just as dark, as he casts a fleeting glance to her face before he looks out over the balcony’s edge. “My father.” It was the only thing that made sense to him and even he couldn’t describe it in an unflinchingly proven way.
“They… Well. I told Remi I had been here only. He didn’t believe me. Told him the only marks on me were my face, none from an attack. He didn’t… well.” Here he shakes his head, drawing into himself and drawing on the cigarette until it’s gone and he stamps it out in the ashtray, gritting his teeth. “It was a dream but I hadn’t known it at the time. I was killed in the dream.” He nearly whispers, unable to keep his hand from lifting to his throat. Killed, under the idea that magic remained under his skin that he might heal himself. But he doesn’t. Just water. Just lightning. A storm.
He pulls himself out of it when she asks who had done it, and his gaze is just as empty, just as dark, as he casts a fleeting glance to her face before he looks out over the balcony’s edge. “My father.” It was the only thing that made sense to him and even he couldn’t describe it in an unflinchingly proven way.
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.
