right by the entrance you broke, finally reality's taking its hold
“I know.” He repeats her own words, a sigh leaving him in a cloud of pale hues, working his jaw as he nods as if to confirm it. “I never meant to hurt you.” It wasn’t his intention – it was the only thing he could do in order to try and give Nate a fighting chance if the war moved in the Old Gods favor, which it was likely to do it seemed. But she knew that, she had chastised him for trying to fix Nate when all Sunjata wanted to do was never lose him.
All the grief continues to pile on, though, and Sunjata feels the cold fingertips as she places them at his elbow, his gaze immediately snapping to her just as she wished. She tells him it wasn’t his fault and he wants so desperately to believe her, but he simply doesn’t. He could have told Haai to leave. He could have gotten her out.
And he didn’t.
Her hand withdraws and Sunjata shuffles the flowers he’d picked into the pocket on the front of his shirt, shuffling out of the warm fur lined jacket he wears, revealing more of the same scars briefly before he’s replacing skin with the fur of his nyala shift to keep him warm as he offers the jacket to her. “At least wear this until we part again?” Because even if things couldn’t be forgiven between them, he certainly didn’t want her to harm herself with frostbite or sickness.
It’s been his regular jacket for a while now, lined with the scent of smoke and whiskey, the underlying scent of sea and sandalwood that defined him most days. And if nothing else, it would sit on her like a trench coat and hopefully keep her warm.
All the grief continues to pile on, though, and Sunjata feels the cold fingertips as she places them at his elbow, his gaze immediately snapping to her just as she wished. She tells him it wasn’t his fault and he wants so desperately to believe her, but he simply doesn’t. He could have told Haai to leave. He could have gotten her out.
And he didn’t.
Her hand withdraws and Sunjata shuffles the flowers he’d picked into the pocket on the front of his shirt, shuffling out of the warm fur lined jacket he wears, revealing more of the same scars briefly before he’s replacing skin with the fur of his nyala shift to keep him warm as he offers the jacket to her. “At least wear this until we part again?” Because even if things couldn’t be forgiven between them, he certainly didn’t want her to harm herself with frostbite or sickness.
It’s been his regular jacket for a while now, lined with the scent of smoke and whiskey, the underlying scent of sea and sandalwood that defined him most days. And if nothing else, it would sit on her like a trench coat and hopefully keep her warm.
you're not who you were, but you can't let it go
you're not where you're from, but you're always alone
you're not where you're from, but you're always alone
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.
