right by the entrance you broke, finally reality's taking its hold
If only there weren’t the crosshairs of everything lain between them, that this wouldn’t have to be goodbye. But they both know that it is, unless it’s in passing, unless fate has a way of placing them in a right place right time scenario again. But it’s one that doesn’t have him chasing after her, not like he had before. Nor does it have her, chasing after him, not like she had before. No, for now? It’s exactly this, a shaky, too much and yet too little goodbye that leaves Sunjata shadowed more than he lets on.
It’s visible in the way he clenches his jaw, the way his blink is stuttered when her hand brushes along the back of his knuckles, in the ghostly way that if only things hadn’t gotten so out of hand. A memory. His cheeks flush with the way she leans into his touch ever so gently, catlike in its way of seeking out attention on her terms, and while he knows her, he knows he also doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know if it’s a ruse to tug at his heartstrings, another way for her to get back at him in a more mental capacity. He hopes it isn’t, hopes that what’s in the past stays in the past, and that they might be able to move on from the tragedy brought upon them.
Sunjata, however, was always the root of that. He can’t even say he’s surprised, because he knows. They both know. And it is what it is, when the sting of tears hits her eyes and he could assume that it’s only the cold (he knows better), and the way he swallows hard through a flushed face that’s certainly because his body hasn’t acclimated to snow just yet and not because of any other reason.
He takes a deep breath, chest expanding and shoulders loosening a fraction from their statuesque tightness that has him nodding to her thank you – unsure if it’s for the jacket that’ll still smell like him when she brings it home, that’ll smell like sandalwood and tobacco, the edge of vanilla chased underneath it muted by the bark of what smells like the burnt wood of a campfire.
Perhaps it’d be soothing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be.
“I intend to.” He reassures her, the Flood slipping into that tinge of Korofi nobility in a slang to his tone and the words he picks (another mask that she’s aware of that he can’t hide from her, but it’s all he has now). And he takes another deep, slow breath, watching as she steps away and the connection there is severed and he finally has a chance to blink and reorient himself.
He watches her disappear a few moments longer before he turns away, ensuring the flowers are tucked in, before the Flood shifts to his dragon shift and takes to the sky – heading home as a black speck among a white sky.
- FIN <333
It’s visible in the way he clenches his jaw, the way his blink is stuttered when her hand brushes along the back of his knuckles, in the ghostly way that if only things hadn’t gotten so out of hand. A memory. His cheeks flush with the way she leans into his touch ever so gently, catlike in its way of seeking out attention on her terms, and while he knows her, he knows he also doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know if it’s a ruse to tug at his heartstrings, another way for her to get back at him in a more mental capacity. He hopes it isn’t, hopes that what’s in the past stays in the past, and that they might be able to move on from the tragedy brought upon them.
Sunjata, however, was always the root of that. He can’t even say he’s surprised, because he knows. They both know. And it is what it is, when the sting of tears hits her eyes and he could assume that it’s only the cold (he knows better), and the way he swallows hard through a flushed face that’s certainly because his body hasn’t acclimated to snow just yet and not because of any other reason.
He takes a deep breath, chest expanding and shoulders loosening a fraction from their statuesque tightness that has him nodding to her thank you – unsure if it’s for the jacket that’ll still smell like him when she brings it home, that’ll smell like sandalwood and tobacco, the edge of vanilla chased underneath it muted by the bark of what smells like the burnt wood of a campfire.
Perhaps it’d be soothing. Perhaps it wouldn’t be.
“I intend to.” He reassures her, the Flood slipping into that tinge of Korofi nobility in a slang to his tone and the words he picks (another mask that she’s aware of that he can’t hide from her, but it’s all he has now). And he takes another deep, slow breath, watching as she steps away and the connection there is severed and he finally has a chance to blink and reorient himself.
He watches her disappear a few moments longer before he turns away, ensuring the flowers are tucked in, before the Flood shifts to his dragon shift and takes to the sky – heading home as a black speck among a white sky.
- FIN <333
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.
