SUNJATA
the flood
i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
Years before, Sunjata had done nearly everything he could to get out of the Grounds. The Oasis, so small in comparison to the ocean he’d loved so deeply, was still a space he considered to be as close to home as he could feasibly get. The Voice had been right, he’d painted a target on his back so easily that he can still feel the paint dripping down his skin if he focused on it too hard. It’s what keeps him here, in the Grounds or the Wilds, away from Torchline in particular.
At least the wind that whistles through the reeds that bring a chill to his exposed skin comforts him, draws him out of his head – out of memories of getting married here once, of those he’d taught to swim, of the shrine nearby here that had simultaneously been the first time he’d met Frey while also being the very same that had gotten him twined around Safrin far too close.
If he thinks about it too hard he can still feel where Frey had burned her out of him.
The wind picks up a piece of paper and he comes back into the moment to reach out to snatch it from the air, placing a rock along the shore atop them to keep it from drifting away from him again – his tired steel gaze looking down to the pieces he’d brought to make a frame. Originally, he wasn’t going to make one, but he isn’t sure he can get the other gift prepared in time for when Nate wakes from his deep slumber.
Maybe it’s a little bit fucked up, but he has brought all these crafting items to craft his husband a lantern, hoping that somewhere within him that he might find it amusing once he wakes.
He begins to work on the frame, a deep dark metal that he warps into a sharp edged frame, partially shifted again to let his dragon wings out as the sun hides behind clouds for the umpteenth time now, blocking the wind from taking anything else from his little crafting spot he might have to try and chase down.
At least the wind that whistles through the reeds that bring a chill to his exposed skin comforts him, draws him out of his head – out of memories of getting married here once, of those he’d taught to swim, of the shrine nearby here that had simultaneously been the first time he’d met Frey while also being the very same that had gotten him twined around Safrin far too close.
If he thinks about it too hard he can still feel where Frey had burned her out of him.
The wind picks up a piece of paper and he comes back into the moment to reach out to snatch it from the air, placing a rock along the shore atop them to keep it from drifting away from him again – his tired steel gaze looking down to the pieces he’d brought to make a frame. Originally, he wasn’t going to make one, but he isn’t sure he can get the other gift prepared in time for when Nate wakes from his deep slumber.
Maybe it’s a little bit fucked up, but he has brought all these crafting items to craft his husband a lantern, hoping that somewhere within him that he might find it amusing once he wakes.
He begins to work on the frame, a deep dark metal that he warps into a sharp edged frame, partially shifted again to let his dragon wings out as the sun hides behind clouds for the umpteenth time now, blocking the wind from taking anything else from his little crafting spot he might have to try and chase down.
you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
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.
