We're riding 'round this carousel, getting dizzy 'til we're sick
Sunjata’s a king at pushing people away from getting too close to him. They differ in the way that she’s more of the type to believe in the whole it’s better to love and lose than to never love at all, because from where Sunjata stands in the shadows and broken pieces he’s carefully glued together, he selfishly wishes he’d chosen solitude, if only to keep the pain away.
It would be easier to have no attachments, flitting from bed to bed, body to body, indulging on selfish whims rather than whatever this was.
He reaches for her, though, his hand covering her own and tightening the second he notices he’s taken her by surprise and his brows pinch, a soft little sorry that starts to sprout on his lips when she cuts him off to speak, sliding her own mask into place that he knows all too well, too. “I’d like that.” He agrees in all his usual Korofian formality, before he lets her hand go to move in the sand, to no longer sit across from her, but moving to sidle closer to her, his body heat reverberating as much warmth as the fire from this distance, turning toward her more fully.
He scans her for a moment, before he reaches up again boldly, a tentative touch to run his fingertips along her temple. “If I don’t get to wear mine, you don’t get to wear yours.” It’s a repeat of their earlier conversation, a mirror image of her hand on his face, the chastising of his own familiar mask and he hopes its light enough of a shift to help give her a light to drag herself out of his shadows. And if it isn't, then maybe the following comment will help when he flashes her his traditional roguish, lopsided smile. "Or I'm going to need another drink."
It would be easier to have no attachments, flitting from bed to bed, body to body, indulging on selfish whims rather than whatever this was.
He reaches for her, though, his hand covering her own and tightening the second he notices he’s taken her by surprise and his brows pinch, a soft little sorry that starts to sprout on his lips when she cuts him off to speak, sliding her own mask into place that he knows all too well, too. “I’d like that.” He agrees in all his usual Korofian formality, before he lets her hand go to move in the sand, to no longer sit across from her, but moving to sidle closer to her, his body heat reverberating as much warmth as the fire from this distance, turning toward her more fully.
He scans her for a moment, before he reaches up again boldly, a tentative touch to run his fingertips along her temple. “If I don’t get to wear mine, you don’t get to wear yours.” It’s a repeat of their earlier conversation, a mirror image of her hand on his face, the chastising of his own familiar mask and he hopes its light enough of a shift to help give her a light to drag herself out of his shadows. And if it isn't, then maybe the following comment will help when he flashes her his traditional roguish, lopsided smile. "Or I'm going to need another drink."
the flood
Love is like a circle, there's no easy way to end
totally sniped from odd ilu
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.
