SUNJATA
She asks what he did in that instance, and those steel eyes snap to hers. Perhaps it was an innocent question of curiosity , or perhaps she genuinely wanted to know. And he hadn’t exactly told anyone of the personal challenge, the battle for the right, where it would have ended the minute Jata brought him to his knees. But he couldn’t stop there, couldn’t stop as the vultures knees hit the ground with a hard thud, blood trailing down his face as well as the same from the crooked nose of the man. And he sighs inwardly at the memory, dragging his eyes from her as if he’s uncertain to tell her how far it had gotten.
He thought he had killed him, but he hadn’t. Not if Melita here was proof.
And so he gnaws on his lip gingerly for a moment while he collects his thoughts. “Well, I challenged him.” He tells her in the easiest way he can. “And we fought until we were covered in blood both our own and the other’s, until he passed out.” His eyes drift back toward her. “And I took my sister and ran. We made it quite a ways and for a time before I suddenly appeared here.” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, as if it hadn’t been a big deal — when it had literally been everything.
But she asks if there was anything good about him, and for a moment he wants to laugh and tell her no; that her father was just as much of a piece of shit with no redeeming qualities as he led her on to believe. But he can’t do that, and he tilts his head as he regards her. “He was incredibly charismatic.” He tells her with a slightly raised brow. “And I think if things had been a bit different in his life he could have been a good man.” The last bit is as honest as Sunjata can get. Because nobody from Korofi had been decent, they had all been trying to survive — ruthless, vengeful, filled with venom, looking for any kind of outlet.
But his next statement of learning the language has a smile crossing over his face, and he splashes the water near him to bid her to get closer if she wanted before he thinks about it. “Fok jou means fuck you.” He begins with a quiet chuckle. “Stukkie kak Vader is piece of shit father.” He sends a wink her way. “Hoer is whore.” He raises a brow as if to ask if she had anything else that came to mind she wanted to know.
He thought he had killed him, but he hadn’t. Not if Melita here was proof.
And so he gnaws on his lip gingerly for a moment while he collects his thoughts. “Well, I challenged him.” He tells her in the easiest way he can. “And we fought until we were covered in blood both our own and the other’s, until he passed out.” His eyes drift back toward her. “And I took my sister and ran. We made it quite a ways and for a time before I suddenly appeared here.” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, as if it hadn’t been a big deal — when it had literally been everything.
But she asks if there was anything good about him, and for a moment he wants to laugh and tell her no; that her father was just as much of a piece of shit with no redeeming qualities as he led her on to believe. But he can’t do that, and he tilts his head as he regards her. “He was incredibly charismatic.” He tells her with a slightly raised brow. “And I think if things had been a bit different in his life he could have been a good man.” The last bit is as honest as Sunjata can get. Because nobody from Korofi had been decent, they had all been trying to survive — ruthless, vengeful, filled with venom, looking for any kind of outlet.
But his next statement of learning the language has a smile crossing over his face, and he splashes the water near him to bid her to get closer if she wanted before he thinks about it. “Fok jou means fuck you.” He begins with a quiet chuckle. “Stukkie kak Vader is piece of shit father.” He sends a wink her way. “Hoer is whore.” He raises a brow as if to ask if she had anything else that came to mind she wanted to know.
the deeper you dig, the darker it gets
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.
