Where the Wild Things Are

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SUNJATA

He absolutely doesn’t need Phoebe to defend him, but he lets her, a brow quirking at the words that Roana says back. Prove it? And how would he do that unless it came with time? He gives her another charming smile, head tilting down toward her but not in a way that seemed demeaning. Simply person to person, through the height difference. “I will, but you have to let me.” He answers low again, his accent slipping through near the end. But Roana has shifted to speak to Phoebe and Jata has knelt in the grasses to talk with the children. He hears Roana’s announcement and fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I can handle punches.” He tells her, glancing up to her, a brow raised as if to ask if that’s something Phoebe would like to see. But his attention shifts toward the boys now.

The one boy speaks a bit too loud, and Jata nods to him with a light chuckle, a brow raised while he internally cringes. And the next question the children fire at him make his smile falter slightly, and he glances between the three children before looking back at the pale, sick woman he had been spending so much time with. He bounces back as he turns to look at the kids again with a reignited smile, even while internally his stomach dances with uncomfort. “I am.” He tells them, because it’s the easiest way to explain it at their age. And then for shots and giggles he looks up to Roana with a smirk before regarding the children again. “You boys can call me Oom.” Relishing the small tidbit of information of his language, wondering if the children would ask further on it.

“I think that Auntie Phoebe might be able to watch Rhett’s glasses if you all want to play?” He suggests, a small confident hint of a smirk on his lips.

you were forged in fire

& you rose from the ashes

murder and mercy rolled into one