felled in the night by the ones you think you love
they will come for you
The door opens, and Pim is seeking him out, while he stands in the kitchen with a glass that he fills with water. He hadn’t done much while Phoebe was away, maybe tidied a few things here and there, until she returned, having nothing better to do. He hears her chipper voice, glancing to Pim in greeting as he pulls the glass away and goes to stand in the door way to greet whomever this mysterious guest is, a playful smile on his lips as he begins to speak before he rounds the corner. “Ah, I’m glad I cleaned up then.” He announces, eyes flashing from Phoebe to Lusea where he stops short, a hand braced against the door frame.He feels like he’s been punched to the gut, the air leaving his lungs, smile falling, eyes widening in shock. And the glass within his hand drops, falling and shattering to the ground.
And he does nothing about it as he steps over it toward her, forgetting momentarily that Phoebe is there, his eyes are only on Lusea, steel eyes meeting hers, no longer tear stained, no blood, but beneath the coat she wears the clothes are the same. Immediately, he can’t help but to slip into his language. “My gode… Is dit ‘n illusie?” The sound that leaves him is unlike anything Phoebe’s ever heard from him, a mix between breathless and somewhat a sob.
He doesn’t stop until he’s there – hands reaching up to touch Lusea, palms meeting her cheeks and roaming through her dark hair until they reach the back of her neck, as his eyes swim with a million different emotions. “Lusea…?” His accent is the thickest it’s ever been, and he says her name like it's a prayer. He pulls back enough to scan her then, lifting her head to see the scar on her neck, the tear in the shift, and his gut churns further. “My liefde? Jy is lewendig...”
The last time had had seen her, he had been fury and flame and rage. Both pressed against the stone floor, guards holding them both, and he had rampaged against his own to get to her, her last words like a prayer on his tongue. He had pressed and pushed against the guards that, too, held a knife to his throat... But Jata in Korofi had always been more important than someone like Lusea, and it killed him when the blade didn't strike him down too. He had wanted it to, that day, the minute he heard her say the only thing he ever wanted to hear from her. The last thing she'd ever said to him. Before his father slipped that blade along the scar on her throat, and he had watched her die.
Jata has never been one to cry, all rage and fury and flame. But today it changes, as the tears swim in his eyes.
My gode… Is dit ‘n illusie? - my gods... is this an illusion?
My liefde? Jy is lewendig... - my love? You are alive...
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.
