He says, "Oh, baby girl, don't get cut on my edges.
i'm the king of everything
He had one single rose left back at the home, and with Lusea’s uncanny ability of learning how to adapt in new places, he wasn’t too worried about her whereabouts. He knows if she’s not there, he’ll see her soon, and well… There were some explanations he had to give. He obviously looks worse for wear, for having spent most of his life preferring to be clean unless he was covered with the smoke of a burning building or bloody knuckles. This was different, this was an exhausted tired paired with the wounds that only had halfway healed, and gods was he pissed about it.
Remi didn’t tell him what it meant, but he had been with Phoebe long enough to know, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. He knows what it means, despite how much he tries to deny it. And he's drowning in the feeling, of the uncertainty, of seeing the midwife like that and knowing it could be him sometime in the future. A wild animal, caged, uncontrollable.
Perhaps it happened with the explosion? Perhaps it happened from the recent brawl (did it even move that fast?) He doesn’t know. But he’s annoyed, frustrated, and he can already hear Lusea calling him an idiot in the back of his mind.
He is an idiot.
But he had only done what he usually did, involve himself too fast and too quick, into things that didn’t matter to him in the long run. That is why he is the flood. Pushing the boundaries of where he’s supposed to be, slipping and spilling over the edges when raised. And he was certainly that.
He reaches the door to the home, slipping in and shrugging off the furs, his gunmetal gaze searching for Lusea, but he doesn’t see her at first. Instead, he makes his way to the mirror, sliding off the shirt to officially view the damage. A hand lingers by the wound to his jaw, half healed, and he grits his teeth against it as his hand trails to his neck, a small spiderwebbing of black from that particular wound.
All in all, the man knows one thing intimately well. He is fucked.
Remi didn’t tell him what it meant, but he had been with Phoebe long enough to know, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. He knows what it means, despite how much he tries to deny it. And he's drowning in the feeling, of the uncertainty, of seeing the midwife like that and knowing it could be him sometime in the future. A wild animal, caged, uncontrollable.
Perhaps it happened with the explosion? Perhaps it happened from the recent brawl (did it even move that fast?) He doesn’t know. But he’s annoyed, frustrated, and he can already hear Lusea calling him an idiot in the back of his mind.
He is an idiot.
But he had only done what he usually did, involve himself too fast and too quick, into things that didn’t matter to him in the long run. That is why he is the flood. Pushing the boundaries of where he’s supposed to be, slipping and spilling over the edges when raised. And he was certainly that.
He reaches the door to the home, slipping in and shrugging off the furs, his gunmetal gaze searching for Lusea, but he doesn’t see her at first. Instead, he makes his way to the mirror, sliding off the shirt to officially view the damage. A hand lingers by the wound to his jaw, half healed, and he grits his teeth against it as his hand trails to his neck, a small spiderwebbing of black from that particular wound.
All in all, the man knows one thing intimately well. He is fucked.
and oh, my tongue is a weapon"
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.
