they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes
he's a demon, with a crown of blood
It’s a slow realization, but it comes to him quickly as she begins to move away from him. A hand reaches for his face, for the throbbing headache that’s begun in his temple. And he doesn’t know, for the moment, what to do. The realization sets in, quietly, a stone that becomes a boulder as he focuses on her retreating form, taking her words as they are. Hah, as if he didn’t already realize his options. But he doesn’t think she thinks he’ll tell Lusea. He thinks that he’ll try to keep it a secret — but there’s one thing about the girl from Korofi, and that’s nothing gets past her.
And so he nods, quietly, to no one in particular, calming his breath as he cleans up in the bathroom, redressing in just a shirt, mostly sleeveless and his pants, the sweat and heat of his body too much in addition to the frustration at himself and lack of his own control. He doesn’t see her when he re-emerges, but he can’t leave yet. A hand runs through his hair to try and give it some form of semblance of normalcy, as he reaches into a jacket pocket for a cigarette and his matches, drifting out the door onto the porch.
The chill welcomes him, and goosebumps rise up tattooed arms as he leans against the awning, lighting up and taking a drag before rubbing at his face with his other hand again, his figure easily seen through the window. The light part of him hopes she comes out to find him, hopes she doesn’t simply leave him be after that, despite her cold words. But he doesn’t know.
And so he nods, quietly, to no one in particular, calming his breath as he cleans up in the bathroom, redressing in just a shirt, mostly sleeveless and his pants, the sweat and heat of his body too much in addition to the frustration at himself and lack of his own control. He doesn’t see her when he re-emerges, but he can’t leave yet. A hand runs through his hair to try and give it some form of semblance of normalcy, as he reaches into a jacket pocket for a cigarette and his matches, drifting out the door onto the porch.
The chill welcomes him, and goosebumps rise up tattooed arms as he leans against the awning, lighting up and taking a drag before rubbing at his face with his other hand again, his figure easily seen through the window. The light part of him hopes she comes out to find him, hopes she doesn’t simply leave him be after that, despite her cold words. But he doesn’t know.
does it look like he's still under your control?
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.
