i am the man we both couldn't stand, i can't wash the dirt from my hands
what was it like to feel in love?
He shakes, trembles, arms braced against his face as if he rubs at it hard enough, the sounds will leave his mind – will leave him all together. And it’s almost like she realizes it, that she can do that, and he so desperately wants to ask if she has magic. A laughable thing in Korofi, but here – here anything is possible, and unfortunately for him it was one of the worst ways to find out about it. So all he can do is grit his teeth until his jaw aches, while she remains where he’s left her – a whisper of sound reaching him from her accented voice, thicker than his own accent.
And he runs a hand through his hair, brushing by the blood on his cheek, drawing his knees up to his chest. It feels almost like they had been on the rooftops after one of their more successful storming of an ammunitions warehouse. Exhausted, covered in smoke and blood, but they had been together then – in love, shaking and trembling from adrenaline, broken by those they had lost, and glued back together with the promise of something better.
Where was his promise now?
The sounds still echo in his mind, and he inhales a sharp, cold, shattering breath as he finally forces himself to swallow down the blight, looking sidelong at her. She grips her hands into the snow, and he wonders how much he had broken her when he claimed he didn’t care. And how much he does care about it, how stupid he had been, blighted and drunk, or not. But her claim next, ignites that flame within him, and he knows he has no bargaining power, but gods he doesn’t know what he’d do.
“You are mine.” He tells her, the blight winning in the end. His voice, rough and sharp, like home. Only there, he hadn’t dared to let his gaze linger too long in a direction without her in it. He’d never felt the need to. “And it’s over, with her and I.” He adds for good measure, hoping somewhere within him he can keep the promise. He manages to pull his hands from his face long enough to feel the tremble in his hands from the blight as it weighs over his mind, clouding the rationality of the demands and statements he’s making, the loose lips.
“She wants me to choose her, but I chose you. As I always should have.” His voice is rough, exhausted, emotional. It hasn’t been this emotional since the night he murdered those boys in the pit they had thrown him in, nearly a decade ago. He wonders if she notices. “I will fix this.” A silent, quiet vow. He doesn’t know how, but he will. “And if I don’t then you can kill me, how’s that? Move on with your second life?” His lips form a tight line, opening the cut on his lip again and letting the inky blood flow free again, though he doesn’t pretend to mind. “Go and do what I’ve done to you.” Because in a way, he had been the one to kill her, too, in the end.
"And maybe, I'll come back too, seconds after but years for you, and see how much you've changed." A clatter of his teeth with this, but honestly? Fuck the blight. Fuck all of this. He has her back, and he's quite possibly been the most reckless he's ever been.
And he runs a hand through his hair, brushing by the blood on his cheek, drawing his knees up to his chest. It feels almost like they had been on the rooftops after one of their more successful storming of an ammunitions warehouse. Exhausted, covered in smoke and blood, but they had been together then – in love, shaking and trembling from adrenaline, broken by those they had lost, and glued back together with the promise of something better.
Where was his promise now?
The sounds still echo in his mind, and he inhales a sharp, cold, shattering breath as he finally forces himself to swallow down the blight, looking sidelong at her. She grips her hands into the snow, and he wonders how much he had broken her when he claimed he didn’t care. And how much he does care about it, how stupid he had been, blighted and drunk, or not. But her claim next, ignites that flame within him, and he knows he has no bargaining power, but gods he doesn’t know what he’d do.
“You are mine.” He tells her, the blight winning in the end. His voice, rough and sharp, like home. Only there, he hadn’t dared to let his gaze linger too long in a direction without her in it. He’d never felt the need to. “And it’s over, with her and I.” He adds for good measure, hoping somewhere within him he can keep the promise. He manages to pull his hands from his face long enough to feel the tremble in his hands from the blight as it weighs over his mind, clouding the rationality of the demands and statements he’s making, the loose lips.
“She wants me to choose her, but I chose you. As I always should have.” His voice is rough, exhausted, emotional. It hasn’t been this emotional since the night he murdered those boys in the pit they had thrown him in, nearly a decade ago. He wonders if she notices. “I will fix this.” A silent, quiet vow. He doesn’t know how, but he will. “And if I don’t then you can kill me, how’s that? Move on with your second life?” His lips form a tight line, opening the cut on his lip again and letting the inky blood flow free again, though he doesn’t pretend to mind. “Go and do what I’ve done to you.” Because in a way, he had been the one to kill her, too, in the end.
"And maybe, I'll come back too, seconds after but years for you, and see how much you've changed." A clatter of his teeth with this, but honestly? Fuck the blight. Fuck all of this. He has her back, and he's quite possibly been the most reckless he's ever been.
i can't scrub the black from my lungs
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.
