darling, can't you see?
I'm a broken man with addictive tendencies
Well the first barb is understandable, and it makes him realize quickly that he’s not quite out of the woods yet. He’ll be there when she says he is. At her mercy every second, and understandably so. The comment of her father though, gives her some calm – or so he thinks at least, looking to softness of her face that withholds so much fire and flame, sharp barbs and the most beautiful accent of home.
And he wants to run his hands through her hair, to tell her over and over again how sorry he is, for everything – for his stupidity, more than once. But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know what he can and cannot do, and instead he has to do what he promised her. To be his old self, to not make those mistakes. And when she finally says what’s on her mind, it’s flat, and she looks away from him much to his chagrin.
He goes to open his mouth to agree with her, until she finishes it, and he huffs quietly beneath his breath. Alright, so, shifting back to his old self, just for her, he hops up onto the bar, swinging his long legs around until he’s on her side of it, and he hops down to get in her space. Head lowered toward her, he aims to grab her hand and pull her into him. “You know what I miss? I miss bleeding on the table in the bar after that fight I somehow won, and you told me you didn’t trust me.” His head tilts. “And you still stitched me up. And I kept fucking myself up just to see you.” A slight crooked smile crosses his face at this.
“I fucked up, here. I did. But I can’t fix it when you’re not letting me.” Steel eyes search her own dark ochre gaze, a hand raises to run through her dark hair, and he leans his head near her ear, a deep rumble of their native tongue, that similar confidence of back home, the flood, the deluge, with a dusting of noble arrogance. “So let me fix it.”
And he wants to run his hands through her hair, to tell her over and over again how sorry he is, for everything – for his stupidity, more than once. But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know what he can and cannot do, and instead he has to do what he promised her. To be his old self, to not make those mistakes. And when she finally says what’s on her mind, it’s flat, and she looks away from him much to his chagrin.
He goes to open his mouth to agree with her, until she finishes it, and he huffs quietly beneath his breath. Alright, so, shifting back to his old self, just for her, he hops up onto the bar, swinging his long legs around until he’s on her side of it, and he hops down to get in her space. Head lowered toward her, he aims to grab her hand and pull her into him. “You know what I miss? I miss bleeding on the table in the bar after that fight I somehow won, and you told me you didn’t trust me.” His head tilts. “And you still stitched me up. And I kept fucking myself up just to see you.” A slight crooked smile crosses his face at this.
“I fucked up, here. I did. But I can’t fix it when you’re not letting me.” Steel eyes search her own dark ochre gaze, a hand raises to run through her dark hair, and he leans his head near her ear, a deep rumble of their native tongue, that similar confidence of back home, the flood, the deluge, with a dusting of noble arrogance. “So let me fix it.”
and I think I love you
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.
