drink with me to days gone by
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#1
OLIVER
LongNight was shit.

Oliver officially decided it. He had tried to be optimistic before, looking at it as an opportunity to find things for him to do, make new friends, or literally ANYTHING! He really should've listened to Loren before. As much as he had prepared by reading, nothing could've prepared him for how emotionally taxing everything was.

He thought he was making good decisions, that things were going well. Then he saw Bastien injured. When he had almost killed the man by being stubborn and refusing to allow the man in. If Ezra hadn't done anything, Oliver would've been the sole reason why the man had died. To imagine he was once invited to join his guild and now he's guilty for almost killing him. Not to mention what it felt like to be stuck inside for hours and days without ever seeing sunlight. Knowing that killer monsters were outdoors and how anyone could die.

So many thoughts and emotions coursed through him. Guilt, stressed, pent up emotion, loneliness. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be outside with the sun beating down on him. Oliver would take snow above any of this.

Pacing didn't seem to help and nobody was here to talk to him. So that really left him with only one option. After grabbing one of the biggest bottles of alcohol he could find, Oliver then took a solid thirty minutes just to find a very quiet and secluded corner. Settling himself down on the cold ground, he leaned his back into the corner and uncorked the bottle before taking a swig. The taste was bitter, causing him to shudder, but then again he was going to take anything that'd make him feel numb.
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#2
SuNjATA
the flood
It is immensely emotionally taxing. And Sunjata can feel it too as he grabs yet another drink, wondering if he can get himself drunk enough to forget about it all at least until the next shift he’s been given. As he grabs the glass, he glances around the Rathskeller, gaze drifting toward those along the tables and seats, to those settling along the walls, to the corners. Then, finding nothing of interest, he moves up tot he main Temple and does the same. He spots Oliver in one of these corners, having forgotten to tell the other man that he in fact had gotten stuck in the Temple after all.

And recruited? Sort of?

Either way, he makes his way over toward the blonde man, eyeing the bottle of alcohol with a nod while he holds his own glass. “Hey, so, turns out I’m in the Temple after all, huh?” He says by way of greeting, perhaps quite a bit drunk already – enough that he’s too warm to wear his jackets, and instead simply wears a short sleeve shirt as he sinks down beside Oliver, head shifting over toward him with his glass raised in an almost mock toast of what they’re experiencing.

Perhaps how much they hate LongNight.
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#3
OLIVER
The look in Oliver's eyes when he heard the familiar voice of Sunjata was priceless. It was a mixture of anger and happiness. The blonde was overjoyed that he could see his friend again, but extremely upset that Sunjata had waited until that fucking moment to tell him. Not once did Sunjata consider to come to him. Maybe he could've come when they first arrived or maybe he could have been there when Bastien came in all bloody and actually make sure that he didn't fucking die!

Taking a deep breath, Oliver tried to remember that maybe Sunjata was busy. Maybe he was spending time with his girlfriend or had more important friends. Also, Sunjata had mentioned trying to avoid someone, so for all Oliver knew he could've been hiding in a broom closet the entire time.

Still, even with those thoughts, Oliver couldn't shake the upset look on his face, nor the thoughts running through his head. He felt like shit. He was a piece of shit. He also wasn't in the mood for any toasting. What was he supposed to toast? Almost murdering someone?

"I'm glad you're here." His voice was quiet, and unlike his normal self around Jata, lacked any real enthusiasm or happiness. Taking a swig from the bottle, he set it down next to him opposite of Sunjata.

What was he going to say next. Just go oh yeah I almost killed someone. "How much longer do we have?" Even when LongNight ended, he'd still be guilty of almost killing Bastien.

Maybe he could distract himself by Sunjata telling him happy stories. "Anything good happen to you since we last spoke? Anything new?"
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#4
SuNjATA
the flood
He’s been able to hold his alcohol fairly well so far, but as this amount hits, his head grows quite a bit fuzzy, and he leans it back against the cold wall. At Ollie’s comment, he nods, shrugging lightly. He doesn’t notice the quiet amount to his voice, doesn’t notice that it’s much different at all. Likely due to the alcohol, the stress, the frustration of everything involved with Longnight. So he downs the rest of his glass when Oliver asks how much longer they have, and he sets the glass down along the floor, running a hand through his hair before he looks over to the other man.

I don’t know, at least another week or so I think.” He shrugs, uncertain of how long it’s been. After all, with keeping things barricaded and no sun to rise, who knew how much longer it would be, how long they had been there? He faces Oliver then, noticing the sadness that seems to waft off of the younger man, and Sunjata’s head tilts, face flushed red from the alcohol. “Anything good?” He asks, looking away to rub at his cheek as he thinks on it.

Uh, nothing really. Came across Phoebe in the Atheneum and that went okay. Got forced here for this, which Lusea loved for some fucking reason. Thinks of it like a challenge for me.” He snorts and shakes his head. But gods she at least made him some pretty great mixed drinks. “Almost opened the door for a fucking monster, so. You know. Been good, been great.” He huffs, shaking his head.

He’s not in a good mood, unfortunately.
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#5
OLIVER
Of course Sunjata had no idea how much longer they had. His response was short and simple, not something that Oliver wanted. He had hoped that Sunjata would be a distraction. Be the friend that he had grown to love be attached to. Every time he was around him he felt safe, comfortable. Like everything would simply be alright.

Luckily, the next response started out like he wanted. Sunjata seemed to be in a slightly talkative mood, explaining his experiences with seeing Phoebe again. Phoebe was a nice person and Oliver truly hoped that she and Jata would be able to work things out. Both proved to be incredible people and Oliver wanted to have both relationships grow. There was also more about Lusea, someone he had yet to meet. He wanted to meet her eventually, to see who this original love was.

However, things weren't going to be so great. Sunjata started to share too much. More than Oliver could've ever wanted.

At the mention of almost opening the door to a monster, he felt a pit in his stomach. His entire body felt like it was burning up hot and he was incredibly restless. It was far more than the alcohol talking. He felt like he couldn't move, his body was numb. He felt both empty but also like he was about to throw up at any second.

Choking back...vomit? Tears? His own guilt? Oliver tried to speak up, grabbing to clutch onto the alcohol bottle. "I- I'm-" He wanted to say he was happy a monster hadn't gotten in. Ignore the horrible thing he had done, but he couldn't even bring himself to do that. Grabbing onto the bottle, he took a swig before violently coughing. He needed water. Something that didn't burn his throat even more.

His eyes felt like they were stinging and he wanted to sleep. To be knocked out cold so he wouldn't have to deal with all of these emotions. So he wouldn't have to think about what he had done.

Wiping away a tear he hadn't even noticed was there and trying to sniff away the disgusting snot that showed how weak he was, he tried to speak once more. "I...I..." I almost killed someone. I fucked up. I hurt someone.

"I want to throw up....I hate myself Jata. I really fucked up. I'm so bad." His voice cracked as he spoke and varied in pitch, showing him trying to speak normally to avoid showing how much he felt like crying. However, he couldn't stop the redness in his eyes and the tears that had started to form.
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#6
SuNjATA
the flood
Things go pretty well until a choking sound occurs beside him, and Sunjata’s gaze focuses on the blonde man, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to avoid the fuzziness of his mind, of the world that shifts ever so slightly in his peripherals. Dark brows furrow in quiet surprise, watching as Oliver’s eyes well up with tears, and he brushes one away, stuttering over his words, until finally he tells him what’s wrong. That he fucked up, that he’s bad, and a part of Sunjata reflects back to the moment he had felt the same.

A girl, a monarch, a knife to her throat, guttural words in native languages that defied the monarchy until her last breath.

How he had held her when she died, the scar on the side of his neck given to him in his push to be with her. How he had cursed himself every second of every day when he had been forced to leave her there.

He swallows hard, turning to Oliver, seeing some form of semblance in the young man that he once had too. After all, when he had killed someone for the first time, it was when he was seventeen. And he hadn’t left his room for months after because of what it did. He had thought he was terrible too. He still thinks it at times. “What happened?” He asks quietly, surprisingly tenderly though his accented words slur a small amount. He reaches for Oliver, intending to pull him into him, like he had with the younger rebels when they’d taken their first life.

He doesn’t know whether Oliver has or hasn’t, but LongNight reminds him too much of those nights, holed up and uncertain, surrounded and living in danger. He smells of alcohol and cigarettes, of leather and exhaustion, but it’s the best he can do. “Just breathe.

Gods he fucking hates this place.
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#7
OLIVER
Gods was he a mess. The alcohol mixing into his system and his emotions were colliding, causing him to feel even more overwhelmed than normal. The sounds around him go fuzzy, sounding distant as he tries his best to hold back any tears threatening to fall. Of course, he was absolutely failing to do so.

What's worse: he was crying in front of Sunjata. Thankfully, or unthankfully, the alcohol had ripped off any stopper that held in his emotions and secrets. It allowed the thoughts to flow right out of him, turning a man too embarrassed or confident to say his inner troubles, into an open book.

Oliver couldn't find the words to explain what happened. When he tried to speak, nothing of help came out. Just a choked sound and some mumbled words that even he wouldn't be able to decipher. The alcohol wasn't helping at all with Oliver coping with his emotions.

The sudden feeling of Sunjata pulling close was well welcomed. Despite how overheated he felt, the human contact was incredible. However, he still wanted to yank off his sweater, but he'd be fine with this for now. He leaned into the touch, allowing Sunjata to pull him in. If he weren't drunk, maybe he would've felt more embarrassed. Ashamed that a twenty-one year old were crying on the ground like an infant. Showing how weak he was. How horrible of a person Oliver had become.

Trying to take a few deep breaths, the first were rapid. Not at all long or helpful. Oliver tried as much as he could to take deep breaths, but the crying, alcohol, and now hiccups weren't exactly helping.

Oliver's voice came out as a forced whisper. Like he was trying hard to speak quietly, but it was obviously hard due to the crying. It sounded pained, like his throat was scratching. Not to mention how miserable he sounded, how weak and ashamed he was. "I-I told them to not let him in. I kept asking questions like a fucking idiot." His speech was slurred and slow, with tons of breathing and sniffles in between, and in the middle of, words.

The next bit was a jumble of thoughts. Words. Different ideas meshed into one, nothing ever beginning or ending quite right. His speech, of course, hadn't gotten much better. "He...he and I....and they were mad. And he was so nice to me. So happy."
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#8
SuNjATA
the flood
At first, it was a garbled mess of words that he absolutely couldn’t understand. Nor did he try, with his head swimming and absent-minded grabbing to pull Oliver into him and let the other man fall apart. How much it reminded him of himself, how much it reminded him of how he wished his own father had done the same, rather than sitting there telling him how proud he was that Sunjata, a teenager, had managed to cull down the herd.

But unlike Oliver, Sunjata is used to blood on his hands. Used to it more than he should be. But that was neither here nor there, and instead he lets Oliver take as much time as he needs to formulate the words, taking the time to pat the man on the back, and to listen to him. It was a valid concern, and it had been a real person behind the door that time. Heaving a quiet sigh, he nods, though it’s unlikely Oliver will see it.

Sunjata had also been willing to let someone die for the sake of the safety of the Rathskeller.

But at the same time, he was a killer, a murderer. And Oliver, well, despite his memory loss, the Flood highly doubts he was. “It’s okay.” He finally rumbles, accented deeply because of how drunk he is. “That’s the shitty part of this whole thing. You don’t know if it’s real or not. That monster we almost let in earlier, couldn’t been a real person. I was ready to leave him there.” He admits, shrugging lightly, reaching for the bottle that Oliver holds.

It’s… Difficult your first time.” He’s not sure why he’s talking about it so much, perhaps to help Oliver, perhaps to admit to the blonde man that he likely isn’t the type of guy he thought his friend was. “But it sounds like he got let in, right? So what’s the harm in that?” He asks, shrugging. To him, it’s not a big deal. He’s been hated, cursed, threatened. He’s also killed, survived, rebelled.

If anything, he’s experienced.
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#9
OLIVER
It is true. In all of Oliver's memories, which were none, Oliver hadn't killed anyone. Possibly he had in his past, but from what he knew at that moment: Never in his life had he almost been the reason why someone died.

Sunjata did have a good heart, absolutely. If Oliver weren't drunk already, he might've been able to recognize it. But, in Oliver's mind, their situations were completely different. What Sunjata had done was completely different than the horrible thing that Oliver did. It didn't make sense logically to anyone else, most likely, but Oliver saw it clear as day. He was a horrible person through and through, Sunjata had done what was needed. Their situations could not be compared, not in the slightest. Sunjata could be forgive, but him? It was unforgivable. Horrible. Maybe this is why the gods ignored him. They saw what a horrible person he was, he simply hadn't done anything to show it yet. They could see that he was undeserving of any love or answers.

Reluctantly, Oliver allowed Sunjata to remove the bottle from his grasp. He was most likely just going to drink some himself, no way would he take it from him and not give it back. Oliver needed it.

Sunjata didn't seem to understand what happened. Of course he didn't. If Oliver told him...he didn't even want to imagine what Sunjata would do. To lose someone who had been so kind to him, but he had to explain. He had to be honest. Sunjata would forgive him for something he didn't deserve to be forgiven for. He had to say everything, no matter what would happen to their friendship.

This time, his voice came out a bit more clear, but still slurred. He wasn't crying as much, but his voice still sounded strained. "You don't understand." Of course he doesn't understand. "I knew who it was. He proved himself. He was so confident that he was telling the truth and he was ready to let him in." It would be confusing, Oliver refusing, or forgetting, to say any names. "I said no. I kept fucking talking and being a fucking dumbass. I kept asking and he got so mad. They opened the door and he was so hurt. He almost died and it's all my fucking fault." He took a few deep breaths, finally able to slow down. His eyes drifted far away from Sunjata, not daring to look at the other's expression.

Oliver braced himself for the worse: to be shoved away, to be screamed at, to have anything done to him...well, anything except kindness.
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#10
SuNjATA
the flood
He’s only moving the bottle out of the way since likely in a few days there won’t be a Rathskeller to get it from anymore to ensure it doesn’t break, doesn’t spill the liquor to be lost to floorboards that Oliver had spent plenty of time stuffing snow moss under. And a hand that rests along Oliver’s back, pats gently to let him cry, sob, say what he wants, to be there for him – the opposite of who had been there for him when he’d done the same.

Oliver’s voice is clear, this second time around, albeit still slurred slightly and Sunjata’s own head spins somewhat as he tries to focus. “Calm down, just breathe.” There’s a form of rough, accented demand in his voice. To breathe. To calm down. He hadn’t killed the man. Someone had opened the door in the end, after all. It was okay, now.

Inhaling deeply, Sunjata leans back against the cold wall again, shutting his eyes against the light and the slightly spinning room. “They opened the door. He made it in. It’s okay.” He announces, quiet and slightly reserved as he figures out how to explain it. Perhaps it was different for Oliver, but in the end it was all the same. Survival. That was what caused it. Sunjata, if he had the choice, wuldn’t want to open any of the doors.

When I was seventeen, my father threw me into a pit with fifteen other boys to see who lived.” He tells Oliver, eyes still shut as his head leans back against the cool stone. “You do what you have to do to survive, and you deal with it.” Because that’s what he did. He dealt with it in the end. He had to. You could either crumble up and drift away, or promise to do better the next time. “And next time you’re better prepared.
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#11
OLIVER
At Sunjata's insistence, Oliver tried his best to take a few deep breaths. He sniffled a small bit and at first, it was extremely hard, but after a bit he was finally able to take full breaths. As well, he had stopped crying by now. That didn't mean he didn't absolutely feel like shit and the alcohol was really, really hitting hard now. He still felt incredibly guilty.

It may not look like it, but Oliver was still giving Sunjata all of his attention, listening as the man went on the explain the horrors he had been through. It changed a lot of how Oliver viewed Sunjata, but he still felt comfortable around him. Sunjata had been forced to kill those people, which was down right awful. There was blood on his hands, far more than Oliver might ever have. Still, it was in the past and he was forced. "You didn't deserve that...your father is a dick piece of shit. He shouldn't have forced you to do that. You're so kind and caring and just nice." Sunjata had showed Oliver that he was a kind person. A kind person wouldn't have rescued him from the cold. Jata was free from his father and could be himself.

Oliver, on the other hand, didn't have that excuse. He wasn't forced to do it.

"You don't understand." His words came out harsh, but still quiet. He sounded frustrated, like Sunjata had said something extremely incorrect. And he had, in Oliver's eyes. Sunjata did not understand what was going on.

The blonde's voice cracked as he spoke and he sounded heartbroken. Like he hated himself with every fiber of his being. "He was so nice to me Jata. He complimented me and he let me paint and he invited me to his guild. It's all over. I lost my chance. I fucked up and almost killed a nice person. I recognized the voice and it still wasn't enough." He had to focus on not crying again. Oliver was so excited that someone had actually invited him to join a guild. Someone had actually looked at his painting skills and wanted him to be part of something.

"It's the first time I felt like I wasn't a burden. Someone actually wanted me for me...and I ruined everything. I'm a piece of useless shit. I hurt people and I cant even do anything to make up for it." Oliver was dejected and still trying his hardest not to cry. In his tone, he was angry, but with himself. Nobody was to blame but himself. He believed every word he spoke.

"I tried to offer my help but there's nothing I can do.
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
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#12
SuNjATA
the flood
There’s a grim sort of laugh that leaves Sunjata at Oliver’s admission. “Yeah, he is a dick.” He rumbles in quiet agreement. “But I’m not kind and caring.” He admits. Certainly not. And if Oliver knew half the things Sunjata had done, had been a part of, he might think differently. But as it stands right now, he doesn’t know.  And Oliver seems to think that Sunjata doesn’t understand either.

That the Flood hadn’t been one to kill people he’s grown up with. That he wasn’t the sole reason that hundreds in the resistance had died. That he hadn’t gotten his girlfriend murdered by that very same dick of a father. And he refrains from saying anything, only clenching his teeth when Oliver tells him that he doesn’t understand, as the boy goes on to explain how nice this person was. And he shakes his head slightly.

You didn’t though, Oliver.” He says, removing his hand from Oliver’s back. “You weren’t the one with the gun, you weren’t the one with the axe over his head to kill him.” Gods how he hates reliving the things he’s done, but perhaps it’s imperative. His eyes open, and he struggles to focus on the blonde man for a brief moment with the way the world spins.

Nice people die all the time. People are still dying out there. So deal with it. He’s here, he’s fine. Talk to him later.” There’s a hint of steel to his voice. “But listen, it’s not your fault. There were other people there to make a decision. Maybe you’re not meant for split second decision making, like some others.” Regret was a lesson hard learned, and Sunjata had many, but he had learned to deal with it and move on. And he’s trying to get the point across.

He’s not entirely sure Oliver is understanding him either. “If he’s still alive there’s time to make up for it.” And he thinks of the best example he can. “Back in Korofi, Lusea was murdered because of me. And I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t fucking apologize or change things, couldn't break through the line of guards to get to her to stop it. It happened. And I had to deal with it.” His words slur a bit more here, his accent thickening when he says it as he tries to urge his point across, gaze looking away from him to the rest of the Temple, the light glinting on the side of his neck where the long scar behind his ear sits that snakes down his neck to his chest, from where he'd tried.

There’s still time for Oliver.
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.
Blacksmith

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#13
OLIVER
Okay. That's it. "What the fuck Sunjata." Oliver sounded more frustrated than sad at this point...at least he was feeling something other than sadness? And he wasn't crying anymore: what an improvement. "If you weren't nice you wouldn't be next to me." You also wouldn't have held me... "You also wouldn't have dealt with ugly, snotty, useless me. I mean look at me. I probably snotted all over you." He wasn't exactly in a good headspace. His emotions were quite haywire. His voice was slurring but on the bright side, there were no more tears leaving his eyes...or at least sad ones.

When Sunjata tried to explain his misdoings, Oliver still didn't understand, but he also didn't agree with anything Sunjata was saying at this time. Maybe it wasn't his fault that Bastien was out there, but it was still his responsibility to save him. Sure, he was alive, but what would Bastien think? It was conflicting. Deep down, he did somewhat agree with him. Somewhat. He wanted to believe Sunjata. That everything was okay...but he also almost killed him.

He wasn't sure what to think. His brain refused to accept Sunjata's suggestion as a possibility. No way was he completely innocent. "I don't..." He let out a groan and leaned against Sunjata, missing the touch and contact.

"I don't know. I mean....fuck. I almost killed him Sunjata. If Ezra hadn't opened that door then he would've died. It would've been my fucking fault and then they would've killed me over it." He sounded frustrated. It also seemed a bit hard for him to actually put his thoughts together, like he was having an inner battle.

"How can you assume that everything is okay. Bastien was so mad at me. Everyone was mad at me. I was so excited that finally someone saw me as something other than a useless waste of space and I fucking blew it all up because I'm a stupid fucking dumbass." Someone really needs to turn off his cursing filter because now he just seems to be rambling. His anger wasn't directed at Sunjata, that much should be obvious. Most of it seemed to be him hating on himself, not blaming anyone for his rage. "I want to get over this...but I almost killed someone. How can Bastien, Loren, Ezra, or even you look at me the same way knowing that I was almost the reason why someone died? Oh and just wait for his wife to find out. They'll be sacrificing me to fucking Safrin over this. Maybe that'll finally get the gods attention."

Finally. FINALLY he seemed to be out of steam. He took a few deep breaths, shutting up for a bit.
a disaster!
a massive mess
trying to not die
Sunjata Wrenzaok
the Flood
Archon of King's End

Age: 34 | Height: 6'5 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: King's End
Level: 15 - Strg: 76 - Dext: 73 - Endr: 75 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
PETRONELLA - Mythical - Sea Panther
Played by: Skylark Offline
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Posts: 8,340 | Total: 13,495
MP: 2712
#14
SuNjATA
the flood
His lip curls up in a slight hum of amusement as the frustration practically rolls off of Oliver. And his head tilts toward the blonde man as he starts with “What the fuck Sunjata.” Somehow, finding it amusing rather than what it was. Probably the alcohol talking. As if saying so, he looks away from Oliver with a shrug. “Don’t have to be nice to do that. Empaties miskien.” He hums, slipping into his language of home, because he’s not totally sure what it is in this language.

And of course, he doesn’t particularly care to try as he grabs onto Oliver’s bottle of alcohol and takes a swig of it, glancing back to him as Oliver leans against him, a groan. And he listens, because what else is he supposed to do? His face is flushed, and he sets the bottle down to run a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s LongNight.” He shrugs as if it’s reason enough. “There was plenty of warning, and if they weren’t prepared to be here, or if they’ve left and returned, it’s their own fucking fault.” Perhaps this is where the line is drawn, where Oliver can see that at heart, Sunjata has always been the one to protect those closest to him, even if it meant destroying himself over and over and over again.

I can assume, because I’ve been there.” He offers unhelpfully. “Partaking in riots back in Korofi, when we’d get separated we’d have to try and get back to the Underground, but we’d be under some sort of siege.” Of course these occurred not long before he was captured but that’s beside the point. “Once I got let in, once I didn’t. And it’s just… Whatever, at the end. Still alive, so. But I knew what I was getting into. Also knew I could die at any time.” It’s getting dark as his thoughts swirl around his head and he grits his teeth, hating the way he reverts to the idea that perhaps he shouldn’t have fought back at the Trials, with everything else he’s lived through wearing down at his soul.

But Oliver continues to rant, and Sunjata vanquishes those dark thoughts from entering again as he chuckles to the concern over sacrificing the poor guy to Safrin just to get the attention from the gods. And he turns to face Oliver, face flushed from the alcohol as his gunmetal gaze focuses on the man beside him. “Take one step at a time, just breathe. And talk to them. Don’t just assume. You’re new, things are different here.” He shrugs, and they were. His first step here and he had been recruited to a band of criminals after all. Even him joining the rebellion in Korofi had been like that, a new noble boy joining the group of those that wanted him surely dead, maimed, tortured, or all three.

Anything was possible, in the end. And nobody had wanted him dead for the things he’s done – at least not that he’s aware of. Lusea, maybe, but she'd be the one that would have to kill him. Good luck to anyone else.



Empaties, miskien. - empathetic, maybe
this ain't no place for no hero
No permission needed for power play!
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.


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