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.”
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
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.
