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.
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
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.
