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
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
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.
