SuNjATA
the flood
Perhaps it’s the alcohol that makes the man beneath the tattoos give in. If Oliver wanted him to believe he was nice, perhaps he could try. But he won’t openly say it, won’t openly admit it, because it doesn’t feel right with the things he’s done and continues to do. “Alright.” He says perhaps a bit gruffly, tilting his head and running a hand along the scar on his neck, as if it’s some sort of nervous twitch.
But then Oliver agrees, and he hums a sound of agreement in response. “They know it’s LongNight.” He was newish enough, and even he had heard of the dangers, had read up on what goes on outside those doors. But gods he’s sick of being trapped indoors already, and he doesn’t even know how long it’s been. It’s making him anxious, though, craving the need to do something productive or unproductive, or continue to get incredibly drunk and smoke every last cigarette he has left.
At Oliver’s question, his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Won’t know until you talk to him. But I’m sure things will be fine.” Mainly because the man had been let in after all, and tension and tempers were high. Perhaps chatting with him when everythings calmed down will go well in Oliver’s favor. But he doesn’t know, he can’t answer that for the blonde man. He can only answer his own questions, and isn’t willing to assume for anyone else.
Bad things happened when you just assume, after all.
The joke, however, is greeted with Sunjata’s steel eyes sliding over to look at Oliver’s face, tear stained and it manages to crack a smile and a small laugh from him. “A smidge ugly, yeah.” He jests in return, handing the bottle back to Oliver. The kid could probably use it, after all. And Sunjata was very effectively drunk at this point, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette and his matches.
But then Oliver agrees, and he hums a sound of agreement in response. “They know it’s LongNight.” He was newish enough, and even he had heard of the dangers, had read up on what goes on outside those doors. But gods he’s sick of being trapped indoors already, and he doesn’t even know how long it’s been. It’s making him anxious, though, craving the need to do something productive or unproductive, or continue to get incredibly drunk and smoke every last cigarette he has left.
At Oliver’s question, his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Won’t know until you talk to him. But I’m sure things will be fine.” Mainly because the man had been let in after all, and tension and tempers were high. Perhaps chatting with him when everythings calmed down will go well in Oliver’s favor. But he doesn’t know, he can’t answer that for the blonde man. He can only answer his own questions, and isn’t willing to assume for anyone else.
Bad things happened when you just assume, after all.
The joke, however, is greeted with Sunjata’s steel eyes sliding over to look at Oliver’s face, tear stained and it manages to crack a smile and a small laugh from him. “A smidge ugly, yeah.” He jests in return, handing the bottle back to Oliver. The kid could probably use it, after all. And Sunjata was very effectively drunk at this point, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette and his matches.
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.
