{SE} Purest Expression of Joy [Open]

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

The close head bump wasn’t expected, but it was welcomed nonetheless, just a breath of hesitation in his reciprocation. It was still strange to be treated with gentleness by people he barely knew, but he was learning to receive it more graciously, to not be immediately suspicious of their motives.

And Sunjata had it harder than most. There was something about him that kept Peter a little bit on edge. The feeling that, despite the similarities in their pasts, the panther had taken control, had been a leader. Had been the kind of person Peter served.

It helps that the feeling is joined by a suddenly more forthcoming Sunjata, the words hooking Peter in, getting him to settle more deeply into the mud as well. Questions bubbled up inside him, but he tries to be keep them under control, to think about it first. Did you escape? It was as gentle a probe as he could think of, the soft request of what happens next?

Of course, Peter reciprocates, his own tongue growing a little looser. I never really got a choice. I had to help or... bad things. There is a clear shudder that accompanies the words, Peter trying to shake off some of the mud that was trying to crawl further up his fur. It doesn’t help his reminiscing. I think I was supposed to die. At the end. It was the first time he’d admitted the thought to someone else, and was surprised by how easy it was to say.

It feels like his initial opinion of Sunjata was completely wrong. There is a warmth between them that Peter actually enjoyed. It just left him in a strange position, one where he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to be closer, to offer up his own vulnerability, and where he wasn’t bold enough to just try. Instead, he settled for sending back the same warm wave of affection, like a mental purr.

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

He had been a leader, once upon a time. An unwanted position, but one nonetheless. One that had been bred and trained into him, one that he had forced to become over and over and over again until everyone and everything close to him had died. And it had been lonely, for quite a while until Caido came around and gave him more opportunities, more options to reach and get to become what he wanted. But after twenty-three years of being told who you should become, these past three years had been difficult with him figuring it out for himself.

Still, he feels as though he can share with Peter, and he rolls in the mud a bit deeper, enjoying the mudbath as Peter seems to be doing for himself. I escaped. My father killed Lusea. A quiet admission. He’d find out soon enough, a pulse of anger at the memory of how he felt that day – how completely lost he had felt in the end. Then arranged a marriage for me while I sat there in her blood and held her until she grew cold. Feline steel eyes lift to meet Peter’s gaze. So I escaped after they took her from me when I had the chance. Her father would’ve killed me if I had stayed. I exiled myself from the country. A tilt to his head.

Didn’t hurt as bad when Lusea was back with him (for now).

And Peter’s reciprocation is appreciated, and he listens as his feelings calm, as the tidal wave of emotions settles into a rippling puddle between the two of them. And he nods his big fuzzy head in understanding. I know what you mean. And he did, because he didn’t have a choice either. And the time that he did? His mother had died because of it. Still, a brotherly attempt at comforting the shudder that accompanies the hyena, he reaches up with a paw to brush away some of the crawling mud.

A pulse of affection is sent to Peter and is reciprocated, enough that a light purr accompanies Sunjata’s thoughts. You didn’t. That’s strength in itself, isn’t it? That they’re both stronger than they thought. And while Peter had thought he was supposed to die, Sunjata thinks of the number of times he’d come so closing to doing it himself just to spare everyone else he grew close to. They’re both strong in their own ways, similar enough too that it hits pretty close to home.

bring me in closer

SUNJATA

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

Peter is not used to serious conversations like this, much as he should be by this point in his life. He never knows what to do, what’s expected of him, especially not now, when Sunjata seems so relaxed, so nonchalant about what he’s saying. However, it’s very hard for Peter to mimic that nonchalance, and he instead stares at the panther,  quiet horror rolling of off him. And it only gets worse. Peter almost wants to flinch away when steel eyes meet his, but he can’t bring himself to look away.  

I’m sorry. Peter knows his words aren’t worth much, and don’t help anything, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what he’d want someone to say to him in that situation. ]I’m sorry you were alone, and that... that happened, and that you had to leave. There is a wave of understanding, of sincerity and support that is sent along with the words. After a moment, he tried one more thing as well. My uh, father, sold me to a... to a warlord when I was six. I didn’t think it got worse than that. It wasn’t quite a joke, but it would hopefully lighten the mood in a way Sunjata would appreciate.

The panther does calm, the roar of his mind settling to a rush, more manageable for both of them to deal with. A quiet wistfulness settles over Peter, the reminiscing just painful enough to drive him to old daydreams, old thoughts. I used to think sometimes if I was just... different, things would be better. He pauses while the other attuned reaches out to run a paw over his shoulders, mud sliding off with it. It’s nice, the simplicity of the gesture, the weight behind it. I didn’t know how to be different though. And I don’t think I’d know what to do if things had been different. Peter shakes his head, a soft huff leaving his muzzle. There were too many variables to really know anything, but this was one that always bothered him, that always stayed stuck in his mind for days and days.

Purring shakes his focus loose, pulls Peter away from the cycle, for the moment. He has to actually think about Sunjatas words. Avoiding death had become second hand, something he expected to have to do on his life, but for the first time, Peter thought maybe it was a feat. Maybe there was strength in getting to see another day, in using that new day. I think you’re right. I just hope I’m not wasting it. They’ve been similar in so many other small ways, Peter finds himself wondering if this is another one. If he’s not the only one struggling to find some kind of worth.

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

Sunjata is surprisingly very used to somber, serious conversations, and has learned how to create that mask to hide the feelings that respond when he thinks on it. Only, it’s different in his Attuned form, as the Panther he shares the feelings across the bond, not used to figuring out how to block them. And for a moment he feels sorry for Peter, as the horror flows back toward him. It was terrible, probably the worst day of his life – unsure of how many more terrible days he could have.

I had to. He offers quietly. The only person left was my sister, so we both left. But only I came here, until Lusea slipped through. And Gods what a shock that had been, the surprise that lingered every time he looked at her – having seen, held her when she died, to have her walk through the door of Phoebe’s clinic alive and well. A shock, to say the least.

He grimaces the best way a large cat can when Peter tells him that his father sold him to a warlord. And perhaps it’s because they’ve both endured such dark times that the attempt to lighten the mood with him works and he nods, calming and humming a bit in his response to Peter’s words. I’m sorry, too. Six years old? What had Peter done to deserve it? What had they both done that deserved such terrible things to happen to happen to them?

Running a paw over the mud that crawls up Peter’s shoulders, he listens to the bond in a quiet answer. I thought that too. And at the end of the day I realized I wouldn’t be me. A slight shrug, some humor bouncing back to the bond as he fixes Peter with a lighter steel gaze. Despite the shit I went through, I actually kind of like me. He hopes Peter likes himself, too, and how strong he is – how strong they both had been to overcome what they’d gone through.

Rolling over in the mud a bit more, he sends another pulse of understanding. Not wasting it when you’re living. You’re doing something. Contributing in the grand scheme of things. Likewise, he was too, even if he struggled at his lowest points.

bring me in closer

SUNJATA

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

Your sister? There was a sense of wistfulness in Peters silent voice, the very hint of jealousy. Having a sibling was a built in connection to someone, regardless of the actual closeness, though Sunjata seemed like he had been at least a little bit close with his sister, if she’d left with him. It was something he’d never had. Do you know why it was just you who came here? This probably (definitely) wasn’t the part he was supposed to get hung up on, but Peter couldn’t help the curiosity. Talking was beginning to come a little easier, something to focus on other than painful memories. Or rather, his own painful memories.

There were other, more relevant questions too. Is... is this Lusea the same? Or... different? Peter sent out a pulse of apology, feeling like he was being too blunt now, where before he had stepped carefully, and tried to explain his curiosity. Adam and I come from the same place, but not? Different times, I think? But he knows the cities I know. I just... is it like that? He didn’t know how else it made sense, someone dead coming back alive through a portal. It made his head spin a little bit to try and think about.

Something about the panthers calmness, the weight of understanding and sympathy in the apology made something in Peters chest crack. The hyenas head dipped down, nose beastly in the mud, and looked for all the world like he might throw up, but the only thing that came out was words, and a long, low whine. I thought for... well, he told me he would come back. When he could. And he didn’t. I... think he must have died. Or forgotten. I don’t know. I hope he died though. There was a flood of sudden sorrow, quiet panic, things Peter tried desperately to hold back, but couldn’t. He was too open like this, and had no idea how to stop the flow of emotions. In a different face, This would all be hidden with an uncanny blankness, his eyes distant, but with Sunjata in his mind he had to choice but to try and open up. Him dying would be better than being forgotten.

The other is right, about not being the same of things had been different, but this seems to be where another difference between them lies. Despite everything he’d gone through, the growth he’d done, more in last year than any other time, there was still very little about himself that Peter did like. If he could, he tried to avoid thinking of himself as a person completely, preferred to not think about it at all. He tried to send back some of the same humour, though it comes across as self depreciating, and he knows that isn’t what he wants but doesn’t know how to stop it. I think... I might like being different. He shakes his head then, gently at first more to move than anything, then again, roughly, like he’s trying to shake away the thoughts that put him in this position.

A deep sigh heaved out of Peter, and he flopped onto his side as well, more in resignation than anything else. Do you think what I do now make up for what I did before? Or... didn’t do before? Despite the defeat in his posture, there is a quiet hope in his eyes as they stare at the panther, mirrored by the glimmer of hope in their bond.

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

A pulse of a feeling like a soft nod is sent to Peter, a sister. A sibling. To round out the opportunity of continuing lines of the strongest, the best. At Peter’s question, he considers it quietly, tail flicking along the top of the mud, uncertain why it was only him and not Saartjie too. Not sure why, no. He recalls Remi mentioning that the Voice brought them here. Perhaps he was a bit more worth bringing here than her, but it still didn’t make it easier for him to realize how she was out there, alone, on her own.

The mention of Lusea has his steel gaze slipping up to the hyena’s face again before he dips his head in a slow nod. Different. He begins, paw folding over the other as the mud begins to crawl up his sides as well. He listens to Peter’s response of Adam, of how they came from the same place but different, and he’s quietly thankful it wasn’t entirely like that for him. It’d be… Strange. But anything was possible, especially with Melita being around. It’s been almost four years since Lusea died, and when she arrived here – according to her – was within minutes after she’d died. She went from the throne room as the last thing she remembered, to falling through the Spire here. And in all that time I had gotten more tattoos, more scars, changed. If he could frown, he would. Instead, he sends that uncertain feeling along the bond, incapable of stopping it.

The way she’d looked at him like she’d recognized him and simultaneously… Didn’t.

But then, when Peter talks next, the feeling that he sends, the sorrow that drifts, Sunjata can feel it deep in his bones, and he wants to shy away from the shadows that hide in his eyes, that feeling of wishing to be loved so much that you hoped someone close to you died rather than chose to treat you like you were nothing to them. And he’d grown up with that feeling, with standoffish parents, unwilling to get close just in case when he reached seventeen he’d die and they’d have to start over again.

He sends a pulse of comfort toward Peter – how many times had he wished the same? That someone could just love him, choose him over anything else? Hint: too many. Perhaps he did what he thought was best for you, if he did die. To give you to the warlord to not expose you to the hardships of it all. It’s a thoughtful answer, unsure if it’s true, but he hopes it might help. And he can relate. My father was the opposite, really. Wanted nothing to do with me other than train me to become a soldier. There was no love, no… nothing other than disappointment. And the bruises when he’d disobeyed, hidden behind makeup for appearances and hidden away behind large oak doors.

I also hope he died. A slight growl leaves his throat at that. But instead, he tries to focus on the calming factor of their conversation, nodding to Peter. Different was better, it kept you separated from the rest of the crowd, it kept you knowing who you were instead of blending in with the rest. And he watches still, while Peter flops onto his side, Sunjata following the motion, tail lifting up in lazy curls before falling back into the mud.

And what a question that is. He casually regards Peter, there’s defeat he can see in his eyes, feel it in the bond that courses between them, and he tries to give the smaller man a pulse of his strength, hard learned, hard won. Yes. Because he had been given a second chance by a band of rebels, a second chance after he’d murdered fifteen other boys, after he’d been toted as the chosen one, only to succumb to wanting nothing to do with it. He’d learned to prove that his lineage didn’t define him, it was the things he did with his life that did. I think that so long as you try to be the best that you can be, you’re making it up. But the past is the past, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. A small admission, dark head swiveling away from Peter to look over the fields of mud. I thought that if I had not joined the rebels, had not gotten involved, that perhaps Lusea might have lived. I would have never met her, would never have brought anything onto her by what it meant to have her near… But after a while, well… I don’t regret what I did. I could’ve done it differently, but the results were the same. And if I hadn’t met her, I wouldn’t be who I am, the resistance would have never been as big as it was. A quiet thing to consider, steel eyes slipping over to Peter.

bring me in closer

SUNJATA

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

The loss of a sibling, even if it's only though distance and strange magic, not death, is not something Peter can imagine. Not something he even cares to try to imagine. There is a buzz of regret for the question asked, something almost like guilt dripping heaving into his stomach, and while he doesn't say anything more with words, he tries to send a feeling of sympathy towards Sunjata, an apology for bringing it up.

Silver eyes move back up to his face, and Peter leans in, interested, but trying not to be, for fear of being morbid. Is different... There's a buzz, like he's silently humming, trying to figure out how exactly the question should be phrased, and a soft huff leaves his snout. Before he can continue, can find the words, Sunjata is moving on, explaining more, and, helpfully, answering the question he'd had. Different is strange, but not necessarily bad. Now, a soft whine leaves the hyenas jaw, the only sound he can make in response to the heavy feeling coming from the panther. Is this.... better than before though? Having her here?

The only words that Peter wants to say think are apologies, condolences and comfort. None of those are things that come naturally to him, and none of them are things he thinks the other will appreciate. He's never wanted apologies at least. All he's ever wanted is someone to say 'That was fucked up. You shouldn't have gone through it. It wasn't fair.' and all anyone offered was apologies.

Maybe that's what made it so easy to talk to Sunjata, why he was the first to really hear about anything specific. He understood, in a way few others could.

Peter has to close his eyes, both for himself, and to block out the darkness swimming in the panthers eyes. The comfort only makes his eyes screw closed tighter; in another form he would fighting back tears, would have been fighting them for a while now. It is a small mercy that he can't cry, but it doesn't stop the feeling from trying to overtake him. There is a sharp bitterness sent back to Sunjata in response to his words, Peter shaking his head, dark eyes opening again to focus on the panther. He wasn't doing anything for me. I know he wasn't doing anything but helping himself. But... it's a nice thought. There is a wave of comfort, and understanding as Sunjata describes his own father, the experiences intimately familiar except for the tormentor. That's... how it was growing up for me. But... maybe better. I never thought I was going to be loved. What a sentence to say. There is so much reminding him of the creeping horror of his memories, bringing it back into sharp focus. Reinforcing the fact that it was so much worse than he wanted to believe.

From the mud, Peter snorts, the sound almost a sneeze. He's not laughing, not in any true sense of the word, or feeling, but there is a sense of giddy irony. How strange, to meet someone with a life story written in the same ink as his own, to empathize so strongly with him. I'm sorry. He offers, trying again to send a feeling of understanding, of connection. Of brotherhood, even, something he's very rarely felt. His self centered schadenfreude doesn't improve his mood, doesn't help with it, it's merely a symptom of the conversation.

The feeling that comes from the panther is nearly unrecognizable to Peter, but it makes him pause, take a breath, and face away from his spiraling thoughts, the beginning of panic and despair that threatens. He is very, very quiet as the response comes, the simple yes. It's strange, almost like he's not there at all, like a silent block has been put up between them, but it's only Peter's inability to settle on how he feels, how he wants to respond. There's nothing to send over if all he feels is numb, and thoughtful. As the panther looks away, Peter shifts, lifting just his head from the mud to look at Sunjata, the first sparks of something that might be actual hope in his eyes. This, Caido, is something closer to a third chance, if he's being honest, but it is something new. But the person he is, the choices he makes, they're all shaped by what he was. The urge to do good, as much as he can, is shaped by who he was. The curiosity, the simple joy he'd felt running through the mud when he'd first shifted, it all came from that pain.

Peter rises properly then, muddy paws carrying him closer to Sunjata so he can lay down again, neck stretched out in the closest approximation to a hug he can manage, careful to press the side of him that hadn't been dipped in mud against the other. Thank you. That... makes a lot of sense. I don't want to be the same as I was, not at all. Scared, following orders for fear of what would happen if he didn't, hurting people because thats what he'd been told. But I can't change then. I just... have to do better now, right?

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

He can feel the sympathy, and he reflects an appreciating pulse back toward the hyena – enjoying the brotherly aspect that this Attuned bond had gifted the two of them – unlikely and yet so similar in the end. A surprise, but a welcome one. At the sound of his humming, mentioning that Lusea was different, he supposes it’s not so surprising that it might be confusing to begin with. She had come back different, and he hadn’t expected to ever see her again. Because that’s what happens when people die. They don’t come back. Not usually.

The question takes him somewhat by surprise, and his head tilts to the hyena as he mulls it over. I think so. A pulse of thoughtfulness and wonder is sent toward the hyena absentmindedly. We’re no longer having to run from my father. Don’t have to hide anymore. It’s freeing, but also… Different. She tells me I’ve grown soft.] An amused rumble leaves him with that, a purring feeling of nostalgia and truthfulness. He had grown soft, really. And she’d seen right through it – building him back up with the steel of her spine, the fire in her eyes.

But when it came to their fathers, to what they had done to them, there’s nothing that can be said in the end. Both their fathers had likely died, or at least hoped to be, and with Peter’s head shaking as Sunjata tries to give a brighter thought, to the sorrowful ones that stream between the two of them. At the mention of never thinking that he was going to be loved, Sunjata’s head presses into the hyena’s side gently, comfortingly, a brotherly sort of hug given. Did you want to be? He asks after a moment, uncertainty flowing between the bond. Sunjata would’ve given anything to have a relationship with his father like Lusea had with her own.

He’d had it with his mother, for a time, before she was murdered too.

The apology that Peter sends, the pulse of understanding and connection, is reflected back to the other man as he calms, eyes half lidded as they sit in the mud together. Brothers, in a way. Made me stronger in the end. He does a sort of feline shrug. I surprised him when he killed Lusea and I lunged for him despite being held by his best trained guards. It’s how I got the scar on my neck. They wouldn’t let me die, though. There’s a sort of flustered, frustrated feeling that accompanies it. Tried to marry me off immediately to continue the lineage. A rumble of amusement is sent across at that. I don’t want kids, so I’m not sure how that would’ve worked. Amusement, shifting to something akin to uncertainty.

He feels Peter rise then, laying closer with his neck outstretched in a hug that Sunjata reciprocates quietly in his feline form, his large paw reaching out to pull the hyena closer into the furs of his neck, nuzzling his head down against the hyena’s face. Do the best you can with what you’ve got. That’s the way to live. He offers, a toothy feline grin given to the Launcelyn man.

bring me in closer

SUNJATA

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

I think so. It's a relatable answer for Peter. He thinks things are better than before. He wants them to be, but he's still so uncertain, so unbalanced about his place, his relationships. if push came to shove, which it might sooner than he wanted or knew, would he be able to make the right choice? As the panther continued his thought, Peter pushed away his own worries and focused again on the other, a  matching but silent amusement radiating off of him as well. Soft is good. It means you don't need to be... it means you're safe enough to have changed. it could also be a crippling danger, but the last thing Peter wanted to do was think about it like that. Getting soft was supposed to mean safety, not danger, should be a hard earned break.

Peter doesn't move away from the head pressing against him, but he does stiffen, just a little bit, uncomfortable with the contact for maybe the first time in their conversation. Sunjata's question crashed into a block in his mind he hadn't even known was there, but now that he had, it felt impossible to ignore. I don't know. I think... I mean, I had to want it. Right? Everyone wanted, on some base level, to be loved. I know... when I was small, I was just... confused, and scared, and... there was nothing I could do. When I got older though... I guess I thought I could earn it. And I did a lot to try. There is a deep seated sense of shame that radiates off him for a moment, before it's stifled down into nothing again, a sharpness replacing it. I don't want anything from people like that anymore.

It was the most certain he'd sounded saying anything, even if he knew, deep down, it wasn't quite true. It was easy to put on a hard face, and claim independence, it was harder to turn down a return to the only thing he'd known, and earn things again.

The hyena shifts, patting at the mud with one paw and closing his eyes, a softness on his face. There were better ways to be strong he thought, but one didn't get to choose what happened to them, to the people around them. There is a stab of both amusement and jealousy that goes though him when the panther says he tried to lunge for his father. I was never brave enough to do anything like that. Peter offers softly, awe in his voice. The mention of children brings a whole different stab to his mind, discomfort and sympathy. No one ever cared about what people like them wanted though, not in situations like that.

His closeness, the strange hug was accepted, a big paw coming up to pull him closer. A contented sound leaves the hyenas muzzle, and Peter lets himself relax into the embrace. There's no words he can offer in response, at least none that feel like enough to carry the weight of his appreciation and thanks. Instead he just stays still, leaning in against the panther. This has been a strange, cathartic conversation, and he's gained a strange, strong bond that Peter would never have expected. It's nice to think about actually.

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

Soft is good. Peter begins, and something within Sunjata shudders at that – soft… Wasn’t him, in the end. It was the boy he had been, the one before having destroyed and broken families across Korofi. It was the boy he had been before his father had given him the family blade and told him to slay as many children as possible, boys his age, to survive and come out on top - to continue the circle, to continue the lineage, to grow old and hardened with age and power, to win. He didn’t want to be that – he wanted to be sharp, jagged, brutal in the sense that nobody would try to take advantage of him again.

Soft made him weak, and weakness let others step over you. And he didn’t want that, not in the slightest. But he nods, again, quietly, to the hyena and offers his head to bump against the striped fur of the other man. I want to be stronger, better. Too many people have stepped on me for being soft and weak. He offers in a quiet response to his bristling, an explanation. But then he asks Peter if he wanted to be loved, and that takes on an entirely different feeling, different thought process the panther must go through.

He nods in understanding regardless, that despite what happened, everyone wanted to be loved in a way – whether it was right or healthy.

He can feel the shame that radiates from Peter, and he tries to bring the hyena close in a moment of brotherly acceptance, a pulse of understanding – because he had plenty of shame within him for the things he’d done, the life he lead. He can relate, so intimately. And he offers a quiet nod back, when Peter says he wants nothing from people like that anymore. Progress, a step in the right direction, of taking the reins of your life and moving on. And he’s proud of the smaller man for that, alone.

Still, he tells Peter when he lunged for his father, the scar they had given and granted, and how Sunjata hadn’t cared if it was the wound that would have killed him – if he had died with Lusea that day, he would have been all the happier for it. But he didn’t, and he wasn’t, they had saved him in the end for the hopes of producing strong heirs. But Peter tells him that he was never brave enough to do anything like that and Sunjata’s head shakes lightly to that.

It wasn’t about being brave, or strong, or anything… It was about not caring about your life more than others. And that was his weakness, his self-sacrifice, his go to thoughts late at night when alone by himself for far too long and nothing else to keep his mind off of it. But he had grown stronger to push those thoughts away in the end, anyway. And he offers a small amount of his own shame to Peter with the realization. It wasn’t brave. I wanted someone to die that day. Whether it was him or me, I didn’t care. As long as someone’s blood stained that stupid marble flooring red alongside Lusea’s.

Turns out I didn’t get my wish in the end, anyway. A huff comes from the panther but there’s some underlying frustrations there. And instead, he focuses on Peter briefly. But you? Not being brave in that instance just means that you value your life a lot. And that’s a good thing. More people should. To be selfish to an extent was to be happy, and gods knew Sunjata could use a little bit of happiness.

bring me in closer

SUNJATA

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

Something in Sunjata seemed to recoil from what Peter said, though he has no idea what it might have been. It nearly makes him stumble over the words, wanting to fall silent but not quite able to stifle himself anymore. The panther makes him want to talk, in some strange way, and this was as good a thing as any to talk about. His head comes up to bump into the panthers, letting the other offer a explanation in his own time before speaking again. Just because words wanted to come from him didn’t mean they had to, and Peter wants to offer some room, some time, some understanding.

Peter understands how Sunjata explains his discomfort, his shying away. Maybe better than anyone, he understands the urge to walls and defences up and up and up, to never let anything get too close, but it has never been sustainable for him. Not that his own way of coping, the moments of numb silence and compartmentalizing is any better, it’s just different. Pressure breaks nothing the same. You can be both, at different times. He suggests softly, wanting to offer his opinion, maybe as advice and maybe as just something to think about and ignore. Though this does seem to be another point of difference, another opposite. Where Sunjata had been taken advantage of for being soft, Peter had been ordered to be strong, to earn his place. Has always been a tool.

Talk of love has the panther pulling him in again, Peter letting himself be moved closer again, without a fight. His ears are low now though, a current of upset trickling though him, the river of emotion in his core darkened by this uncomfortable reminiscing. It’s nice (as much as any of this can be described as “nice”) to move past it, to have the focus shift back to Sunjata, even if he has managed to, for the second time, make the other uncomfortable with his words.

And again, Peter wants to argue, to say that no matter the reasons behind it, the action itself is brave, even if it’s also selfish and a little bit cowardly all at the same time. An oxymoron. If nothing else, it is still something, and that something is a hell of a lot more than the nothing he’d ever done. Twenty years of beatings, and worse, from three different hands, and he never once raised one back. That felt like more of a failure than a single rash, self destructive outburst. Still, Peter rubbed against the panther, then pulled back, looking at the other, feeling the frustrations and regrets.

It feels a little bad, trying to be comforted, and somehow still being comforted by the ones he’s trying to help. But Sunjatas words do help alleviate a breath of the guilt that hangs over Peter. I guess... dying there... if that happened, I’d never... never get the chance to get anything better. Its only half the truth, but that’s all Peter really needs to say. The rest of it flows out of him. He’s afraid to die. Afraid of the idea, the reality of it, the eventuality of it.

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

He doesn’t realize how his answer, his reaction, his bristling, might effect the hyena beside him. Doesn’t think about it in the slightest as the truth and words slip between them paired with feelings here and there, slipping through despite how they may try to hide them. But Peter’s suggestion, of being both, is something that surprisingly Sunjata hadn’t considered, and the anxieties shift and quell, the rising tide of a wave suddenly diminishing under the thoughts that accompany it.

He was right, in the end, that Sunjata didn’t have to be soft all the time, nor did he have to be sharp and pointed, when he could be soft to those that had been pricked and pushed by him. He hadn’t done it before – with Lusea, he had held his softness close to the chest, had remained sharp and edged, knowing how she approved and liked to be pricked upon occasion. And they had built each other up by that, hiding their softness for their survival. She had brought it with her here, and he had left his in Korofi until her arrival.

But he had placed a mask back on once she’d gone missing – hard edged, stone – and he looks back over to the Hyena with a quiet huff of agreement. It sounds simple… But I hadn’t thought of that. He admits a bit sheepishly, the feeling of uncertainty crossing and pulsing from him briefly before blatant acceptance is reached through the bond, flooding out the uncertainties. I think you’re right. And he could try it, eventually, one day perhaps.

One day soon as he starts to rebuild what is left after learning of Lusea’s death.

He can feel Peter rub against the fur on his side as they settle in the mud, his shame and frustrations on full display for the hyena – and yet the panther doesn’t mind. Because Peter was a part of the Guild, and he truly didn’t seem the type to go and blab about him, what he was like, these… Tough, touchy subjects that were so cathartic when aired with someone who understood what the hardships were like. It was different from Lusea – different because he had been born with wealth and power and inherent strength because of his lineage. She had been born with nothing but the mind she had, she had built it with her hands and her family beside her.

Perhaps Peter would have gotten along better with Lusea in the end, the coming from nowhere and becoming something, when Sunjata had done the opposite. Came from the highest point, fallen like an angel into the night, cast away by choice rather than force, evading the hands that grappled for him in the end. Still, he listens to the hyena as he mentions that he’d never get the chance to get anything better, and Sunjata understands. The feeling he gets from the hyena does surprise the panther a small amount though.

Sunjata’s never been afraid to die, never been afraid of what comes next. He’s craved it on more than one occasion, but opportunities had risen from his lowest points, and for that he’s at least thankful for his destructive tendencies. And he tries to pulse as much understanding and happiness that Peter had made it, had understood, had survived through it all despite what his previous world had thrown at him. Might not mean much coming from me of all people, but I’m proud of you Peter. He rumbles, giving a feline grin to the other man. Live the best life you can here, so that way if someone from your other world comes here you can tell them to go fuck themselves for putting you down when you could’ve been this. He gestures with a large muddy paw. Great.

bring me in closer

SUNJATA

try to be living as your vice

and can you be my type?

As much as he didn’t want to, Peter understood at least a little of the struggle that Sunjata was. The situations were different, but all the worst parts of them seemed to show up the same, the traumas and compartmentalizations and sharp, heavy edges. In Peter they hid a numbness, a disconnect, that even now made it hard to really think about what had happened, what he’d gone through. He knew he’d always wanted the chance to be soft though.

A difference maybe, between him and Sunjata. Peter had never chosen to grow hard, it had happened so he could protect himself, so he could survive another day. So they would run together,  into something that never seemed quite as bad as what the reality really was. And then one day, he could stop, and step neatly out of his haze and impossible to fully recall memories and into a life where things were how they were meant to be, where he was soft. Except, it didn’t really work like that, and he had learned the idea he was trying to pass onto Sunjata.

It’s why Peter doesn’t really react when the panther says he hadn’t thought of being both before. He understands. The hyenas head nods, feeling the murmur of uncertainty get washed away in the sudden warmth of understanding, sends a feeling of equal warmth back, pride and a tentative support, which feels strange but not bad. You might like it better than being one or the other. He offers, certainty in his silent voice. Peter knew, despite everything, he preferred how he was now to anything he’d been. Anything he might have become, if he wasn’t here.

Silence grows between them for a moment, Peter staring at the panther, not letting his eyes slip off into the distance like he usually would. There is a fair amount he’d give to know what was going on in the other attuneds mind at that moment. He is surprised when the admission of pride comes, and goes very still, a curious feeling coming off him. In a different Face, his eyes would be welling up, and he would be desperately, desperately trying to hide it, but he can’t quite hide something his mind is so willing to share. How does one stifle a silent voice anyway? It takes him even longer to actually summon words again, the rhythm of them awkward when he does manage. Thank you, but... Why would... why would it mean less to come from you? As far as Peter was concerned, it meant more. This was the first real conversation he’d had with Sunjata, and the man was proud of him. It didn’t exactly seem like something it was possible to fake, and he didn’t really think the other was the type of person to do that.

Somehow honestly made it feel even stranger than anything else Peter could have considered.

I think I would... simply prefer to not see anyone from... from before. Peter responded dryly, though he nodded his head again. I do my best here. I am... I want to... Peter snorted, not sure if he could really believe he was great, but... maybe he could believe he was taking some steps in the right direction. That he could be on his way. Do you think... are you doing... being great here? He didn’t now why, but it felt more rel if it wasn’t simply him. More attainable.

cause we need to be given a good life

and can I be your type of metal?

PETER

Base Code by Sky!

don't be scared

you're like the calmest slit to my neck

There’s a wry feline smile given back to Peter, head tilted, whiskers and fur sticking up in all sorts of random places while he pulses a feeling of his own uncertainty over toward the Launceleyn with the realization. I’ve never been particularly great at compromising. He rumbles, but while it’s in jest, it’s still got a fair amount of truthfulness to it. He hadn’t been, never once had he been able to meet in the middle. He was born on one end of the spectrum, born wrong, thrust into being the very kind of person he hated – and then he swung to the opposite end when given his own chance.

He was more of a pendulum, than a stagnant creature.

But either way, he comments on how proud he is of Peter, for making it through what he did – how much he had wished someone had said the same to him in that situation, and yet they hadn’t. It had been expected of him, to be okay, to be fine, and he wasn’t. Never once was he okay or decent or normal. And he’d learned to deal with it, giving others what he wished he so desperately had. And the feeling he receives back from Peter almost overwhelms him, but he doesn’t mind. Well, because we don’t particularly know each other very much. He offers with another wave of a large muddy paw.

I imagine it’d probably feel more coming from someone that knew you a lot longer, saw the change in you. But he cant say for certain, but so long as Peter appreciates it, Sunjata has no qualms about it. And if it made Peter feel better about the situations they had gotten themselves out of? Well, that was the end goal, wasn’t it? To realize how strong they’d become?

Peter responds dryly with a comment of not seeing anyone from before, and Sunjata nods his large fuzzy head in agreement. I think I’d love to see my father here. Just so I could kill him. He responds with amusement, before it’s washed away as Peter’s question hits him and he tilts his head, steel eyes slipping over to the hyena in a quiet hum of thought. I don’t really know what I want… I’ve broken hearts here, broken my own, became things I couldn’t even imagine and done things that were great, yes. He rumbles with a small shake of his head, ears flattening slightly. Doesn’t make me great, I think… Just par for the course that is my life, you know?

bring me in closer

SUNJATA