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.
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
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.
