SuNJATA
the flood
There’s so much more of his history to be said, but he’s terrible at explaining it and it’s a wonder he’s fully made it this far. But she was easy to talk to, simply just let him talk, offering small motivators, small acknowledgements that she understood, that she listened, that she wanted him to feel his feelings deeply, and to not try to just get over it. It was a small mercy, one he didn’t know he needed. But he lets the silence drift on, waiting until she speaks again, and he listens to the comforting lilt of her voice.
It manages to spark a small smile at her first set of words. “I didn’t think it was possible.” He offers quietly, though it was likely she hadn’t thought so either when it occurred. And my, how things had changed since then. Still, he focuses on the glass in front of him, taking a slightly deeper drink before setting it along the table as he leans forward with his arms braced on his thighs, steel eyes finding the floor when she speaks next, before they lift to meet her bi-toned eyes. “It’s.. Worse I think this time. That I wasn’t there. At least the first time I had tried to do something to save her.” Absentmindedly, he reaches up to run a hand along the scar on his neck, the one that Hotaru had pressed against so many nights ago to roll him over.
But she’s right – everyone takes a different amount of time, that it shifts and changes depending. And where he had been successful before, it had reopened, and there wasn’t a way of healing it perfectly the same. The scars were still there, building up again and again. Perhaps that’s why it hurt so deeply this time as opposed to the last. There wasn’t anything to take his rage out on. There wasn’t his father holding the bloody knife, laughing as he rushed to her. There weren’t the guards that held him back, granting that scar. There weren’t the healers nearby to heal the wound so he, too, didn’t bleed out beside her as much as he had wanted to.
“That they are not.” He rumbles in agreement, a half ghost of a smile crossing his lips. It fades as soon as she responds, telling him she’d lost her own loved ones, children too, something of which he’d never wanted because of his tyrant of a father, but he imagines the pain is just as strong. He recalls the surprise and subsequent sadness he’d felt when Phoebe had told him they’d almost had a child – but to have it happen then versus a grown, breathing child? It had to have been worse. Much worse.
He spies her wry grin, though it’s not reciprocated on his face until she comments that she’ll kick his ass. “I believe it.” He acknowledges, reaching for the glass again and shakes his head slightly. “Do you want to tell me about them?” He asks her, of her beloved, her children, her reign. “I also heard about your Queenhood.” He rumbles with a conspirator glint to his eye.
It manages to spark a small smile at her first set of words. “I didn’t think it was possible.” He offers quietly, though it was likely she hadn’t thought so either when it occurred. And my, how things had changed since then. Still, he focuses on the glass in front of him, taking a slightly deeper drink before setting it along the table as he leans forward with his arms braced on his thighs, steel eyes finding the floor when she speaks next, before they lift to meet her bi-toned eyes. “It’s.. Worse I think this time. That I wasn’t there. At least the first time I had tried to do something to save her.” Absentmindedly, he reaches up to run a hand along the scar on his neck, the one that Hotaru had pressed against so many nights ago to roll him over.
But she’s right – everyone takes a different amount of time, that it shifts and changes depending. And where he had been successful before, it had reopened, and there wasn’t a way of healing it perfectly the same. The scars were still there, building up again and again. Perhaps that’s why it hurt so deeply this time as opposed to the last. There wasn’t anything to take his rage out on. There wasn’t his father holding the bloody knife, laughing as he rushed to her. There weren’t the guards that held him back, granting that scar. There weren’t the healers nearby to heal the wound so he, too, didn’t bleed out beside her as much as he had wanted to.
“That they are not.” He rumbles in agreement, a half ghost of a smile crossing his lips. It fades as soon as she responds, telling him she’d lost her own loved ones, children too, something of which he’d never wanted because of his tyrant of a father, but he imagines the pain is just as strong. He recalls the surprise and subsequent sadness he’d felt when Phoebe had told him they’d almost had a child – but to have it happen then versus a grown, breathing child? It had to have been worse. Much worse.
He spies her wry grin, though it’s not reciprocated on his face until she comments that she’ll kick his ass. “I believe it.” He acknowledges, reaching for the glass again and shakes his head slightly. “Do you want to tell me about them?” He asks her, of her beloved, her children, her reign. “I also heard about your Queenhood.” He rumbles with a conspirator glint to his eye.
love will save you, but it won't save me
BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3
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.
