SuNJATA
the flood
“I don’t know.” She begins again, pausing, the silence drifting between them. And he understands, internally, the implications she means with as little of a statement. He returns back to his work on the shelving, lifting and ensuring it’s solidity, the straight plane of it until she continues on. “I want to fight something too.” He begins, quietly, thoughtfully, despite the typical rage he held. “I want to scream at the world, at all of the worlds for the unfairness of it all.” An agreement. But that there was nothing they could do, nothing to make pay for the unfairness of it all.
Perhaps they were both drowning under the weight of the unfairness and uncertainties, taunted further out to sea by those drawn close to them in terms of family and friends, only to watch them be taken away like nothing they’d been mirages, dissipating beneath their touch, beneath the weight of their gaze.
He begins to nail one of the shelves into place, propping it up and ensuring its location, when Melita speaks again. To tell her about her. He can do that. The one thing he has control over, with nothing to fight. He could at least ensure that her life survives off of stories. “Well, what do you want to know? Who she was in Korofi? How the first time I saw her she told me – and I’m quoting – ‘get the fuck off my table’ because I’d gotten hit in the training ring and blacked out and she had to stitch me up?” There’s a ghost of a nostalgic smile that crosses his face.
Perhaps they were both drowning under the weight of the unfairness and uncertainties, taunted further out to sea by those drawn close to them in terms of family and friends, only to watch them be taken away like nothing they’d been mirages, dissipating beneath their touch, beneath the weight of their gaze.
He begins to nail one of the shelves into place, propping it up and ensuring its location, when Melita speaks again. To tell her about her. He can do that. The one thing he has control over, with nothing to fight. He could at least ensure that her life survives off of stories. “Well, what do you want to know? Who she was in Korofi? How the first time I saw her she told me – and I’m quoting – ‘get the fuck off my table’ because I’d gotten hit in the training ring and blacked out and she had to stitch me up?” There’s a ghost of a nostalgic smile that crosses his face.
rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony
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.
