now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat
it's a bearable bruise on your conscious
Because it would become a losing battle, to fight back. And he’s slowly realized – perhaps because of the mud monster, perhaps not – that he’s tired of fighting, tired of it always becoming this. A battle, a losing one, always on the bottom of the sea, drifting further away from the surface with every pull, every ebb and flow of the current. He’s thankful Deimos doesn’t ask, instead he focuses on helping put the boards down and hold them there while the Sword nails it in place for his Shield – both likely far worse mentally than he is, Amalia for sure far more physically.
He gives Deimos a small nod and a small smile to that. “Sounds good.” He offers quietly, contemplatively – wondering what he’d even do with meeting the Shield, what he had in common with her if anything. Except now, perhaps that they’re both sick, her far more worse off than he. But both their lives seemed fracturing, fragile things. He finds himself somewhat jealous that Deimos is there for Amalia for the crumbling, to tape up the pieces to keep her together – while he had to lick wounds and glue them himself.
The mention of waiting for the spar garners a nod, a slight thankful understanding – and he only pauses when Deimos asks if he was involved. His steel eyes shuddering slightly as he focuses on the board in his hand that he places down to follow suit with the General. “I tried to stop it with a few others when we noticed it. By the time it broke the ice wall… I was inside it.” A frown. “I got sucked up into it early on so I tried to do as much damage as I could to split it apart or something. I… Well, it obviously didn’t work.” He puffs out a crackling sigh, a slight shake to his head.
He gives Deimos a small nod and a small smile to that. “Sounds good.” He offers quietly, contemplatively – wondering what he’d even do with meeting the Shield, what he had in common with her if anything. Except now, perhaps that they’re both sick, her far more worse off than he. But both their lives seemed fracturing, fragile things. He finds himself somewhat jealous that Deimos is there for Amalia for the crumbling, to tape up the pieces to keep her together – while he had to lick wounds and glue them himself.
The mention of waiting for the spar garners a nod, a slight thankful understanding – and he only pauses when Deimos asks if he was involved. His steel eyes shuddering slightly as he focuses on the board in his hand that he places down to follow suit with the General. “I tried to stop it with a few others when we noticed it. By the time it broke the ice wall… I was inside it.” A frown. “I got sucked up into it early on so I tried to do as much damage as I could to split it apart or something. I… Well, it obviously didn’t work.” He puffs out a crackling sigh, a slight shake to his head.
but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?
i am the way and the life in the best looking truth
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.
