SUNJATA
i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring
and meeting all my vices in the ring
He’s not been one to raise his voice in a long time, but there is still the feeling of losing his grip, of losing the control over the things he did with his life. Perhaps that’s why he’d attuned on a whim, on a thought. An idea. Because that was one thing he could have, he could keep to himself, and Safrin had granted it for him, had blessed him with it even after he’d met Frey the first time.
She remains quiet while he speaks, and when he’s done he can’t help the clench to his jaw, the muscle feathering there as she asks what he wants. And he doesn’t know what he wants, really. The ocean, the ability to love and lose and not grow attached to someone who can just be taken away from him again and again – because they always did. To not feel like he needs to sacrifice something for someone he can’t keep himself away from.
His gaze shudders slightly at the thought. “I want a great many things, but nothing this place can offer.” A quiet admittance. “But I’ve learned the hard way that Caido takes the things you want, taunts you with them, and crushes them beneath its fist.” He thinks back to the bronze lantern in the VlamVloed, the flint to Lusea’s eyes, the deep bronze of her skin. It’s not exactly an answer, but he sighs all the same, quietly when she continues on.
“I did it because I can’t stay away from her – I always end up back there some way, or she to me.” He frowns, running a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he looks anywhere else but her. “I argued with her when Lusea died and she came to see me. And somehow it still ended up with her asking if there was a future for us. A few weeks after I’d learned my soul mate died for a second time.” And he hadn’t been there for her, hadn’t been able to find the vengeance in his rage. “I pick my battles where I think I have some amount of control or some sort of choice, and with her? I don’t. I never have.” His gaze finally slips back to her then, that very same hollowness reflecting, shattered and empty, and surprisingly open where he usually remains fairly closed off, hidden behind masks of amusement and flirtatious smiles, alcohol and the likes.
But when she tells him that she’d be far more impressed by someone who would be honorable rather than being right and with a large ego, another dark chuckle leaves his throat and he crosses his arms across his chest, the wings folding in ever so slightly as he focuses on her again, gaze narrowing as his compasses point directly at her. “I can’t.” His voice is rough once more, though whether from emotion or something else, it’s unclear. His eyes reflect that very same confliction within him, the very same argument he’d had with Phoebe over and over again, the same answer given time and time again. “Is it so bad to just want to be right, one time? When everything else is falling apart at the seams and I'm tired of being the one to keep it all together?” Did that make him a terrible person? Did it make him selfish? Possibly, probably. But he was done caring. Phoebe knew it was likely to happen, despite how much the midwife wished to change him, to turn him into the most ideal person for her, a father to her children that he doesn't want, for a life he doesn't want.
He'd warned her, at the very least. And she'd still gone through with it at the end of those three terrible days.
She remains quiet while he speaks, and when he’s done he can’t help the clench to his jaw, the muscle feathering there as she asks what he wants. And he doesn’t know what he wants, really. The ocean, the ability to love and lose and not grow attached to someone who can just be taken away from him again and again – because they always did. To not feel like he needs to sacrifice something for someone he can’t keep himself away from.
His gaze shudders slightly at the thought. “I want a great many things, but nothing this place can offer.” A quiet admittance. “But I’ve learned the hard way that Caido takes the things you want, taunts you with them, and crushes them beneath its fist.” He thinks back to the bronze lantern in the VlamVloed, the flint to Lusea’s eyes, the deep bronze of her skin. It’s not exactly an answer, but he sighs all the same, quietly when she continues on.
“I did it because I can’t stay away from her – I always end up back there some way, or she to me.” He frowns, running a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze as he looks anywhere else but her. “I argued with her when Lusea died and she came to see me. And somehow it still ended up with her asking if there was a future for us. A few weeks after I’d learned my soul mate died for a second time.” And he hadn’t been there for her, hadn’t been able to find the vengeance in his rage. “I pick my battles where I think I have some amount of control or some sort of choice, and with her? I don’t. I never have.” His gaze finally slips back to her then, that very same hollowness reflecting, shattered and empty, and surprisingly open where he usually remains fairly closed off, hidden behind masks of amusement and flirtatious smiles, alcohol and the likes.
But when she tells him that she’d be far more impressed by someone who would be honorable rather than being right and with a large ego, another dark chuckle leaves his throat and he crosses his arms across his chest, the wings folding in ever so slightly as he focuses on her again, gaze narrowing as his compasses point directly at her. “I can’t.” His voice is rough once more, though whether from emotion or something else, it’s unclear. His eyes reflect that very same confliction within him, the very same argument he’d had with Phoebe over and over again, the same answer given time and time again. “Is it so bad to just want to be right, one time? When everything else is falling apart at the seams and I'm tired of being the one to keep it all together?” Did that make him a terrible person? Did it make him selfish? Possibly, probably. But he was done caring. Phoebe knew it was likely to happen, despite how much the midwife wished to change him, to turn him into the most ideal person for her, a father to her children that he doesn't want, for a life he doesn't want.
He'd warned her, at the very least. And she'd still gone through with it at the end of those three terrible days.
so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me
there ain't a casket strong enough for me
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.
