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
The mask of ice, one he’d seen so many times, it shatters within him and he can see the way this will go – after he’d admitted so much, told her so much about him and the arrangement with Phoebe and his life and a few deeper tidbits of information surrounding him that he hadn’t told anyone else. He’d never openly told anyone that his father had abused him, had never openly uttered the words out loud. And it frightens him, this hold that she has over him, the axe over his head should she wish to wield it.
But it softens when he turns to face her, after the cough had racked through his system, his gaze finding hers and the mask shifts, his own long gone, drifting further down the river under the face of the sun. He takes a shaky breath, turning to her fully once more, bold enough to take a step toward her but to keep the distance between them, however much he craves to break the distance, to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her again, to lay with her beneath the shade of the trees and watch the sun drift in the sky.
He doesn’t move in inch past that first step, watching her run a hand through her hair, away from her face – silken white strands that he can feel the touch of them ghostlike along his fingertips. He exhales when she says she didn’t hate it, that it was nice, that it can’t happen again. And he knows this, and he hates it. Hates the fact that he’d made the mistakes to lead up to this moment, to chain himself to the midwife with a terribly miserable future, when he could spend it anywhere else other than the dark dungeon of what his life’s become.
He wants nothing more than to go to her, to tell her everything would be okay. That she’d stay at the bar, with chaste quiet smiles sent to her, time set aside for her to train and teach her to wield weapons, and he clenches his jaw slightly with another shaky breath, closing off from her slightly as he folds his arms across his chest, beneath the flaming arrow over his heart, claws digging into the muscle there slightly. “It’s not your fault. Blame it on me.” He says quietly, defeated, looking away from her to Haai who watches the whole ordeal, keeping guard over Ludo’s rags.
But it softens when he turns to face her, after the cough had racked through his system, his gaze finding hers and the mask shifts, his own long gone, drifting further down the river under the face of the sun. He takes a shaky breath, turning to her fully once more, bold enough to take a step toward her but to keep the distance between them, however much he craves to break the distance, to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her again, to lay with her beneath the shade of the trees and watch the sun drift in the sky.
He doesn’t move in inch past that first step, watching her run a hand through her hair, away from her face – silken white strands that he can feel the touch of them ghostlike along his fingertips. He exhales when she says she didn’t hate it, that it was nice, that it can’t happen again. And he knows this, and he hates it. Hates the fact that he’d made the mistakes to lead up to this moment, to chain himself to the midwife with a terribly miserable future, when he could spend it anywhere else other than the dark dungeon of what his life’s become.
He wants nothing more than to go to her, to tell her everything would be okay. That she’d stay at the bar, with chaste quiet smiles sent to her, time set aside for her to train and teach her to wield weapons, and he clenches his jaw slightly with another shaky breath, closing off from her slightly as he folds his arms across his chest, beneath the flaming arrow over his heart, claws digging into the muscle there slightly. “It’s not your fault. Blame it on me.” He says quietly, defeated, looking away from her to Haai who watches the whole ordeal, keeping guard over Ludo’s rags.
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.
