and if you want, i could tell you the truth
that this life takes a toll on you. i spend nights
Everything. He wants to say, but she shuts him out again. And he exhales with that, handing her the bow and the quiver, shifting as his boots crunch against the ground, against the rocks and dirt used to flatten the earth around them, to give them ample space. He just keeps it all inside, keeps it close as he invades the darkness within once more, letting it call to him further – he was already far enough in it, the lengthened canines, the horns protruding from his skull. He was already diving deeper and deeper as time went on.
And so when he stops before the target, mentally marking out the line to stop at, he drags the toe of his boot along it to mark it for her, offering her to stand up to it – looking out at the rest of them that are too far away to hear anything. “Why I still wear it.” He offers to her by way of explanation, not caring what she thinks of him – that if she looks at him, she might see the shift in his darkened gaze, the shadows that haunt him and creep closer much like the ice over her own.
It hadn’t been his attention to drag her into the middle of it, but nothing had gone right, nothing had gone his way, none of it. And he’s broken again on the inside, shattering and splintering, a flint for a fire to ignite. At least he doesn’t have the energy to argue anything, wondering how long it would take for the short breaths to grow more and more difficult to prolong. It hasn’t gotten better, he hasn’t gotten better – and yet he’d drank in Halo, he’d smoked despite knowing more harm than good would come from them.
He just couldn’t stop himself.
So he glances over to her once more, taking a stance along the edge of the line he’d drawn in the dirt, pulling an arrow from the quiver and nocking it into the bow, drawing back enough that his muscles flex and his gaze follows down the makeshift sights he’s added, before letting it fly. And it hits the dummy right in the chest, upper shoulder area, before he steps back and looks back over to her – waiting for her to try, to critique her form, to help her because he said he would and that he still intends to, even if she shuts him out completely.
And so when he stops before the target, mentally marking out the line to stop at, he drags the toe of his boot along it to mark it for her, offering her to stand up to it – looking out at the rest of them that are too far away to hear anything. “Why I still wear it.” He offers to her by way of explanation, not caring what she thinks of him – that if she looks at him, she might see the shift in his darkened gaze, the shadows that haunt him and creep closer much like the ice over her own.
It hadn’t been his attention to drag her into the middle of it, but nothing had gone right, nothing had gone his way, none of it. And he’s broken again on the inside, shattering and splintering, a flint for a fire to ignite. At least he doesn’t have the energy to argue anything, wondering how long it would take for the short breaths to grow more and more difficult to prolong. It hasn’t gotten better, he hasn’t gotten better – and yet he’d drank in Halo, he’d smoked despite knowing more harm than good would come from them.
He just couldn’t stop himself.
So he glances over to her once more, taking a stance along the edge of the line he’d drawn in the dirt, pulling an arrow from the quiver and nocking it into the bow, drawing back enough that his muscles flex and his gaze follows down the makeshift sights he’s added, before letting it fly. And it hits the dummy right in the chest, upper shoulder area, before he steps back and looks back over to her – waiting for her to try, to critique her form, to help her because he said he would and that he still intends to, even if she shuts him out completely.
stitching up the loose threads of my soul
so in the morning i'm bullet proof
SuNJATA
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.
