and if you want, i could tell you the truth
that this life takes a toll on you. i spend nights
He takes his stance, pulls the arrow back along the dark ebony bow, aims with a calm collection, focusing until he lets the arrow fly and it hits almost where he’d planned. Off by a hair, but practice was practice after all – and he’d been good enough to fell a deer before LongNight, a wolf before Fiat Lux. He steps aside, to look back at her as she inspects the bow – taking no offense to it despite the fact that he had indeed checked them both, restrung them both, all of that.
She says nothing at first before she takes her stance, and when she does she arches her brow toward him, telling him that she’s listening, and for a second he’s not sure where to even start. So he lets her get the arrow nocked and ready, not wanting to interfere with her focus, watching her posture and her attention, waiting to see how it goes. She holds, then she fires, and he watches it miss. But he doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t smile or tease or jest, instead he steps toward her, angling himself the way that she had, peering down to see where things had gone awry.
“I wanted to tell her in Halo.” He begins, stepping beside her and drawing his own bow and seeing how he sights down his own sights before inspecting her own posture once more. “But then she got drunk and lost in the snow, and it was a mess.” He sighs a rasping sigh, refraining from mentioning that he too got drunk, despite the fact it had harmed him. “Shoulders back a bit more.” He suggests, breaking up the intense conversation to show her again, his form as he takes a stance not exactly directly in front of it, but from where he can. He faces her, in how she draws differently, favoring her dominant hand that is the opposite of his. He focuses on the sights and how it looks in comparison to hers, before focusing back on her bow and adjusting it slightly more to the left.
“Apparently she thinks I want to kill her.” He says simply, sadly. Perhaps that would explain his refrain from adding more tension to it, as he focuses on stepping away from her and off to the side, a different angle as he grabs another arrow, nocks it, half paying attention in the admission he’s given her, of the monster he’s envisioned as. He’s too focused on that, it seems, as his arrow slips past the shoulder of the dummy he’d shot at, snagging and tearing the burlap fabric covering it as it zooms past and penetrates into the back wall.
She says nothing at first before she takes her stance, and when she does she arches her brow toward him, telling him that she’s listening, and for a second he’s not sure where to even start. So he lets her get the arrow nocked and ready, not wanting to interfere with her focus, watching her posture and her attention, waiting to see how it goes. She holds, then she fires, and he watches it miss. But he doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t smile or tease or jest, instead he steps toward her, angling himself the way that she had, peering down to see where things had gone awry.
“I wanted to tell her in Halo.” He begins, stepping beside her and drawing his own bow and seeing how he sights down his own sights before inspecting her own posture once more. “But then she got drunk and lost in the snow, and it was a mess.” He sighs a rasping sigh, refraining from mentioning that he too got drunk, despite the fact it had harmed him. “Shoulders back a bit more.” He suggests, breaking up the intense conversation to show her again, his form as he takes a stance not exactly directly in front of it, but from where he can. He faces her, in how she draws differently, favoring her dominant hand that is the opposite of his. He focuses on the sights and how it looks in comparison to hers, before focusing back on her bow and adjusting it slightly more to the left.
“Apparently she thinks I want to kill her.” He says simply, sadly. Perhaps that would explain his refrain from adding more tension to it, as he focuses on stepping away from her and off to the side, a different angle as he grabs another arrow, nocks it, half paying attention in the admission he’s given her, of the monster he’s envisioned as. He’s too focused on that, it seems, as his arrow slips past the shoulder of the dummy he’d shot at, snagging and tearing the burlap fabric covering it as it zooms past and penetrates into the back wall.
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.
