don't you know i'm no good for you?
He’d debated on sending the note after he’d written it, debated whether she’d even show – but he has to try, after finding that rock with Jigano, the one that reminded him so clearly of her eyes, of her skin, of how he envisions her taste, and how he can put it into a piece of something she might like, something she could stab him with if she wanted to, push him off the edge of the bone bridge and put him out of his misery. He stares at the fog beneath his feet, shuffling his boots idly against the sides of the bridge, box in hand, waiting and wondering if she’ll show.
Part of him hopes that she doesn’t.
Part of him hopes she does.
His trip to Halo, his rendezvous with Maea, his poor life choices and being unable to cope with any of them leading to further and further drifting down the shadowed hint of the corners of his heart. He’s permanently partially shifted, now, horns wrapping around his head, teeth elongated in fangs, hands tipped in dark claws that tap idly against the wood of the box that shelters the dagger he’d had made, with the stone supplying a brilliant sheen to the handle.
And he hears her, head lifting ever so slightly but not turning to face her, because he doesn’t think he can. His heart sinks, stomach burns, ring taps against the wood of the box as he shifts it along his lap. “I got you a gift and an apology.” He says, hoarsely, deep and rough and exhausted – so sick and still pushing his luck, wiggling his legs a bit more along the great expanse of nothing. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, granting some courage to turn to her and let his darkened steel gaze flit over her, box extended out for her to grab and open and see what’s inside.
Perhaps end him with it too.
Part of him hopes that she doesn’t.
Part of him hopes she does.
His trip to Halo, his rendezvous with Maea, his poor life choices and being unable to cope with any of them leading to further and further drifting down the shadowed hint of the corners of his heart. He’s permanently partially shifted, now, horns wrapping around his head, teeth elongated in fangs, hands tipped in dark claws that tap idly against the wood of the box that shelters the dagger he’d had made, with the stone supplying a brilliant sheen to the handle.
And he hears her, head lifting ever so slightly but not turning to face her, because he doesn’t think he can. His heart sinks, stomach burns, ring taps against the wood of the box as he shifts it along his lap. “I got you a gift and an apology.” He says, hoarsely, deep and rough and exhausted – so sick and still pushing his luck, wiggling his legs a bit more along the great expanse of nothing. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, granting some courage to turn to her and let his darkened steel gaze flit over her, box extended out for her to grab and open and see what’s inside.
Perhaps end him with it too.
i've learned to lose, you can't afford to
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.
