SuNjATA
the flood
He leaves the knife as is, on his knee, focusing on her attempts to use her magic with it. His gaze drops to it, watching it wiggle a bit, though he leaves it mostly open – as though some guard who was armed hadn’t expected, hadn’t understood that she’d be able to grab it with her mind. And he watches as it flies through the air toward her, dark brow raised in quiet question if she’d accidently stab herself with it. So far so good, however, and he focuses on the rest of his story while she works to remove the ropes.
He leans back in the chair a bit, arms raising an interlacing along the back of his head as he stretches out a bit idly. Her question is one that he asks himself a lot, more recently as of late. And it’d always come down to the fact that it was the agreement. The proof that since he promised he’d try. To be home at night, give her the things she wanted, even if it killed him inside to do it. He works his jaw a bit, biting down on his lower lip briefly with sharp teeth and fangs, steel gaze sliding over to her at her hiss.
But she continues on, and he remains a bit impassive about it, rubbing the inside of his hand where the ring usually sat. When she finishes speaking, he pulls his arms from behind his head to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together in front of him, chin resting on the apex of his fists while his arms still remain a hint red. “Because I promised I would try. In front of Frey.” He focuses on her a bit more intently. “Frey said it didn’t matter, but Phoebe and Frey are close. And I’m … Not exactly Frey’s favorite after I attuned through Safrin instead of them, I think.” He muses. “Trying meant being home every night unless work called me away. Trying meant doing what she wanted, regardless.” His tone is a bit defeated.
Yet, she’s gotten out of the restraints, and he looks up at her when she stands and inspects the hands and wrists that had just been restrained. “Good job.” A quiet response, before the scent of iron fills his nose and his brows lift. He's not sure if he's extra sensitive to it from the shifts hiding beneath his skin, or if it's that noticeable. “You’re bleeding.” He comments, unclasping his hands to stand and move behind the bar to grab a bandage and something to clean it up. Returning to her, he stands before her, back in her space, looking down to her almost expectant to see her hand, his own outstretched to lift it and inspect.
Though his mood is decidedly more quiet, more reserved than it had been before.
He leans back in the chair a bit, arms raising an interlacing along the back of his head as he stretches out a bit idly. Her question is one that he asks himself a lot, more recently as of late. And it’d always come down to the fact that it was the agreement. The proof that since he promised he’d try. To be home at night, give her the things she wanted, even if it killed him inside to do it. He works his jaw a bit, biting down on his lower lip briefly with sharp teeth and fangs, steel gaze sliding over to her at her hiss.
But she continues on, and he remains a bit impassive about it, rubbing the inside of his hand where the ring usually sat. When she finishes speaking, he pulls his arms from behind his head to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands together in front of him, chin resting on the apex of his fists while his arms still remain a hint red. “Because I promised I would try. In front of Frey.” He focuses on her a bit more intently. “Frey said it didn’t matter, but Phoebe and Frey are close. And I’m … Not exactly Frey’s favorite after I attuned through Safrin instead of them, I think.” He muses. “Trying meant being home every night unless work called me away. Trying meant doing what she wanted, regardless.” His tone is a bit defeated.
Yet, she’s gotten out of the restraints, and he looks up at her when she stands and inspects the hands and wrists that had just been restrained. “Good job.” A quiet response, before the scent of iron fills his nose and his brows lift. He's not sure if he's extra sensitive to it from the shifts hiding beneath his skin, or if it's that noticeable. “You’re bleeding.” He comments, unclasping his hands to stand and move behind the bar to grab a bandage and something to clean it up. Returning to her, he stands before her, back in her space, looking down to her almost expectant to see her hand, his own outstretched to lift it and inspect.
Though his mood is decidedly more quiet, more reserved than it had been before.
if i let go, would you hold on?
would we fly?
would we fly?
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.
