they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes
he's a demon, with a crown of blood
He doesn’t hear her as she enters the bar, doesn’t notice – too blinded by the destruction, the frustration, the anger that seethes within him at being so careless and reckless. Too lost in the moment, too indulgent of the feelings, enough so that both wrists sport those fangs, two more set on his neck that he reaches up to rub at briefly before setting Lusea’s lantern back on the shelf.
He hears the sound of the broom then, picking up a few more pieces that had fallen from the memorial wall to place back up. “We’re closed temporarily.” He offers, cigarette bumping along his lips when he speaks in a rough, exhausted voice, not looking at who’s approached, who’s entered, trying to pick up what pieces he can of his life. He reaches up to pull the smoke from his lips, exhaling a plume of it through his nose before he turns back toward the bar to reach for the bottle again, hoping that perhaps however had entered had left.
But he spies who holds the broom, eyes flickering over her briefly before he looks around to the destruction wrought. “Oh. Maea. I think your room's okay, but it might be better for you to find somewhere else to stay until everything's cleaned up.” It’s an almost indifferent answer, uncertain and unsure, but if the back wall had been mostly left unharmed he imagines the rest of it has been too. And with it, he flicks the ash from the cigarette, taking a deep drink of the alcohol and savoring the burn.
He hears the sound of the broom then, picking up a few more pieces that had fallen from the memorial wall to place back up. “We’re closed temporarily.” He offers, cigarette bumping along his lips when he speaks in a rough, exhausted voice, not looking at who’s approached, who’s entered, trying to pick up what pieces he can of his life. He reaches up to pull the smoke from his lips, exhaling a plume of it through his nose before he turns back toward the bar to reach for the bottle again, hoping that perhaps however had entered had left.
But he spies who holds the broom, eyes flickering over her briefly before he looks around to the destruction wrought. “Oh. Maea. I think your room's okay, but it might be better for you to find somewhere else to stay until everything's cleaned up.” It’s an almost indifferent answer, uncertain and unsure, but if the back wall had been mostly left unharmed he imagines the rest of it has been too. And with it, he flicks the ash from the cigarette, taking a deep drink of the alcohol and savoring the burn.
does it look like he's still under your control?
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.
