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
Sunjata had always been a fighter, at least until they piled and piled on him and he couldn’t take it anymore – those moments of weakness, of breaking and chipping away one fragile piece at a time, swallowing down the soft child that lived within him, that had cried and begged to get out of his Trial when he’d learned of what it was, to dealing with it in anxiety attacks until the very day of. He feels it now, swallowing hard over the topic, over the way she continues to drift to his side when all he felt was ragged, exhausted, shattered – not even knowing what he wanted in the end.
He clutches the bottle in his hand, tilting his head back far enough that the horns scratch against the bar top, and his gaze seeks her out beside him, spotting the blush and thinking nothing of it. She’d have figured it out eventually, and Sunjata hadn’t quite had an outlet for it, not until that moment. He looks away from her at her question, horns scraping further as he lets his gaze survey the bar. “I’d have done it differently but still did it, probably.” A hoarse, honest answer.
But then she surprises him, moving far quicker than his sluggish mind can comprehend – snatching the bottle. He has a moment of pause, wondering if she plans on tossing it into the bin as well, but she drinks it, and he watches her cough with a small part of amusement somehow finding its way through this mess, before he shakes his head, standing to turn to her, to block her in against the bar with his arms braced on either side if she lets him, peering down at her. He reaches up to try and take the bottle from her, taking a deep sip of it again.
He points the top of the bottle toward her as well as his index finger, aiming to press it against her collarbone. “You don’t drink.” He says almost informatively, as though she hadn’t known, before setting it back on the bar hopefully out of her reach. “And it’s mine.” His gaze returns to her, the tilt of his head, a dark brow raised to see if she challenges him for it.
He clutches the bottle in his hand, tilting his head back far enough that the horns scratch against the bar top, and his gaze seeks her out beside him, spotting the blush and thinking nothing of it. She’d have figured it out eventually, and Sunjata hadn’t quite had an outlet for it, not until that moment. He looks away from her at her question, horns scraping further as he lets his gaze survey the bar. “I’d have done it differently but still did it, probably.” A hoarse, honest answer.
But then she surprises him, moving far quicker than his sluggish mind can comprehend – snatching the bottle. He has a moment of pause, wondering if she plans on tossing it into the bin as well, but she drinks it, and he watches her cough with a small part of amusement somehow finding its way through this mess, before he shakes his head, standing to turn to her, to block her in against the bar with his arms braced on either side if she lets him, peering down at her. He reaches up to try and take the bottle from her, taking a deep sip of it again.
He points the top of the bottle toward her as well as his index finger, aiming to press it against her collarbone. “You don’t drink.” He says almost informatively, as though she hadn’t known, before setting it back on the bar hopefully out of her reach. “And it’s mine.” His gaze returns to her, the tilt of his head, a dark brow raised to see if she challenges him for it.
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.
