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
Unfortunately, Sunjata was incredibly easily manipulated when it came to his mentality. His father had done it since he was born, the only reprieve being his mother who’d given him enough courage to make a change, to take a stand. And she’d paid for it in the end. Maea’s apology is granted a quiet nod, though whether she sees it or not, it does mean something. His mother had been kind, sweet, rebellious in her own way. The fact she was married to his father was the worst thing about her.
“I mean… It kind of was an all around thing.” He rumbles, pulling a shirt out and half turning toward her with an almost solemn look crossing his exhausted face. “The rebellion was pretty proud to have me there, and they liked to show off all their ‘notable’ members. So they aired a picture of me and my tattoos as a sort of taunt.” He’s not sure if it’ll make sense or not. “And we didn’t expect my father to react that way.” He shrugs, reaching up to rub at his neck. “He’d never really been violent to anyone except toward me, but decided my mother was a traitor and took it out on her.” His gaze lifts toward the back of her when she speaks next.
The wings, the navy plumes. He slips the shirt on, carefully as he can over his horns, before shifting into his macaw form and flies toward the bookshelf she’s at, talons digging into the wood, hanging almost upside down, one wing outstretched toward her shoulder with a cock of his head. He’d certainly got his wings now.
“I mean… It kind of was an all around thing.” He rumbles, pulling a shirt out and half turning toward her with an almost solemn look crossing his exhausted face. “The rebellion was pretty proud to have me there, and they liked to show off all their ‘notable’ members. So they aired a picture of me and my tattoos as a sort of taunt.” He’s not sure if it’ll make sense or not. “And we didn’t expect my father to react that way.” He shrugs, reaching up to rub at his neck. “He’d never really been violent to anyone except toward me, but decided my mother was a traitor and took it out on her.” His gaze lifts toward the back of her when she speaks next.
The wings, the navy plumes. He slips the shirt on, carefully as he can over his horns, before shifting into his macaw form and flies toward the bookshelf she’s at, talons digging into the wood, hanging almost upside down, one wing outstretched toward her shoulder with a cock of his head. He’d certainly got his wings now.
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.
