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 can tell she’s sizing him up, and he’d be lying if he didn’t find it somewhat entertaining. “I can fit in a variety of places, thank you.” He snorts to her, shaking his horned head and still moving over to the couch. “I think you’d appreciate the bed a bit more, anyway.” A rise and fall of his shoulders before he sits to remove his boots, setting them off to the side with a quiet thud. Though he doesn’t voice the reason why he thinks she’d appreciate the bed, he can’t help but to think on it a small amount. The fact the couch was more of a central meeting place, gathering for his members, the bed was mostly his in a way. She’d notice the smell of water and smoke and salt, faint as it were, scents of him throughout.
She has her back turned to him as she goes to remove her outer clothes, and he watches her for a brief moment until she gets toward the closer under layers — averting his own gaze to take the advantage of her back turned to slip out of the pants he wears and to put on a pair of shorts, slipping the cloth shirt off now that he’s realized he’s probably going to be too warm to sleep decently with all the layers on. And when he’s comfortable enough, he slides back into the couch with a quiet hum of a wince leaving his throat, the bruises along his spine pressing against the bumps of cushions with the movement.
He faces the ceiling, pulling the blanket over himself, legs drawn up ever so slightly to keep his feet from hanging off the end. “If you get too cold you can take a few more blankets from the drawer to the side.” He offers her, placing a hand behind his head and closing his eyes, an attempt at quelling the thoughts swarming his mind from the events that had transpired. He knows he won’t get too cold, too much of a furnace — especially while he’s as drunk as he is — he’ll likely end up kicking off the blanket at some point through the night.
She has her back turned to him as she goes to remove her outer clothes, and he watches her for a brief moment until she gets toward the closer under layers — averting his own gaze to take the advantage of her back turned to slip out of the pants he wears and to put on a pair of shorts, slipping the cloth shirt off now that he’s realized he’s probably going to be too warm to sleep decently with all the layers on. And when he’s comfortable enough, he slides back into the couch with a quiet hum of a wince leaving his throat, the bruises along his spine pressing against the bumps of cushions with the movement.
He faces the ceiling, pulling the blanket over himself, legs drawn up ever so slightly to keep his feet from hanging off the end. “If you get too cold you can take a few more blankets from the drawer to the side.” He offers her, placing a hand behind his head and closing his eyes, an attempt at quelling the thoughts swarming his mind from the events that had transpired. He knows he won’t get too cold, too much of a furnace — especially while he’s as drunk as he is — he’ll likely end up kicking off the blanket at some point through the night.
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.
