SUNJATA
the flood
anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself
saving everybody else to save yourself
She continues to scrub away the blood and dirt, and he doesn’t stop her – moving when she needs him to, adjusting when she does, something quiet, hollow, tired echoing through to bone. And he watches her as she does it, cold and empty within as he focuses on the water becoming redder. The cannibal means nothing to him now, the argument over it meaning nothing. And yet somehow, with all the blood, knowing who it was from, can’t keep him from thinking of those already on his hands.
She begins to sing a lullaby, and he half listens to it, half hears her voice break and trembling. He doesn’t know what else to do, what he can do. He wants to try and prevent the inevitable sinking further and further below, to be swept away – no longer an anchor but a sailor lost at sea. Lost, not wanting to be found again. But Maea is there, spotlight in hand despite how much he wants to shy away from it.
And she doesn’t even know the half of him.
He waits until she’s finished before he lets her go and creates more space between them as he rests an elbow on his knee, resting his head within his hand, rubbing at his eyes once more. His throat remains tight, sharp, like needles any time he takes a breath. But he tries to, for her, to say something, even if it’s not the right thing to say.
His shadows stretch far beyond, encapsulating her with him and he sits in further silence, unable to find it in him to say anything at all. To shallow, too withdrawn, to hidden away from everything, even her, to say anything else.
She begins to sing a lullaby, and he half listens to it, half hears her voice break and trembling. He doesn’t know what else to do, what he can do. He wants to try and prevent the inevitable sinking further and further below, to be swept away – no longer an anchor but a sailor lost at sea. Lost, not wanting to be found again. But Maea is there, spotlight in hand despite how much he wants to shy away from it.
And she doesn’t even know the half of him.
He waits until she’s finished before he lets her go and creates more space between them as he rests an elbow on his knee, resting his head within his hand, rubbing at his eyes once more. His throat remains tight, sharp, like needles any time he takes a breath. But he tries to, for her, to say something, even if it’s not the right thing to say.
His shadows stretch far beyond, encapsulating her with him and he sits in further silence, unable to find it in him to say anything at all. To shallow, too withdrawn, to hidden away from everything, even her, to say anything else.
and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell
that's the story to tell
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.
