SuNjATA
the flood
There’s a playful roll of his eyes at Maea’s own nickname for him as she strokes the back of his thumb. His bruised hand falls from his neck to settle along the leg he’d lifted up along the rock as he focuses on the water once more. “When we first started going together, it was almost like another punch to my father. And in her own moment of rebellion, she tattooed a blue dot to me right…” He reaches up to point at the space in his chest where she’d put it – long since covered up by her arrow tattoo now. “Here.” He lets his hand fall back again.
“And then she told me that if I were to die, she’d be the one that killed me.” It’s nostalgic, a sort of vow that he needed to survive everything just so that way she could be the one to take him when he goes. Perhaps that’s the only reason he’s around now – that damned arrogance and old habits. Still, he snorts. “Ironic, considering.” A small shrug. “But she had these dark eyes. Brown, almost black. Like flint. Bronze skin, some freckles, and long black hair.” He pauses as he considers it again, as if he can see her there. “She was maybe half a foot shorter than me?” That’s why she’d been so good at kicking his ass, of all things.
“She could handle almost anything. Almost everything? Was as stubborn as I am.” He shakes his head to that before squeezing her hand and running out of things to say right now as the exhaustion continues to set in. At least now the wound feels better, and he looks to Maea then with slightly less shadowed eyes. “I’m… pretty tired so if it’s all over the place, I’m sorry.” A slight quirk of his lip to that. “But thank you.” He offers her again, for letting him speak of her, for fixing and cleaning his wound, for simply being there and understanding without the alcohol to ignite the fire in them both.
“And then she told me that if I were to die, she’d be the one that killed me.” It’s nostalgic, a sort of vow that he needed to survive everything just so that way she could be the one to take him when he goes. Perhaps that’s the only reason he’s around now – that damned arrogance and old habits. Still, he snorts. “Ironic, considering.” A small shrug. “But she had these dark eyes. Brown, almost black. Like flint. Bronze skin, some freckles, and long black hair.” He pauses as he considers it again, as if he can see her there. “She was maybe half a foot shorter than me?” That’s why she’d been so good at kicking his ass, of all things.
“She could handle almost anything. Almost everything? Was as stubborn as I am.” He shakes his head to that before squeezing her hand and running out of things to say right now as the exhaustion continues to set in. At least now the wound feels better, and he looks to Maea then with slightly less shadowed eyes. “I’m… pretty tired so if it’s all over the place, I’m sorry.” A slight quirk of his lip to that. “But thank you.” He offers her again, for letting him speak of her, for fixing and cleaning his wound, for simply being there and understanding without the alcohol to ignite the fire in them both.
if i let go, would you hold on?
would we fly?
would we fly?
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.
