if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
Of course it gets worse – because nothing could be easy anymore, could it? He listens, half tempted to roll his eyes when he speaks of Lusea being beyond him. But the comment of her not mourning him? Yeah, that gets to him. It gets to him deep, like a knife cutting through to his chest, a gaping wound all over again. His gaze narrows on her again, jaw clenching tight to keep from speaking.
But he can’t hold his tongue for long. “His gift to mankind here, sure. But not in Korofi, not in my world. I loved her long before arriving here.” He snaps back to her, passing over the comments of his broken soul, his sad idea at what love is. He had felt it, knew what it was, knew how terrifying it could be and still ended up trying it. He will not let it be deemed childish. So he tries to break his gaze from her, lifting that tattooed arm to rub his fingers along his temple, keeping that leash in check. For now.
Yet she goes on, comparing him to an incubus, and honestly? That’s a new one. Perhaps he should have married that girl his father had arranged for him to – could have talked long hours into the night of witchcraft and ghost stories. It would have been far better than this. His nostrils flare at her accusations, just another term for a monster of sorts, knowing deep down where his flaws lie. Still, it does little to keep from the deep-seated anger from showing, claws appearing where fingers had been, nicking a line along his temple that begins to bleed. But he’s too focused on her words to really care about the blood that mixes with the rain that drips along the side of his face.
Neither death had ultimately been his fault.
So he watches her as she begins to decay in front of him, ignoring the smell and the sight the best he can to try and keep that leash on his temper, ignoring the cut to his cheek as he clenches his jaw and inhales quite deeply to try and keep his voice even. “I did not come here to hear you degrade my life. I can do that well enough on my own.” It’s low, gravelly as his gaze finds her again, hands disappearing beneath the cloak again for the little comfort of Safrin’s daggers. “What do you want me to ask.” It’s a question, but it comes out flat – dull, the best he can do to keep his temper from flaring
But he can’t hold his tongue for long. “His gift to mankind here, sure. But not in Korofi, not in my world. I loved her long before arriving here.” He snaps back to her, passing over the comments of his broken soul, his sad idea at what love is. He had felt it, knew what it was, knew how terrifying it could be and still ended up trying it. He will not let it be deemed childish. So he tries to break his gaze from her, lifting that tattooed arm to rub his fingers along his temple, keeping that leash in check. For now.
Yet she goes on, comparing him to an incubus, and honestly? That’s a new one. Perhaps he should have married that girl his father had arranged for him to – could have talked long hours into the night of witchcraft and ghost stories. It would have been far better than this. His nostrils flare at her accusations, just another term for a monster of sorts, knowing deep down where his flaws lie. Still, it does little to keep from the deep-seated anger from showing, claws appearing where fingers had been, nicking a line along his temple that begins to bleed. But he’s too focused on her words to really care about the blood that mixes with the rain that drips along the side of his face.
Neither death had ultimately been his fault.
So he watches her as she begins to decay in front of him, ignoring the smell and the sight the best he can to try and keep that leash on his temper, ignoring the cut to his cheek as he clenches his jaw and inhales quite deeply to try and keep his voice even. “I did not come here to hear you degrade my life. I can do that well enough on my own.” It’s low, gravelly as his gaze finds her again, hands disappearing beneath the cloak again for the little comfort of Safrin’s daggers. “What do you want me to ask.” It’s a question, but it comes out flat – dull, the best he can do to keep his temper from flaring
are we laughing at the danger?
are we dancing after death, you and I?
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.
