SUNJATA
the flood
i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
Her grin at the success of him opening the door is reflected with a fanged one of his own, turning with her as she goes to gesture where he might be able to find a way out of here now that he’s snicked the door shut. And with that in mind — for now — he turns back to the rest of the guild sector, spying the couch he’d helped bring, how comfortable it had seemed. “Do you think you could make it back on your own?” He asks with a snort, slinking toward the couch and taking a seat — warm already by the myriad of furs around his neck.
He watches her gather the furs momentarily, before he’s shrugging out of the furs and shirt he wears — already too much of a furnace let alone being drunk on top of it, that if she insists the furs he’d likely sweat to death wearing them. And he discards it beside the couch, pulling up a pillow to rest his head. His other hand rests along his stomach, where a variety of shark bite scars linger along his abs and his side, the tattoos that linger along his chest and arms and shoulders, up to his neck.
He squints at her as she comes over with the furs, a rogue smirk crossing his face. “Tuck me in, huh?” He repeats with a hum of a laugh, before the words are slipping from his lips in his drunkenness. “Not even my own mother did that.” She wasn’t allowed, had held a very hands off approach to raising him until he’d won his trial. Easier to not get attached to your child in case they died. But it had been hard, in the grand scheme of it all.
He watches her gather the furs momentarily, before he’s shrugging out of the furs and shirt he wears — already too much of a furnace let alone being drunk on top of it, that if she insists the furs he’d likely sweat to death wearing them. And he discards it beside the couch, pulling up a pillow to rest his head. His other hand rests along his stomach, where a variety of shark bite scars linger along his abs and his side, the tattoos that linger along his chest and arms and shoulders, up to his neck.
He squints at her as she comes over with the furs, a rogue smirk crossing his face. “Tuck me in, huh?” He repeats with a hum of a laugh, before the words are slipping from his lips in his drunkenness. “Not even my own mother did that.” She wasn’t allowed, had held a very hands off approach to raising him until he’d won his trial. Easier to not get attached to your child in case they died. But it had been hard, in the grand scheme of it all.
you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
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.
