I saw the crosses of empty cathedrals whose prospects were hanging out in bars
No, no she hadn’t told him what it did. She was sure he didn’t know what any of it even was. And she’d been right, because his forte wasn’t herbs and healing. It was destruction, and it always had been. It was what he was born to do, born to become, what he’d fallen into. But he has nothing to say when Nate continues on, not until the frustration and fury as Sunjata yet again tries to rationalize a thing that there wasn’t any rationality for. But the Ascended cuts himself off, and Sunjata sighs slowly though his nose, some quiet tone slipping from his throat. “I know.” It’s exactly what Hotaru had said, too.
And when the mention of all of the manipulation he’s been faced with, he has to do his best to not visibly flinch with it, to try and protest when Nate tells him he didn’t pull the trigger – because he had. It was self-defense, yes, but he’d still pulled it. He’d pulled it when the resistance was in its height. He’d pulled it on those he’d trained with since he was young in order to do something that he thought was right.
What a mess he truly was, and here he is stacking more onto Nate’s shoulders when he really should just be sitting down and shutting up and enjoying the nice morning for what it was. But he can’t, not now that the words are slipping from his throat, and this is perhaps the most he’s been able to talk about what’s happened to him, why he thinks the way he does, only stilling when Nate mentions it’s trauma, when the question reaches his ears and he has to think about it, when he sees those electric blues swimming with so much love and concern, that it almost hurts.
“I don’t know.” He says after a few moments of quiet, of stillness, of the burning in his ears and his neck. He doesn’t know why he keeps saying it, only that perhaps if he tries saying it enough times he might actually believe it one day. “I don’t remember a time where I didn’t have any trauma.” He admits, slowly, keeping his eye contact with Nate as if it might urge the point a bit more. “My mother didn’t tell me she loved me until after I won the Trial. There wasn’t a spark of happiness growing up that wasn’t shadowed by my father and my failures and weaknesses growing up.” Holy shit he’s going in deep. He takes a deep inhale and almost shudders under the memory, his hands moving back to keep Nate close as if the Ascended might drift away from him too if he lets go. “We had a live in make-up artist to fix me before my family had to do these stupid movie prompts.” Another pause as he dives in deep. “I almost drowned during my swim test when I was five or six. My leg got caught in a log in the floodwaters. And my father –” Another mirthless laugh leaves him. “My father was so fucking upset that I didn’t drown that day. That’s my first memory. Nearly drowning and paying for still breathing after it.”
And when the mention of all of the manipulation he’s been faced with, he has to do his best to not visibly flinch with it, to try and protest when Nate tells him he didn’t pull the trigger – because he had. It was self-defense, yes, but he’d still pulled it. He’d pulled it when the resistance was in its height. He’d pulled it on those he’d trained with since he was young in order to do something that he thought was right.
What a mess he truly was, and here he is stacking more onto Nate’s shoulders when he really should just be sitting down and shutting up and enjoying the nice morning for what it was. But he can’t, not now that the words are slipping from his throat, and this is perhaps the most he’s been able to talk about what’s happened to him, why he thinks the way he does, only stilling when Nate mentions it’s trauma, when the question reaches his ears and he has to think about it, when he sees those electric blues swimming with so much love and concern, that it almost hurts.
“I don’t know.” He says after a few moments of quiet, of stillness, of the burning in his ears and his neck. He doesn’t know why he keeps saying it, only that perhaps if he tries saying it enough times he might actually believe it one day. “I don’t remember a time where I didn’t have any trauma.” He admits, slowly, keeping his eye contact with Nate as if it might urge the point a bit more. “My mother didn’t tell me she loved me until after I won the Trial. There wasn’t a spark of happiness growing up that wasn’t shadowed by my father and my failures and weaknesses growing up.” Holy shit he’s going in deep. He takes a deep inhale and almost shudders under the memory, his hands moving back to keep Nate close as if the Ascended might drift away from him too if he lets go. “We had a live in make-up artist to fix me before my family had to do these stupid movie prompts.” Another pause as he dives in deep. “I almost drowned during my swim test when I was five or six. My leg got caught in a log in the floodwaters. And my father –” Another mirthless laugh leaves him. “My father was so fucking upset that I didn’t drown that day. That’s my first memory. Nearly drowning and paying for still breathing after it.”
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.
