if i let go, would you hold on, would we fly?
is it safer if we just say that we tried?
He doesn’t intend for the whistle to make Nate flinch. He doesn’t intend to make it all that much more confusing for the Ascended. All he wants is to get him somewhere safe, now that the girl has run off, already prepared to hunt and seek her out. But he can’t, not until he ensures Nate’s safe, fine, healing enough. Absently, he wonders if he should’ve ran to a shrine, to the Voice who could likely fix him up — unsure if Safrin would even show for a plea like that. And it sinks a bit further in his gut when he sets Nate gently on the couch, while his steel gaze scans over the face and what he can see hiding behind the bandage, hands moving and shaking as he pushes dark hair away from the wound.
He watches Nate slump into the cushions while he grabs the box of first aid items, unsure where to even start when he sets it to the ground beside him and asks what he can do, what would help, knowing that the Ascended healed faster than he did and yet… And yet he’s never seen something like this.
A cauterized wound, sure. But a cauterized wound on a flammable Ascended, one of his biggest fears when there’s the flickering of flame involved anywhere near Nate… And it cuts him like a knife. Every one of his wounds he’s sustained, the stabbing to the gut and the arrow to the neck, are minuscule for the Korofian as he hears what Nate wants, what he needs. Sunjata has been through worse, but it was nothing like this, because that wound on Nate’s face would scar.
It would change everything, wouldn’t it?
So he does what he can, to make it easier, thumbs brushing against Nate’s forehead as he silently commands Haai to get a mirror from the back room. “Okay.” He breathes, his stomach burning with the thought of Nate seeing it, of him fully seeing what had happened. But he’s quick about it, standing and practically running to the small kitchenesque portion of the downstairs, grabbing water and returning to Nate’s side. He’s not sure how much water to bring, but he’s brought more than enough. A cloth, as well, as he kneels beside Nate once more with the bucket and a cup.
He tries to shift some of the pillows wherever Nate might need them, to sit up a bit more when he’s ready — and Haai is quick to return with a small handheld mirror — one that Sunjata grasps easily enough and bumps the handle lightly against Nate’s free hand. “Here – here’s the mirror. I have water.” He manages through a throat that feels like pins and needles. His free hand reaches up to touch, to offer whatever comfort he could in the span of time, waiting for Nate to tell him to remove the makeshift wrap when he’s ready.
He watches Nate slump into the cushions while he grabs the box of first aid items, unsure where to even start when he sets it to the ground beside him and asks what he can do, what would help, knowing that the Ascended healed faster than he did and yet… And yet he’s never seen something like this.
A cauterized wound, sure. But a cauterized wound on a flammable Ascended, one of his biggest fears when there’s the flickering of flame involved anywhere near Nate… And it cuts him like a knife. Every one of his wounds he’s sustained, the stabbing to the gut and the arrow to the neck, are minuscule for the Korofian as he hears what Nate wants, what he needs. Sunjata has been through worse, but it was nothing like this, because that wound on Nate’s face would scar.
It would change everything, wouldn’t it?
So he does what he can, to make it easier, thumbs brushing against Nate’s forehead as he silently commands Haai to get a mirror from the back room. “Okay.” He breathes, his stomach burning with the thought of Nate seeing it, of him fully seeing what had happened. But he’s quick about it, standing and practically running to the small kitchenesque portion of the downstairs, grabbing water and returning to Nate’s side. He’s not sure how much water to bring, but he’s brought more than enough. A cloth, as well, as he kneels beside Nate once more with the bucket and a cup.
He tries to shift some of the pillows wherever Nate might need them, to sit up a bit more when he’s ready — and Haai is quick to return with a small handheld mirror — one that Sunjata grasps easily enough and bumps the handle lightly against Nate’s free hand. “Here – here’s the mirror. I have water.” He manages through a throat that feels like pins and needles. His free hand reaches up to touch, to offer whatever comfort he could in the span of time, waiting for Nate to tell him to remove the makeshift wrap when he’s ready.
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.
