SUNJATA
the flood
He’s not sure he remembers the last time he was tucked into bed. At least, not like this, not with the fatherly touch that Ronin gives. He’s not sure he’s ever been tucked in, least of all by his father. So he lets Ronin fix the blankets, tuck him in, tired steel gaze lingering along Ronin’s face when a surprised look crosses his own. “How did you know?” He asks, because he’s already forgotten what the blue thing was he’d spied and Ronin gave him the perfect out.
His head nuzzles into the pillow a bit more once Ronin takes a seat, the Flood rolling over onto his side. “I said ‘you spy on Remi, don’t you?’” He rumbles, not knowing which part of the sentence he’d slipped into Korofi with. But there’s an amused grin that spreads across his face when Ronin admits to it, a hand lifting from the blankets to tug Ronin closer into the bed with him. “You’re a good spy.” There’s a soft sigh that slips from him and the exhaustion settles in his mind like a blanket of sleep calling his name.
“Make sure the house grows… A nap sounds nice.” Like shutting blinds, Sunjata’s lids close, his breathing patterns shift into something else, something smoother and less ramped up, taking not long to fall into a deep sleep. The world in his dream is vibrant, colorful, but cold, tall buildings lining a steep river, cars driving past a parade of sorts that waits at the apex of a bridge. There's a line of adults, of parents, their hands resting on the shoulders of a handful of boys all around the age of five or six while holding umbrellas to ward off the thundering rain.
His head nuzzles into the pillow a bit more once Ronin takes a seat, the Flood rolling over onto his side. “I said ‘you spy on Remi, don’t you?’” He rumbles, not knowing which part of the sentence he’d slipped into Korofi with. But there’s an amused grin that spreads across his face when Ronin admits to it, a hand lifting from the blankets to tug Ronin closer into the bed with him. “You’re a good spy.” There’s a soft sigh that slips from him and the exhaustion settles in his mind like a blanket of sleep calling his name.
“Make sure the house grows… A nap sounds nice.” Like shutting blinds, Sunjata’s lids close, his breathing patterns shift into something else, something smoother and less ramped up, taking not long to fall into a deep sleep. The world in his dream is vibrant, colorful, but cold, tall buildings lining a steep river, cars driving past a parade of sorts that waits at the apex of a bridge. There's a line of adults, of parents, their hands resting on the shoulders of a handful of boys all around the age of five or six while holding umbrellas to ward off the thundering rain.
hard drugs, fake love; it's a sensation
makes one hell of a collaboration
makes one hell of a collaboration
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.
