SUNJATA
the flood
anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself
saving everybody else to save yourself
She coughs and sputters from the cigarette and the alcohol and Sunjata simply remains quiet, not saying anything to gesture whether he thinks she should stop or slow down. If anything, he offers a crooked, slightly encouraging smirk. “Takes some getting used to.” He rumbles, taking another pull from his cigarette and letting the scent of it meld with everything else before he exhales a grey plume.
As she responds of him being a shapeshifter, he simply nods, letting a few partial shifts appear — sharp fangs interlaced with his smile, navy feathers that trickle down his shoulders, filling in the outlines of the tattoos there. And from his crown, dark horns edged in gold spiral out to circle his head. Only a few, to simply show off that he isn’t talking out of his ass. But he stays silent despite the fangs and horns and feathers if only to hear her words — sipping idly from the whiskey and dragging from the cigarette.
He wonders if they might get along, given the sad similarities of their pasts. “You’d likely agree with the Old Gods in that regard. Abandoned, are typically aptly named.” There’s a quiet hum of consideration that leaves him with it, of those that were abandoned that had proven themselves to the gods and gained favor, but he doesn’t muse it — drawing silent again.
Only when she’s done speaking of her past, the alcohol burning away the reservations she has. He doesn’t blame her, not for having grown up that way. Sunjata was similar, though he’d become a killer by survival if only to survive his father’s monstrosity. So he leans forward, bracing both elbows on the table, horned head tilting to the side slightly as he flicks some ash from the cigarette. “First things first, I want to say that the abandoned here aren’t your enemies. People are shitty. Doesn’t mean the entirety of their race or abilities are. Just them. That being said, there is the possibility that the gods can help with an item of sorts that disables magic.” He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but given the amount of impossible made possible things he’s found in this world, it’s worth a shot.
As for the rest of it, he downs the rest of the whiskey, pouring a bit more for himself and offering the bottle to her should she want more. “Where I came from we didn’t have magic or shifts or anything. It was a harsh world, full of flooding and disaster, full of terrible men that would’ve done exactly what happened to your father without so much as a reason to.” Feathered shoulders shrug lightly. “It takes some adjustments to get used to the strangeness of it all here, but I can assure you that not everyone here is terrible.” That crooked and fanged smile reappears.
As she responds of him being a shapeshifter, he simply nods, letting a few partial shifts appear — sharp fangs interlaced with his smile, navy feathers that trickle down his shoulders, filling in the outlines of the tattoos there. And from his crown, dark horns edged in gold spiral out to circle his head. Only a few, to simply show off that he isn’t talking out of his ass. But he stays silent despite the fangs and horns and feathers if only to hear her words — sipping idly from the whiskey and dragging from the cigarette.
He wonders if they might get along, given the sad similarities of their pasts. “You’d likely agree with the Old Gods in that regard. Abandoned, are typically aptly named.” There’s a quiet hum of consideration that leaves him with it, of those that were abandoned that had proven themselves to the gods and gained favor, but he doesn’t muse it — drawing silent again.
Only when she’s done speaking of her past, the alcohol burning away the reservations she has. He doesn’t blame her, not for having grown up that way. Sunjata was similar, though he’d become a killer by survival if only to survive his father’s monstrosity. So he leans forward, bracing both elbows on the table, horned head tilting to the side slightly as he flicks some ash from the cigarette. “First things first, I want to say that the abandoned here aren’t your enemies. People are shitty. Doesn’t mean the entirety of their race or abilities are. Just them. That being said, there is the possibility that the gods can help with an item of sorts that disables magic.” He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but given the amount of impossible made possible things he’s found in this world, it’s worth a shot.
As for the rest of it, he downs the rest of the whiskey, pouring a bit more for himself and offering the bottle to her should she want more. “Where I came from we didn’t have magic or shifts or anything. It was a harsh world, full of flooding and disaster, full of terrible men that would’ve done exactly what happened to your father without so much as a reason to.” Feathered shoulders shrug lightly. “It takes some adjustments to get used to the strangeness of it all here, but I can assure you that not everyone here is terrible.” That crooked and fanged smile reappears.
and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell
that's the story to tell
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.
