(SE) when it lands

SUNJATA

the flood

With the figure still out of sight, he relaxes a fraction. The armored plates that have coated his skin begin to turn back to typical bronze, navy tattoos flicking out from beneath the shirt he wears. He takes a few moments to regain control of his thundering heart, a few moments more to tuck away the nausea, to try and banish the thoughts from his mind as he reaches up to rub at his temples, to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t expect Jack to be so helpful, he supposes. It’s clear in the thrum of surprise that laces in and melds away the inky black of his fear. “If he’s real, I think he’d probably just want to deal with me.” He manages, swallowing hard against a tight throat. Of course, he doesn’t know, his father had stuck his fingers into everything, had a hand in every horrible thing that happened whether it involved Sunjata or not.

He finally looks over at Jack, the offer clear in his voice. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him. I don’t have anyone actively looking yet.” A small part of honesty, his gaze tearing away to look back at the palm where the figure had loomed. “I thought I saw my father.” It’s quieter, almost as if the words are filled with both anger and shame.

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

Sunjata begins to relax and Jack feels the tension in his own muscles release somewhat, the smuggler staring out into the distance where the figure they'd both seen is no longer present. The Flood can be surprised all he likes, but when you've seen a motherfucking dragon face off against a pair of ghost whales, you don't really want it panicked. What's more, anything that can frighten it in the way that it's gotten to Sunjata ought to be treated with a modicum of respect.

"All the more reason to make sure he doesn't get to just deal with you," he says, blue eyes already elsewhere, forming plans and lists of contacts, ways to find and wipe away this new potential threat. Then Sunjata says the magic words Jack has been waiting for, and there's something savage about the smile he directs at the Governor. "Ah so a special kind of asshole, then," he drawls, the barest hints of camaraderie in his voice - no anger or shame to be found.

"Aight, Governor. What name does this fucker go by? Any distinguishin' features?" He beckons for Jata to follow after him.

SUNJATA

the flood

Relief swells through Sunjata the more seconds go by that he doesn’t see the figure. It leaves a sticky sheen of sweat along his brow, along his shoulders, a breathy sigh of relief as he watches the wind blow through the fronds. A hand rises and runs through his hair, his gaze flicking back to Jack at the mention of it being more than just Sunjata’s problem. It’s a bit of surprise, but nothing like what Jack says next.

Is there a kinship within the terms? Of horrible fathers and shitty upbringings? He doesn’t know, is too wound up to ask. So instead he just dips his head. “Worst kind I ever knew.” He rumbles, shoulders heavy, shifting his feet in the sand, beginning to move away from the pools, slowly, so that Jack might be able to join him. Though he still peeks occasionally at the palm tree. “His name’s Sahib Senzaok.” He begins, jaw grinding as he clamps them shut. “Eyes like mine, slightly shorter than me, a variety of scars. No tattoos.” It’s a struggle, but he forces himself to remember what his father looked like, the cruel smile, the clean shaven face, the hard steel set to his eyes.

He remembers how pleased his father had been after killing his mother, how disappointment lingered there too that Sunjata hadn’t outed the location of the rebellion with a simple phone call. He remembers getting captured and peering up at his father from blood soaked marble flooring, and the feeling of being at an utter and total loss. Trapped and caged, and so full of rage.

As quickly as it comes, he pushes it away with a visual shake of his head.

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

Gods, if Jack could only be in a position to kindly ask the Governor to stop fucking remembering things, that would be excellent. As it is, Jack is forced to wall the Flood off completely for a few moments - it's not as dangerous as it might be, given that Sunjata definitely seems to have murderous thoughts towards him as far away as humanly possible, but he still doesn't like it.

With the wall of feeling and thought held at bay with a mental hand, the smuggler is able to store away the important details regarding the man they have both seen, and they set off together across the beach and back towards Haulani. "I'll have my people be on the lookout for anyone answerin' to that, or with that description who's askin' around about you," he says, and as Sunjata gives himself a symbolic sort of shake, he lets his guard back down by degrees, lets the other man back in.

"If we come by him, I'll contact you. You'll be able to confirm or deny the truth of anythin'." He glances sidelong at the Flood. "You got anyone watchin' that boxin' ring you run? Or wherever you're livin' now?" It's no surprise, really, that Jack has all bases covered and then some. He's been doing this for a long time.

SUNJATA

the flood

He doesn’t know that he’s just sending Jack this internal spiral – he knows he hasn’t sent any of it down the attuned bond, but the rest of it is just for his own personal torment so it seems. It goes around and around until he eventually shuts it down, shaking his head, taking a deep breath, beginning to walk away and hope he can forget that he’d even glimpsed the silhouette of his father.

The walk back across the beach relieves some of the tension in his shoulders, though his steel gaze scans the paths and alleys along the coast anyway. His gaze flickers back toward Jack, that similar stream of surprise finding its way into him, burrowing that sort of strange kinship that Sunjata isn’t sure how he can pay back, if not for turning the other cheek when it comes to Jack’s business, something about the status quo after all.

He swallows hard, moving closer to Haulani with Jack alongside him. “That’d be great.” his tone is exhausted, but he means every second of it all the same. “Nobody aside from me and Nate.” It’s an honest answer – at least Nate didn’t sleep, could be awake for any surprises that may show up.

He glances at Jack again, now that his nerves are settled despite still feeling quite rattled. “You want a drink at the Hanged Man? I'll buy.” He asks, already turning on his heel to readjust his course there.

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

It sits on the tip of Jack's tongue, that urge to tell Sunjata to stop being so on edge, because the smuggler is paranoid enough for the both of them. What's more, he's much better at it, given the magic he's equipped with. But the words stay caged behind his teeth where they belong, and Jack turns his attention briefly to Haulani and the buildings that spread beyond. "Well, that changes now. Even if your neck biter has got the place covered, extra hands are worth their weight in gold," he mutters. "If we don't hear nothin' from this guy after a season, I'll take 'em down. But they stay for now."

He shoots a glance Sunjata's way. "And that means, if you please Governor, that the very same neck biter would do well to keep his hands to himself." He knows Jata knows what it means, and so he leaves it at that. No more gunning for me on my own fucking ship, Nate.

"You're damned right you will." It's enough of a yes that he thinks the Flood will understand, and they both change course for the Hanged Man, only to be interrupted by a streak of ragged black trotting along the boardwalk to them. "Oh, for fuck's sake-- no."

Jack's words are unheeded by the fluffy black cat who springs elegantly up and onto his shoulders, big yellow eyes appraising Sunjata with curiosity. "Governor," she says, clear as a bell.

SUNJATA

the flood

Conversation with Jack does serve as a distraction, a small swelling of relief that has the tension ebbing away from his shoulders as they walk. It even causes the briefest hint of a smile on his face, a low nod, clearing his throat as he considers the options. “What would you like in return?” Because after all, this felt so much like a deal that Sunjata can’t help but to ask, to see if the man’s help required any sort of payment.

Who is he kidding, of course it does. And for this small relief, well, he can afford to give Jack a proper payment.

The smile grows a bit more broad, relief disappearing slowly as he focuses on the walk to the Hanged Man, fully prepared to drink away his problems as he always had, when Jack’s voice hits his ears and he looks over to see the commotion. The cat hops onto the captains shoulders and Sunjata’s raised brow shifts to utter and complete amusement and adoration as she greets him, some kind of boyish glee spreading from that feline part of him that finds a sort of connection with the small, black sear cat. “Hello, you!” He chimes, reaching out to hopefully scratch her right behind the ears, uncaring what Jack makes of it. “What’s your name?”

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

"The usual," Jack replies, not bothering with the oh, nothing... except all these things routine. "The same gig I had with Remi when he was Governor. He was kind enough to bribe me, but this'll have to do between us. You did jump in the ocean with two ghost whales, so I guess that's pretty ballsy," he mutters, as if having the conversation with himself. "You work with my business instead of opposin' it, and we'll get along just dandy."

And if sometimes that means other smugglers get screwed over, oh well. But suddenly there's the distraction of Jack's companion (and he knows the feline is fucking bonded to him, even if he hates it), and even more surprising is the Governor's reaction to it. Jack's face is a mix of confused and disgusted as he coos to the sear cat, and she strolls an elegant line across the smuggler's shoulders to lean into Jata's scritches. Her fluffy tail wraps around Jack's face to make matters even more superb.

"Seven," she tells him, accompanied with a trill of greeting, her whiskered cheek rubbing indulgently against his hand.

"That's her name," Jack clarifies through a grumble, in case the other man is confused.

SUNJATA

the flood

Honestly, it seems like the status quo. Only this time Sunjata would be able to step back, take a look at things instead of being the one to get involved initially. And that’s fine, that’s great all things considered. Less work for him to do in the long run while just remaining to observe. So all he does is nod, a quiet hum of agreement that leaves him until there's suddenly far more excitement in the form of a fuzzy black cat that has all thoughts leaving Sunjata in favor for her.

She leans into the touch and Sunjata scratches along whichever part of her she chooses, casting one glance back toward Jack with a shit eating grin on his face. “Seven, huh?” He repeats, a quirk to his grin. “You are stunning!” Another chimed compliment given toward the cat before Sunjata withdraws so they can move into the Hanged Man. “Is she yours or just along for the ride?” Sunjata asks, casting a glance toward Jack before moving toward the bar to order a couple strong drinks.

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

"Governor, don't encourage her," Jack drawls as they head into the Hanged Man, but there's a resigned sort of acceptance about him and the feline, the way she dances to the very edge of his shoulder to try and get more scritches from the taller man. In fact she even hops from Jack to Sunjata as he heads to the bar, purring a storm and rubbing her face obnoxiously along the scruff of his cheek. "Stunning," she repeats, somehow sounding smug about it.

Jack leans against the bar next to the Flood, scoffing at him. "I'm hers, if you want to put it in a way that cats understand," he corrects, the meaning clear: no, she isn't just along for the ride. "Turned up under a barrel on the docks shortly after we got back to port. Hasn't been far away since then."

Seven, meanwhile, is trying to knead against whichever shoulder seems most comfortable to her, and if Sunjata isn't wearing a shirt, that's his problem.

SUNJATA

the flood

He can’t help but to smirk at Jack once Seven has landed on his shoulders. “I think I’ll encourage her all I want.” It’s a playful trill while he orders the drinks and sits at the bar, hand raised to scratch against more of her as she rubs against his cheek. He’s quite content like this, the panther within him breaking out a bit as the black fur expands along his neck and his shoulders to give her something to knead against instead of his skin. “Ah, yeah that sounds about right.” He says flashing Jack a small half grin.

The drinks are given, some smoky whiskey that comes in a rather tall glass, while Sunjata focuses on Jack again. “She is perfect.” He hums, huffing a quiet laugh, head tilting to whichever shoulder she’s picked. “Back in the Grounds I used to feed the strays. Something about having a feline shift makes it feel more comfortable to have them around. They hate Haai though, for obvious reasons.” Half the time they didn’t know what to make of the griffin. The bird portion alluring and wanting to chase, the wolf portion enough to want to run away, so much like a dog in that way.

He lifts the glass and takes a deep sip from it before setting it on the counter. “Is she coming on the ship with you the next time you go out?”

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

"Be my guest - she's your problem for now," Jack says with a tilt of his glass in Sunjata's direction, the smuggler happy for this arrangement as he takes a thirsty sip. Seven is very content with the developments, as well, kneading at thick panther fur and eventually sprawling herself along the Flood's broad shoulders, her fluffy tail tickling at his chin.

"Purrrrrrrrfect," she confirms to him, and indeed starts purring up a storm as they settle down at the bar. Jack is thoroughly disgusted by the display, hiding it behind another generous swig of his drink, and he raises an eyebrow to hear the story about Jata and the stray cats. "You're soft as shit on the inside, ain't you?" he remarks, the hint of a smirk over the rim of his glass.

"Mm, she will be," he confirms. "Sear cats have a bit of pregonition, well as speech. She can predict storms, if she's in the mood."

SUNJATA

the flood

“I’ll take it.” Sunjata chimes easily, flashing an amused grin Jack’s way. Seven settles on his shoulders comfortably, a purred perfect that has Sunjata quietly elated, though he doesn’t let it show as he raises the glass to his lips – fighting around the end of the tail of the cat that tries to get in the way of it. At the mention of being soft on the inside, Sunjata huffs a quiet laugh. “I don’t think it’s soft.” He protests, albeit weakly. He just liked taking care of the strays, it seemed.

Nate hasn’t complained yet, at least, not officially.

As for whether she’ll be joining them on the Ark, Sunjata’s steel gaze flickers over toward Jack with a bit of interest, a raise of his brow. And for a moment he considers asking Jack whether or not he thought it would work, but he thinks better of it as he focuses on the cat sprawled along his shoulders, reaching up with a freehand to scratch at her cheek. “How often are you going to be in the mood to predict those storms, Seven?” He asks her instead, amusement clear in the tones of his voice – his father and the traumas of earlier all forgotten with the warmth of alcohol in his stomach and the cat sprawled out on his shoulders.

did you get out all of that angry passion?
is it still formin'? Has it started to torture you?

JACK

"Just 'cuz you don't think it's soft, don't mean it ain't," Jack says, setting down his glass but not before raising it in a sloppy cheers to Sunjata given that he's paid for the round. He gives a side eye to the cat making herself more than at home on the Governor's shoulders, her tail fluffing against his chin obnoxiously, whiskers twitching at the scritches to her cheek. "Seven," she tells him proudly in response to her question.

Jack snorts. "Told you," he murmurs; they might be damned intelligent, but the beasts are still cats at the end of the day, and they fucking act like them. "So," he says slowly, "you plannin' to stay Governor? Or are you gonna throw in the towel for a few seasons like the last one?" It's a subtle dig for info, but a dig nonetheless.