// it's a lonely road, with one grip on several psalms and one grip on the gun
and it holds the rope, it spins me in circles and dizzies my head then says sleep when you're dead //
and it holds the rope, it spins me in circles and dizzies my head then says sleep when you're dead //
There’s a moment of internal surprise as he watches Melita chug the drink he’d poured for her. But he doesn’t question it as he retakes his perch by the window, drawing up and closing off again as he lifts a hand to rest on the chair’s arm, propping his head onto it. “I don’t know what it means.” He says quietly, almost sadly, looking back to Melita. As for her question of what would happen to them, well, he doesn’t think much would happen. “It’s different, I think. We’re not… Tied to them like the Ascended are to the Voice. We don’t have to replenish anything from the old gods.” As he says it, a muscle feathers in his jaw.
They may lose their fancy items, their shifts, but that’s all conjecture. Nobody knows what might happen. So he doesn’t dwell on it. He knows what would happen if the Voice were to be destroyed, he knows what would happen to Nate.
But Melita understands his conviction, and it’s with a nod of understanding that he props his head up on a fist. “Family is best at that, you know.” He murmurs, a ghost of a smile creeping across his face before he does a mental check of what they’d need. “Well. We have to carve it out, first of all. Two exits just in case one gets compromised, trap them both.” Magically or otherwise, wondering if there was a possibility to ward it in a sense, so that only those welcome or wanted into the bunker would be allowed to go. But again, it’s conjecture, and the alcohol soothes some of Sunjata’s nerves but fuzzes his mind for specifics.
They may lose their fancy items, their shifts, but that’s all conjecture. Nobody knows what might happen. So he doesn’t dwell on it. He knows what would happen if the Voice were to be destroyed, he knows what would happen to Nate.
But Melita understands his conviction, and it’s with a nod of understanding that he props his head up on a fist. “Family is best at that, you know.” He murmurs, a ghost of a smile creeping across his face before he does a mental check of what they’d need. “Well. We have to carve it out, first of all. Two exits just in case one gets compromised, trap them both.” Magically or otherwise, wondering if there was a possibility to ward it in a sense, so that only those welcome or wanted into the bunker would be allowed to go. But again, it’s conjecture, and the alcohol soothes some of Sunjata’s nerves but fuzzes his mind for specifics.
were you ever here? or just lost on the surface that at the first touch, evades in the dust?
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.
