a cute little cup of cyanide

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

There’s a moment of memory that strikes him, of Phoebe mentioning snowmen and snow angels, both of which he hadn't known what they meant. He knows now, of course, but the idea of it was only something Sunjata could equate to sand, it was the only thing that seemed to make sense at the time. And since then? He’s absolutely had his fill.

As for what’s in the box? There’s a lighter half smile that crosses his face as he moves to place it on the reception desk. “I’m having my belated reception party in a few days.” He explains, turning to Isla with that same smile. “Just a small gift for Nate in the meantime.” But with that explanation gone and out of the way, Sunjata’s focused on the lightning scars, the story, a shrug offered in response at first. Because he’d managed to live through it with the help of Vai.

As for fading the scars, he shakes his head. “I don’t mind the scars.” He rumbles, a wider smile crossing his face. “Where I’m from they’re a big deal. A sort of, look at what you survived, type of deal.”

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint