SUNJATA
the flood
but am i too late? or hearts to your spades,
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?
if i don't suit you? then what do you want from me?
He spirals on and on and she remains silent, letting him become a hurricane, that begins to slow into his floodwaters, into the way he seems to leech all the good and content and happiness from everything. It’s still dark outside and he finds himself speaking while he breaks, focused so much on the way she flits about the kitchen, seeking out pieces here and there in order to make the tea, all while Sunjata can’t seem to get his head back on straight.
Her voice picks up once he’s apologized, and when she turns she’ll find his shoulders slumped, covered in those navy blue feathers that fill out the tattoos there, an utterly defeated look crossing his gaze as he avoids her own and looks to anything but them. He settles on the stove behind her, his jaw set tight. “I don’t know how to stop.” He offers her weakly. He doesn’t know how to stop getting like this. Perhaps when he wasn’t always sent to his breaking point it would get easier, but it was hard to find confidence and happiness within someone who simply wasn’t. It was hard to find determination in someone that felt like it all was a lie.
His lips part to challenge her back on his strength, on how capable he was, because it felt like right now everything was spiraling out of control. And how could he care for a five year old if he couldn’t even get his shit together? A shattered look crossed his face for a brief moment before he’s avoiding her gaze some more, reaching up to run at his face, leaned back against the counter’s edge, feeling broken and jagged and painful all at once.
She turns from him to grab the tea and only then does he manage to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if it may help him get a hold of himself or the tears that threaten to show. And by the time she returns he’s shutting down, he’s getting that long look in his gaze again, but he finally manages to meet hers even as his feathers flare a bit — a hidden track to his emotions for all of Maeve to see. “It’s not like I have a choice.” He manages gruffly, through a tight throat and aching head.
She tells him to drink his tea and he takes the cup to cradle in both of his hands, staring at the liquid as her hand cups his cheek, as her fingers run through his hair. “Okay.” He finally manages, waiting for the tea to cool before he’s taking a long sip of it, trying to let it burn out the cold that’s settled in his gut. He wants to apologize again, but he stuffs it down with another sip from the tea, trying to avoid everything else.
Her voice picks up once he’s apologized, and when she turns she’ll find his shoulders slumped, covered in those navy blue feathers that fill out the tattoos there, an utterly defeated look crossing his gaze as he avoids her own and looks to anything but them. He settles on the stove behind her, his jaw set tight. “I don’t know how to stop.” He offers her weakly. He doesn’t know how to stop getting like this. Perhaps when he wasn’t always sent to his breaking point it would get easier, but it was hard to find confidence and happiness within someone who simply wasn’t. It was hard to find determination in someone that felt like it all was a lie.
His lips part to challenge her back on his strength, on how capable he was, because it felt like right now everything was spiraling out of control. And how could he care for a five year old if he couldn’t even get his shit together? A shattered look crossed his face for a brief moment before he’s avoiding her gaze some more, reaching up to run at his face, leaned back against the counter’s edge, feeling broken and jagged and painful all at once.
She turns from him to grab the tea and only then does he manage to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if it may help him get a hold of himself or the tears that threaten to show. And by the time she returns he’s shutting down, he’s getting that long look in his gaze again, but he finally manages to meet hers even as his feathers flare a bit — a hidden track to his emotions for all of Maeve to see. “It’s not like I have a choice.” He manages gruffly, through a tight throat and aching head.
She tells him to drink his tea and he takes the cup to cradle in both of his hands, staring at the liquid as her hand cups his cheek, as her fingers run through his hair. “Okay.” He finally manages, waiting for the tea to cool before he’s taking a long sip of it, trying to let it burn out the cold that’s settled in his gut. He wants to apologize again, but he stuffs it down with another sip from the tea, trying to avoid everything else.
so we're not written in the stars,
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything
but i'm okay with that. i'm okay with anything
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.
