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?
It takes a little bit of time before he’s managed to drink down the tea, all the while he continues to draw into himself, to pull all the broken bits and pieces back together where he might be able to keep them from poking out and hurting anyone else. He’s slipped, here, shown her far too much of himself beneath the mask, has tried to inadvertently push her away when he’d realized it. But it was all too late now, especially as he finishes the cup and she still approaches.
She takes the cup from him and he lets her, her hand small in his own as it curls around his to pull him along with her. And he’s exhausted, bone tired, the way he follows after her with hunched feathered shoulders and a dragged down appearance glimmering through a dark gaze. All he can offer to her confirmation that things would be okay, is a hum of agreement, despite it not feeling like it. He moves on autopilot now, drawn toward the makeshift bed with her, tugged down to join her.
His head finds its way to her shoulder, his cheek pressed against her collarbone as he tries to fight down the tension within him with the help of her heartbeat and smoothing hands down the feathers. His arm moves to wrap around her, to try and offer some semblance of his usual self as she tries everything he can to draw him out. Her humming song does wonders for drawing him away from his inner turmoil, focused on that and the cracks of the log until he manages to fall into a tense, trembling sleep again.
She takes the cup from him and he lets her, her hand small in his own as it curls around his to pull him along with her. And he’s exhausted, bone tired, the way he follows after her with hunched feathered shoulders and a dragged down appearance glimmering through a dark gaze. All he can offer to her confirmation that things would be okay, is a hum of agreement, despite it not feeling like it. He moves on autopilot now, drawn toward the makeshift bed with her, tugged down to join her.
His head finds its way to her shoulder, his cheek pressed against her collarbone as he tries to fight down the tension within him with the help of her heartbeat and smoothing hands down the feathers. His arm moves to wrap around her, to try and offer some semblance of his usual self as she tries everything he can to draw him out. Her humming song does wonders for drawing him away from his inner turmoil, focused on that and the cracks of the log until he manages to fall into a tense, trembling sleep again.
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.
