i closed my eyes and saw my father's sins, they covered me like a second skin
i peeled them off, and sure i bled a bit, but now i'm free to sink my own damn ship
i peeled them off, and sure i bled a bit, but now i'm free to sink my own damn ship
Only, he hadn’t been lying when he said he was glad she was okay. Despite the marriage and everything else, Sunjata had never wanted Phoebe hurt. But he knows better than to say anything of the sort, knowing she believed her truths just as much as he believed his own. So he nods as he flits through the blankets, hearing her mention so casually as if it were something as easy as the change in weather, that she’d become a demigod for Frey.
“Congrats.” He rumbles, trying to wrap his mind about just how many demigods there were now running around. Just how many he’d become close to that had changed and yet he still remained the same. Not that he’s complaining about it, of course, he nearly feels as though he’s become close enough to it without the responsibility, what with Safrin’s name etched into his ribs.
Hank returns for a split second and Sunjata finds himself staring at the ceiling if only to avoid Phoebe’s white knuckles, the promises he’d given her, the arguments they had over this specific thing, the child they’d almost had if it weren’t for the blight. He draws in a deep breath as she says her congratulations. He knows she doesn’t mean it. And all he can muster up instead is evident in the way he picks one of the blankets out. “I’m sorry.” He’s been saying it so much as of late, but he feels the need to say it here.
Hank returns with another couple of blankets and a few other trinkets, starry and bright, perfect for a little girl, that Sunjata tries to occupy his time with perusing them as he finds a hat among the midst. ‘It’s gonna take some time Miss Phoebe. Gotta haul ‘em into the cart. We can deliver them for ya. The Halenani, y’said?’ He says, awaiting a response and still unable to read the room as his gaze swings to Sunjata. ‘Oy, my ol’ woman said she wanted to give y’this for her. Said that all lil blonde girls love t’have crowns ‘n hats.’ Sunjata nods idly, quietly. “Thank you.” He tells Hank, still refusing to look at Phoebe.
Outside the wind rails against the shop, bringing torrential rain along with it. It seems that even if they wanted to leave or not, they weren’t going to be able to. So Hank, in his wide bit of surprise, pops back into the back to produce a couple mugs of cocoa, warm and steaming that he offers to the two of them. ‘Have y’two met before?’ He asks, suddenly finding the room a bit awkward but thinking nothing much more than that about it.
“Congrats.” He rumbles, trying to wrap his mind about just how many demigods there were now running around. Just how many he’d become close to that had changed and yet he still remained the same. Not that he’s complaining about it, of course, he nearly feels as though he’s become close enough to it without the responsibility, what with Safrin’s name etched into his ribs.
Hank returns for a split second and Sunjata finds himself staring at the ceiling if only to avoid Phoebe’s white knuckles, the promises he’d given her, the arguments they had over this specific thing, the child they’d almost had if it weren’t for the blight. He draws in a deep breath as she says her congratulations. He knows she doesn’t mean it. And all he can muster up instead is evident in the way he picks one of the blankets out. “I’m sorry.” He’s been saying it so much as of late, but he feels the need to say it here.
Hank returns with another couple of blankets and a few other trinkets, starry and bright, perfect for a little girl, that Sunjata tries to occupy his time with perusing them as he finds a hat among the midst. ‘It’s gonna take some time Miss Phoebe. Gotta haul ‘em into the cart. We can deliver them for ya. The Halenani, y’said?’ He says, awaiting a response and still unable to read the room as his gaze swings to Sunjata. ‘Oy, my ol’ woman said she wanted to give y’this for her. Said that all lil blonde girls love t’have crowns ‘n hats.’ Sunjata nods idly, quietly. “Thank you.” He tells Hank, still refusing to look at Phoebe.
Outside the wind rails against the shop, bringing torrential rain along with it. It seems that even if they wanted to leave or not, they weren’t going to be able to. So Hank, in his wide bit of surprise, pops back into the back to produce a couple mugs of cocoa, warm and steaming that he offers to the two of them. ‘Have y’two met before?’ He asks, suddenly finding the room a bit awkward but thinking nothing much more than that about it.
i cut my branch down from my family tree to start a fire in the living room
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.
