ransom notes keep falling out your mouth, mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.
speak no fear, no i don't believe you. you don't care a bit. you don't care a little bit.
The dragon slumps with the scratches, completely at ease, and it’s at least one thing Sunjata’s done right so far. In fact, he’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the way Maeve readjusts, the way she sits directly beside him, rests her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. Not until she’s already done it and there’s instantly hardened scales along his skin in every space they touch, his hand stilling against the scratches he gives Aidon. And he freezes, trying to focus on what she says of Locke.
But he doesn’t move, and as she hopes to bring him into the quiet stillness of peace around the fire, it does quite the opposite. Alarms blaring in his mind, some that scream in Korofi and others that don’t, and while he’s silent, he grinds his teeth a fraction, trying to prevent them from shifting to sharpened points.
Then she tells him she’s worried about him, wants to know if he’s accepting any help, if she could do anything at all – and the thing is? He doesn’t want any help. Because help meant favors and gods knew he was already drowning in them as is. So he leans away from her, putting a bit of space between them, eyes boring into the fire as if it held any answers.
It doesn’t.
“I’m fine.” He reiterates from the prior conversation, before his head is tilting toward her, scanning her with a calculating and cold gaze. “I don’t want your help, Maeve.” It’s hoarse and his voice threatens to give out on him twice. “What I do want, is a season of quiet…” He trails off, mouthing the words as his voice does fail him with the rush of emotion that he feels bristling inside him like spiked balls of ice. “But it’s not in the cards for me. So.”
But he doesn’t move, and as she hopes to bring him into the quiet stillness of peace around the fire, it does quite the opposite. Alarms blaring in his mind, some that scream in Korofi and others that don’t, and while he’s silent, he grinds his teeth a fraction, trying to prevent them from shifting to sharpened points.
Then she tells him she’s worried about him, wants to know if he’s accepting any help, if she could do anything at all – and the thing is? He doesn’t want any help. Because help meant favors and gods knew he was already drowning in them as is. So he leans away from her, putting a bit of space between them, eyes boring into the fire as if it held any answers.
It doesn’t.
“I’m fine.” He reiterates from the prior conversation, before his head is tilting toward her, scanning her with a calculating and cold gaze. “I don’t want your help, Maeve.” It’s hoarse and his voice threatens to give out on him twice. “What I do want, is a season of quiet…” He trails off, mouthing the words as his voice does fail him with the rush of emotion that he feels bristling inside him like spiked balls of ice. “But it’s not in the cards for me. So.”
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.
