SUNJATA
the flood
i'm nothing more than a page unwritten
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
on the pavement, blowing in the wind
A low hum leaves him in response — or acknowledgement — of her thank you. He’s held onto everyone’s that has come back. Peter’s, Adam’s (though he supposes he should bring out Adam’s once again), Lusea when she was back for that short amount of time, and eventually Maea’s. Still sitting on the shelf alongside the others. A reminder, perhaps, of what they had before disastrous ghost whale hunts and erupting volcanoes had changed everything.
He works on the frame a little bit longer, at least until her words reach him and his gaze flickers up again — confusion and admittedly a bit of hurt springing to the surface with the recollection.
Of course he remembers the fires.
It was the fires that caused him to lose the land he loved so deeply. It was the fires that sent him into territory of ferality, of losing his mind, of realizing it was better to be alone in the wilds than in the eye of others.
Of course he remembers.
But her admission is one that stills him just as much as she is, wings drooped, brows pinched ever so slightly, letting it roll over him as he pieces the events back together. “Why?” He begins, sucking in a deep breath to continue and steady himself. She’s right, he doesn’t like what she has to say. But he doesn’t get a chance to continue it immediately when the scream occurs.
He flinches. A rare sight, the Flood hardly one to flinch at much these days. But she’s caught him in a vulnerable moment, the admission tacking onto it with more weight, a singular focus on that rather than his surroundings. The banshee he can see in the distance, beckoning them both to follow, but Sunjata stays rooted, wings drawing up and enclosing himself a small amount. He finds it better to ignore the Banshee. “What made you think setting fire to a hospital would be a good idea?”
He works on the frame a little bit longer, at least until her words reach him and his gaze flickers up again — confusion and admittedly a bit of hurt springing to the surface with the recollection.
Of course he remembers the fires.
It was the fires that caused him to lose the land he loved so deeply. It was the fires that sent him into territory of ferality, of losing his mind, of realizing it was better to be alone in the wilds than in the eye of others.
Of course he remembers.
But her admission is one that stills him just as much as she is, wings drooped, brows pinched ever so slightly, letting it roll over him as he pieces the events back together. “Why?” He begins, sucking in a deep breath to continue and steady himself. She’s right, he doesn’t like what she has to say. But he doesn’t get a chance to continue it immediately when the scream occurs.
He flinches. A rare sight, the Flood hardly one to flinch at much these days. But she’s caught him in a vulnerable moment, the admission tacking onto it with more weight, a singular focus on that rather than his surroundings. The banshee he can see in the distance, beckoning them both to follow, but Sunjata stays rooted, wings drawing up and enclosing himself a small amount. He finds it better to ignore the Banshee. “What made you think setting fire to a hospital would be a good idea?”
you win a lot, and you lose
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
just a little bit more than you gained in the end
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.
