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
It’s simply impossible for Sunjata to say nothing in the face of everything. But he can get his frustration out in a creative way rather than bottling it up. It’s what he does as he focuses on making those lines, of placing those strings of what look like scarlet scales all up and down the edges of the paper, little trinkets sprung throughout. He only pauses when he’s halfway done, plated armor of his dragon shift that mimic those little scales creep up his neck and shoulders like a turtleneck sweater. But instead of protecting him from the cold, it’s to protect him from the things she says, a reaction to often hard and difficult conversations.
“It’s not just that, Maea.” He rumbles quietly, working his jaw a fraction more before he sets the lantern down to look over at her, to her pale skin, pale eyes, ivory hair. “I’ve mostly only ever had a tendency of trying to become something else – whatever anyone wanted of me. I tried it with Phoebe. I tried it with you. I tried it with Safrin until I couldn’t stand it anymore. But I wasn’t ever going to fit those molds that everyone wanted me to be in. I could shave off pieces of myself to try and get the jagged edges to fit but they were never going to.”
And perhaps it’s difficult to hear, but this conversation has become something else entirely in comparison to what they’ve said before. “I’ve lost myself with trying to become something that I wasn’t. And despite all the jagged pieces and the terribly intricate key I actually am, Nate’s my lock. I think he always has been.” Nate had been the only one that could handle him, that could fit all the broken bits and pieces and never once asked him to be different. Even with Kamaria’s arrival, with their little break, Nate had known deep down that it was coming from a place with good intentions.
“It’s nothing on you or me at the end of the day. And it doesn’t mean that you didn’t mean anything to me. I still have your lantern, after all. I still lost my mind for months after you died. But I wasn’t going to ever be enough for you and still be myself. Just like you weren’t going to be enough for me without giving up who you are.” His accent’s grown thicker but he’s managed to work through his frustration, to get better at his wording, to try and get his feelings across and actually stick with them rather than letting himself constantly get stepped on, infantized in his response and reactions to things. It's what keeps him from accepting the apology for the moment - giving himself room to stop and think rather than gut react as he's so prone to doing.
He takes a deep breath, acknowledging the way she cuts herself off from sharing too much. “Aside from dealing with figuring out what’s real or not, when you came back, I think it surfaced a lot of memories and shit I went through after you died too and it was… Tough. And I was angry. And I’m sorry, too, that you didn’t think you mattered at all to me. You did, for what it’s worth.” To this he shrugs, unsure if she wishes to stay after that deluge of information, but he watches her with the stillness of his dragon shift, all sharp edges and jagged points of scales and horns and claws, waiting.
“It’s not just that, Maea.” He rumbles quietly, working his jaw a fraction more before he sets the lantern down to look over at her, to her pale skin, pale eyes, ivory hair. “I’ve mostly only ever had a tendency of trying to become something else – whatever anyone wanted of me. I tried it with Phoebe. I tried it with you. I tried it with Safrin until I couldn’t stand it anymore. But I wasn’t ever going to fit those molds that everyone wanted me to be in. I could shave off pieces of myself to try and get the jagged edges to fit but they were never going to.”
And perhaps it’s difficult to hear, but this conversation has become something else entirely in comparison to what they’ve said before. “I’ve lost myself with trying to become something that I wasn’t. And despite all the jagged pieces and the terribly intricate key I actually am, Nate’s my lock. I think he always has been.” Nate had been the only one that could handle him, that could fit all the broken bits and pieces and never once asked him to be different. Even with Kamaria’s arrival, with their little break, Nate had known deep down that it was coming from a place with good intentions.
“It’s nothing on you or me at the end of the day. And it doesn’t mean that you didn’t mean anything to me. I still have your lantern, after all. I still lost my mind for months after you died. But I wasn’t going to ever be enough for you and still be myself. Just like you weren’t going to be enough for me without giving up who you are.” His accent’s grown thicker but he’s managed to work through his frustration, to get better at his wording, to try and get his feelings across and actually stick with them rather than letting himself constantly get stepped on, infantized in his response and reactions to things. It's what keeps him from accepting the apology for the moment - giving himself room to stop and think rather than gut react as he's so prone to doing.
He takes a deep breath, acknowledging the way she cuts herself off from sharing too much. “Aside from dealing with figuring out what’s real or not, when you came back, I think it surfaced a lot of memories and shit I went through after you died too and it was… Tough. And I was angry. And I’m sorry, too, that you didn’t think you mattered at all to me. You did, for what it’s worth.” To this he shrugs, unsure if she wishes to stay after that deluge of information, but he watches her with the stillness of his dragon shift, all sharp edges and jagged points of scales and horns and claws, waiting.
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.
