SUNJATA
look who's digging their own grave
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
“A trade.” Sunjata whispers for the moment, unsure of the details of such a thing. But he’d flown them, brought Isla and Wessex to Stormbreak’s shores, watched (and gotten covered) by the fluid that had come from the Wraith when Isla had reached in to take out the upgrade. “An upgrade of Wessex’s for you.” He doesn’t know which one, though. He knows that she has that backsplash upgrade, but whether or not that was the choice, he’s unaware of.
He also thinks it’s too much to bring up what had occurred, too, the potential to destroy Remi where they stood, retrieving the Lone Ranger’s lifeless body. Instead, he clings to the babbling of his husband, lingering on the accented words that he nearly comes to tears again (knowing Nate was coming back but still not believing it until he’d seen it, he’d have stayed perched by his husband’s side for years should it have taken that long, grieving. A widow still not giving up.) “I know you will hartlam.” He murmurs through the hiccuping laugh that accompanies it, the jest, the joke. The fucked up birthday gift, despite how he thinks he’s done a good job getting the essence of Nate into a lantern.
But he melts into the kiss, pressing in and close where Nate tugs him to, the hands on his husband’s shoulders moving to slip around his neck instead, to tangle his fingers into raven curls even as he pulls away, fingers twisting the locks between each other. There’s a heavy sigh, one that he knows bringing it up would have brought the why’s. And they’d made an agreement not to lie to one another, no more secrets, on a day much like this, where the cloud cover had been dark enough to seem like it was the night. The only thing missing was the storms, the rolling and rumbling thunder that drifted down the valley their large home had sat upon.
“I needed to talk to her about… Something with Frey. And to ask her a question.” He pauses, cutting himself off before his voice cracks, brows pinching as he swallows against the tightness of his throat. “Wessex told me that after you died, Ronin took your eye.” He reaches up, his thumb brushing against the scar that trails beneath the eye that had been fucked up far too many times than was neccessary. “It exploded, but, I went to see her with Isla to see if we could fix it for you. We couldn’t, but the Voice decided to do it for you instead. It isn’t an upgrade like it used to be. She said you could decide what you wanted after you woke up but at least you’d be able to see.”
He also thinks it’s too much to bring up what had occurred, too, the potential to destroy Remi where they stood, retrieving the Lone Ranger’s lifeless body. Instead, he clings to the babbling of his husband, lingering on the accented words that he nearly comes to tears again (knowing Nate was coming back but still not believing it until he’d seen it, he’d have stayed perched by his husband’s side for years should it have taken that long, grieving. A widow still not giving up.) “I know you will hartlam.” He murmurs through the hiccuping laugh that accompanies it, the jest, the joke. The fucked up birthday gift, despite how he thinks he’s done a good job getting the essence of Nate into a lantern.
But he melts into the kiss, pressing in and close where Nate tugs him to, the hands on his husband’s shoulders moving to slip around his neck instead, to tangle his fingers into raven curls even as he pulls away, fingers twisting the locks between each other. There’s a heavy sigh, one that he knows bringing it up would have brought the why’s. And they’d made an agreement not to lie to one another, no more secrets, on a day much like this, where the cloud cover had been dark enough to seem like it was the night. The only thing missing was the storms, the rolling and rumbling thunder that drifted down the valley their large home had sat upon.
“I needed to talk to her about… Something with Frey. And to ask her a question.” He pauses, cutting himself off before his voice cracks, brows pinching as he swallows against the tightness of his throat. “Wessex told me that after you died, Ronin took your eye.” He reaches up, his thumb brushing against the scar that trails beneath the eye that had been fucked up far too many times than was neccessary. “It exploded, but, I went to see her with Isla to see if we could fix it for you. We couldn’t, but the Voice decided to do it for you instead. It isn’t an upgrade like it used to be. She said you could decide what you wanted after you woke up but at least you’d be able to see.”
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it
and what will you have left?
and what will you have left?
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.
