SUNJATA
the flood
'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
It’s the liquor and the sudden clinginess that has Sunjata stepping into her space, warm arms wrapping around her as she lifts her own to press against his chest. And he regards her, even as he steps back as she beckons, feeling the edge of the bed hit the back of his calves and knees, that he does sit down amongst the surprisingly lush and comfortable bed beneath him. His legs spread, giving her space to settle between them as he meets her eyes far more easily.
The pale dim glow of the moon highlights the edges of her pale, golden hair, turning it into a soft white along her horns as well, and his hands move to her hips and sides as her own run along his skin and cheeks, along a scar where sensation used to sit that has been long since gone since his father had destroyed those particular nerve endings.
His chin tilts up, catching her kiss with a softer one of his own in equal measure, his fingertips twitching lightly as he seems to debate clutching her close to him, in case she intends to step away. But she doesn’t, and instead the kiss breaks and he blinks as he opens his eyes again to her, his long lashes fanning out around his steel grey eyes.
There’s understanding in them, as her voice hits his ears, however quiet she wishes to speak he’ll understand her with those gilded earrings in his ears. But he doesn’t nod, doesn’t do much other than offer his as open of an expression that he can, as soft and quiet as can be with the alcohol in his system. One hand abandons her side to slide up, cupping her cheek as his fingertips thread through her long blonde hair, enough for him to murmur a soft “thank you, Isla.” though whether it’s to her first comment or the fact that she doesn’t want to hurt him, it’s hard to say.
But he does use the hand on her cheek to guide her back into his kiss, to use the hand at her hip to pull her closer against his lap, as if in this particular moment he does want to feel something that won’t come with the pain alongside it.
The pale dim glow of the moon highlights the edges of her pale, golden hair, turning it into a soft white along her horns as well, and his hands move to her hips and sides as her own run along his skin and cheeks, along a scar where sensation used to sit that has been long since gone since his father had destroyed those particular nerve endings.
His chin tilts up, catching her kiss with a softer one of his own in equal measure, his fingertips twitching lightly as he seems to debate clutching her close to him, in case she intends to step away. But she doesn’t, and instead the kiss breaks and he blinks as he opens his eyes again to her, his long lashes fanning out around his steel grey eyes.
There’s understanding in them, as her voice hits his ears, however quiet she wishes to speak he’ll understand her with those gilded earrings in his ears. But he doesn’t nod, doesn’t do much other than offer his as open of an expression that he can, as soft and quiet as can be with the alcohol in his system. One hand abandons her side to slide up, cupping her cheek as his fingertips thread through her long blonde hair, enough for him to murmur a soft “thank you, Isla.” though whether it’s to her first comment or the fact that she doesn’t want to hurt him, it’s hard to say.
But he does use the hand on her cheek to guide her back into his kiss, to use the hand at her hip to pull her closer against his lap, as if in this particular moment he does want to feel something that won’t come with the pain alongside it.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
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.
