i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide
being pulled by the moon in a high tide
He doesn’t know the effect he’s having with his absence, and if he did all he could offer would be complete assurances that he wasn’t going to go anywhere this time. At least, his presence does that when he returns with all the goodies, not noticing the holes that have been poked through, but only barely noticing the shift of her gaze from gold back into her dual toned eyes. She stands and takes the coffee and he lets her lead the way, following her with the platter out into the sea salt breeze, letting the sun coat his skin and make his freckles pop, letting the steel of his eyes almost become white as he takes the seat opposite of her and takes a sip from his less sweet cup (evidenced by the way hers is a few shades lighter than his, at least).
He hums a laugh before he takes a sip, exhaling a sigh and offering a playful wince as he agrees. “I had coffee once in Halo and decided I was never doing that again.” He admits, shuddering as if it were a memory he didn’t want to relive (one of the easier ones these days). He sets the coffee down and turns to separate out the plates, lifting his gaze to meet hers with that crooked smile that tugs on the scar tissue along his cheek. “Depends on how many pancakes you want.” He retorts with a surprising amount of ease, already slipping a chocolate croissant onto her plate, along with an egg, before he rests his chin on his propped up fist, the tattooed compasses with their northern points aimed right at her like she's his northern star, awaiting to see what she wanted to eat.
But he waits patiently, wanting to make sure she’s served first before he delves into whatever’s left.
He hums a laugh before he takes a sip, exhaling a sigh and offering a playful wince as he agrees. “I had coffee once in Halo and decided I was never doing that again.” He admits, shuddering as if it were a memory he didn’t want to relive (one of the easier ones these days). He sets the coffee down and turns to separate out the plates, lifting his gaze to meet hers with that crooked smile that tugs on the scar tissue along his cheek. “Depends on how many pancakes you want.” He retorts with a surprising amount of ease, already slipping a chocolate croissant onto her plate, along with an egg, before he rests his chin on his propped up fist, the tattooed compasses with their northern points aimed right at her like she's his northern star, awaiting to see what she wanted to eat.
But he waits patiently, wanting to make sure she’s served first before he delves into whatever’s left.
the flood
that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?
am i a villain or a saint?
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.
