SUNJATA
the flood
i can still see your face looking back through the flames
and i search it, was it worth it?
and i search it, was it worth it?
Nate’s praise to the griffin earns him an excited wag of her tail, iridescent feathers dancing with the movement before she settles – before Sunjata’s pain begins to outweigh her excitement, even if it’s something that Sunjata tries to latch onto. She doesn’t move any closer, however, simply staring at the two men as they try to reset a wing, her own tucked in tight against her back just as Sunjata attempts to do with the countdown on his own.
It is slow, it is painful, it sparks warmth and redness in his back as the muscles tense and shift, hard enough that when it’s finally, excruciatingly in place, it’s all Sunjata can do to try and relax but keep the wing in tight, thankful for Nate’s steady hands to keep it in place as his forehead drops to the cool floor, panting around the belt in between his teeth.
He can feel the Ascended sink down beside him while they wait – Sunjata not quite realizing why they’re waiting until after Pemota arrives and Sunjata’s head has lifted with the splash of alcohol on the floor, steel lifting to spy the bottle offered. He pulls the belt away, fighting against the roar of nausea as his muscles flex again, moving to try and help Nate with the bottle just a bit to try and take more of the edge off.
He swallows it down hard, his own breathing a bit more picked up, watching the starlight idly as Pemota tries to calm him, to quell him. And it works, his own starry tattoos shifting and adjusting in response to the starwhal’s own. I think they have been worse. He rumbles back to Nate – recalling the burn around this time last year, from the lava octopus. At least this wasn’t that bad. At least he could move after tucking the wings away again. I’m sorry. He offers after a moment of consideration, of watching the starlight through eyes that aren’t quite seeing the starlight, his good wing's feathers flaring once Nate begins to wrap the bad wing.
It is slow, it is painful, it sparks warmth and redness in his back as the muscles tense and shift, hard enough that when it’s finally, excruciatingly in place, it’s all Sunjata can do to try and relax but keep the wing in tight, thankful for Nate’s steady hands to keep it in place as his forehead drops to the cool floor, panting around the belt in between his teeth.
He can feel the Ascended sink down beside him while they wait – Sunjata not quite realizing why they’re waiting until after Pemota arrives and Sunjata’s head has lifted with the splash of alcohol on the floor, steel lifting to spy the bottle offered. He pulls the belt away, fighting against the roar of nausea as his muscles flex again, moving to try and help Nate with the bottle just a bit to try and take more of the edge off.
He swallows it down hard, his own breathing a bit more picked up, watching the starlight idly as Pemota tries to calm him, to quell him. And it works, his own starry tattoos shifting and adjusting in response to the starwhal’s own. I think they have been worse. He rumbles back to Nate – recalling the burn around this time last year, from the lava octopus. At least this wasn’t that bad. At least he could move after tucking the wings away again. I’m sorry. He offers after a moment of consideration, of watching the starlight through eyes that aren’t quite seeing the starlight, his good wing's feathers flaring once Nate begins to wrap the bad wing.
no i don't mind the smoke, but your tears make me choke
are you okay? should i go away?
are you okay? should i go away?
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.
