01-11-2010, 11:07 PM
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843.
The cause of fighting had never been much of an issue for Snake—back at his first home, the soldiers basically stood around until someone pointed them in a direction and told them to fight. There was no cause to fight for, only the thrill of fighting in itself. Some might swear for a purpose, but Snake did not. Machines did not churn their gears and calculate outcomes because they had a purpose, they did it because they were made to do the work. That was largely his own thought process. The Inferni leaders might be delighted with it, because he didn’t care what happened to him. Life, death, it was all the same. He was not afraid of death, and he was not afraid of pain. No, he didn’t care about the why—all he cared about was the how, where, and when.
When it came to Dahlia de Mai and Inferni, he believed it had been inevitable ever since he had arrived there. If you put two packs close enough to them with bad history and the roots of that still there, an evil plant would eventually sprout, fed by the prejudice and fear. He had met Haku on one fleeting occasion, and he was in all likelihood lucky to be alive from that encounter. He saw the wolf as something to be dealt with—he had been giving the Inferni coyotes grief for too long, and without good cause. Though all the wolves he talked with said they heard horror stories about what the coyotes of Inferni did, they only retaliated. If the wolves left them alone and in peace, would there be problems? It was hard to answer—he doubted the wolves would ever do something like that.
He believed he could see the faintest glimmer in her eye when he asked the question—she probably had noticed, like anyone who knew him remotely well (which he supposed she did), that it was out of character. It wasn’t that Snake didn’t care in others, it was really just that he didn’t find it to be his place to pry into their lives. That was why he was a very good listener, though he often had little to contribute. He would find it continuously odd for anyone envying how he had created the mindset he held—so many he had met found it alien and disturbing, his own mother included. He could remember her cursing under her breath when she thought he was asleep: “Why couldn’t I have had a normal one?” It had made him sad when he was younger, but nowadays he didn’t mind. There was nothing he could do about how he was now. He may be totally isolated from those things that were painful, but he was also severed from what so many based their lives around—the occasional and fleeting pleasures that made life worth living. It was like having the choice to disable your sense of touch: you might never feel pain again, but you would never feel soft or warm either. No wonder Snake did not feel very strongly about living or dying—it might as well have been all the same to him.
Kaena seemed uncomfortable with the question, which Snake regretted some; he had not wanted to make her purposefully upset. But she answered, sparse words that worked well enough for him. He had not wanted anything more descriptive than that. He nodded, his face somber. “Of course,” he said, though his voice showed neither optimism nor pessimism. Realism, he thought it was. He was sure that eventually she would feel better, the wounds would fade, though replaced by what?
Snake felt somewhat obligated to do… something. He liked Kaena well enough, and he respected her as an elder and a leader. To leave her here alone in the cave to do nothing and dwell in the past seemed very detrimental for her, especially if he could offer an alternative. He thought for several minutes, but was coming up blank. He had little to offer, little to do. He was not exactly the ‘talk about your feelings’ type (though Kaena might be thankful for that), not that he would understand the troubles of emotion-ridden beings anyway. Something did occur to him, though, as he thought about the war and his place in it—as well as hers. “Are you willing to spar?” He paused, shifting his weight and looking somewhat awkward. “If you do not feel well enough, I understand.” But it was really all he could offer. Regardless, he was very eager at the thought—he was young and virtually inexperienced, despite his position. He had been trained, yes, but his actual fighting had been restricted to a small number of creatures: his mother, his twin and his half-brothers. After a few fights, you began to memorize their patterns. He knew simply from her appearance that Kaena had years of fighting experience; whatever he could glean from her knowledge would only benefit Inferni. Snake would use it on their enemies.
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843.
The cause of fighting had never been much of an issue for Snake—back at his first home, the soldiers basically stood around until someone pointed them in a direction and told them to fight. There was no cause to fight for, only the thrill of fighting in itself. Some might swear for a purpose, but Snake did not. Machines did not churn their gears and calculate outcomes because they had a purpose, they did it because they were made to do the work. That was largely his own thought process. The Inferni leaders might be delighted with it, because he didn’t care what happened to him. Life, death, it was all the same. He was not afraid of death, and he was not afraid of pain. No, he didn’t care about the why—all he cared about was the how, where, and when.
When it came to Dahlia de Mai and Inferni, he believed it had been inevitable ever since he had arrived there. If you put two packs close enough to them with bad history and the roots of that still there, an evil plant would eventually sprout, fed by the prejudice and fear. He had met Haku on one fleeting occasion, and he was in all likelihood lucky to be alive from that encounter. He saw the wolf as something to be dealt with—he had been giving the Inferni coyotes grief for too long, and without good cause. Though all the wolves he talked with said they heard horror stories about what the coyotes of Inferni did, they only retaliated. If the wolves left them alone and in peace, would there be problems? It was hard to answer—he doubted the wolves would ever do something like that.
He believed he could see the faintest glimmer in her eye when he asked the question—she probably had noticed, like anyone who knew him remotely well (which he supposed she did), that it was out of character. It wasn’t that Snake didn’t care in others, it was really just that he didn’t find it to be his place to pry into their lives. That was why he was a very good listener, though he often had little to contribute. He would find it continuously odd for anyone envying how he had created the mindset he held—so many he had met found it alien and disturbing, his own mother included. He could remember her cursing under her breath when she thought he was asleep: “Why couldn’t I have had a normal one?” It had made him sad when he was younger, but nowadays he didn’t mind. There was nothing he could do about how he was now. He may be totally isolated from those things that were painful, but he was also severed from what so many based their lives around—the occasional and fleeting pleasures that made life worth living. It was like having the choice to disable your sense of touch: you might never feel pain again, but you would never feel soft or warm either. No wonder Snake did not feel very strongly about living or dying—it might as well have been all the same to him.
Kaena seemed uncomfortable with the question, which Snake regretted some; he had not wanted to make her purposefully upset. But she answered, sparse words that worked well enough for him. He had not wanted anything more descriptive than that. He nodded, his face somber. “Of course,” he said, though his voice showed neither optimism nor pessimism. Realism, he thought it was. He was sure that eventually she would feel better, the wounds would fade, though replaced by what?
Snake felt somewhat obligated to do… something. He liked Kaena well enough, and he respected her as an elder and a leader. To leave her here alone in the cave to do nothing and dwell in the past seemed very detrimental for her, especially if he could offer an alternative. He thought for several minutes, but was coming up blank. He had little to offer, little to do. He was not exactly the ‘talk about your feelings’ type (though Kaena might be thankful for that), not that he would understand the troubles of emotion-ridden beings anyway. Something did occur to him, though, as he thought about the war and his place in it—as well as hers. “Are you willing to spar?” He paused, shifting his weight and looking somewhat awkward. “If you do not feel well enough, I understand.” But it was really all he could offer. Regardless, he was very eager at the thought—he was young and virtually inexperienced, despite his position. He had been trained, yes, but his actual fighting had been restricted to a small number of creatures: his mother, his twin and his half-brothers. After a few fights, you began to memorize their patterns. He knew simply from her appearance that Kaena had years of fighting experience; whatever he could glean from her knowledge would only benefit Inferni. Snake would use it on their enemies.