01-26-2010, 01:15 AM
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646.
It had surely become part of his nightly routine, right after getting the fire going and eating and drinking and thinking—right before holing up inside the hollowed-out car and going to sleep. He could not explain it, but he supposed that he did it through the promise. He knew that if he did not, Daisuke would simply come, and that would only cause trouble. The wolf had no place here right now, and Snake did not want to think about what would happen if it did happen. Surely he would get injured, even though he seemed to fool himself into thinking he wouldn't. Then the Inferni members would probably grow wary of loners as well, only separating them further away from the rest of the world. Snake was neutral, not an isolationist. He would rather Inferni be as such as well, though he knew they were going in the opposite direction.
Tonight was enough to disrupt his little routine, however. He had been wounded on the shoulder by the Dahlian male days ago, and it had started to heal right enough. Snake knew enough about sanitation and first aid to keep himself from getting an infection, at least, and he kept clean bandages on it. But tonight he had been reaching for a bottle of fiery whiskey, one of his stash, with his bad arm. There was a sharp, searing pain, and he realized that he had stupidly reopened the wound. Cursing himself with every word he knew, he stumbled back to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He gently unraveled the cloth bandage from the angry claw-marks, re-wrapping it with a fresh one. It hurt like a mother, and he only thought about drinking some of the whiskey to ease the pain and then slip off to bed.
Unfortunately, Daisuke must have noticed the absence of the howl keenly. Snake had already drifted off into a light sleep when he passed the borders and came closer to the Harrow Road Landfill, where the coyote lived alone. He might have slept right on if the wind had not shifted, the breeze blowing in through a busted window in the automobile that he had crudely covered with a slab of bark. It carried a faint trace of Daisuke's scent, enough to wake the blond coyote and get him nervous. He carefully got up, not to hurt himself once more, and began to lope towards the source.
Sure enough, the golden wolf was there and as soon as Snake saw him, he knew why. A frown appeared on the coyote's features and though he knew it was his fault, he felt as though Daisuke should be reprimanded for not being here. A simmering anger even began to boil up from within him, so strange and so frightening. It reminded him of Foxhound, how his brother would spit and howl and hiss and snarl in his rages. Such was the reason that Snake himself had lost anger, lost its chaos but also lost its power. Now he kept it under lock and key, though it was beginning to show itself just a little bit now.
He was brutally tired, and his shoulder pained him greatly. Blood had already soaked through the dark fabric, though he knew that it would clot well enough sooner or later. But between that and his gaunt and haggard expression, he was sure he looked like hell. That didn't bother him. War was hell.
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646.
It had surely become part of his nightly routine, right after getting the fire going and eating and drinking and thinking—right before holing up inside the hollowed-out car and going to sleep. He could not explain it, but he supposed that he did it through the promise. He knew that if he did not, Daisuke would simply come, and that would only cause trouble. The wolf had no place here right now, and Snake did not want to think about what would happen if it did happen. Surely he would get injured, even though he seemed to fool himself into thinking he wouldn't. Then the Inferni members would probably grow wary of loners as well, only separating them further away from the rest of the world. Snake was neutral, not an isolationist. He would rather Inferni be as such as well, though he knew they were going in the opposite direction.
Tonight was enough to disrupt his little routine, however. He had been wounded on the shoulder by the Dahlian male days ago, and it had started to heal right enough. Snake knew enough about sanitation and first aid to keep himself from getting an infection, at least, and he kept clean bandages on it. But tonight he had been reaching for a bottle of fiery whiskey, one of his stash, with his bad arm. There was a sharp, searing pain, and he realized that he had stupidly reopened the wound. Cursing himself with every word he knew, he stumbled back to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He gently unraveled the cloth bandage from the angry claw-marks, re-wrapping it with a fresh one. It hurt like a mother, and he only thought about drinking some of the whiskey to ease the pain and then slip off to bed.
Unfortunately, Daisuke must have noticed the absence of the howl keenly. Snake had already drifted off into a light sleep when he passed the borders and came closer to the Harrow Road Landfill, where the coyote lived alone. He might have slept right on if the wind had not shifted, the breeze blowing in through a busted window in the automobile that he had crudely covered with a slab of bark. It carried a faint trace of Daisuke's scent, enough to wake the blond coyote and get him nervous. He carefully got up, not to hurt himself once more, and began to lope towards the source.
Sure enough, the golden wolf was there and as soon as Snake saw him, he knew why. A frown appeared on the coyote's features and though he knew it was his fault, he felt as though Daisuke should be reprimanded for not being here. A simmering anger even began to boil up from within him, so strange and so frightening. It reminded him of Foxhound, how his brother would spit and howl and hiss and snarl in his rages. Such was the reason that Snake himself had lost anger, lost its chaos but also lost its power. Now he kept it under lock and key, though it was beginning to show itself just a little bit now.
You shouldn't be here,he said in a cold voice that had the barest touch of a growl to it. He was keeping his emotions, his anger in reserve, but that didn't mean that they weren't there. They were pushing against the walls of the Pandora's box that he had locked them in so many months ago.
I suggest you leave. Now, before anyone happens across you.
He was brutally tired, and his shoulder pained him greatly. Blood had already soaked through the dark fabric, though he knew that it would clot well enough sooner or later. But between that and his gaunt and haggard expression, he was sure he looked like hell. That didn't bother him. War was hell.