05-13-2010, 05:49 PM
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Snake personally got caught up in the lull of his own thoughts, his olive eyes staring out across the ocean as he steadily smoked the cigarette down to nothing. He could sense Daisuke's eyes on him but he didn't really put much stock in it—why should he? He only glanced back when the wolf moved at his agreement to a massage, though his question gave him pause. "Uh," he said, trying to narrow it down from 'where it hurt' (which was practically everywhere) to 'where it hurt the worst'. "Shoulders. Back," he replied after a moment longer. He rotated his head and, after hearing the pops of his neck, he continued, "Neck."
The blond coyote gave a noncommittal grunt at Daisuke's reassurance about getting to him before he happened to be dying. Death was not something that was a far-away and frightening thing to Snake—he felt like he had been staring it in the eye for most of his life, so he had stopped really caring. Things that were out of his control he tended to do that to; let them go. He heard the question about why they were in Dahlian territory over the rush of the waves and replied, "Same thing they were doing, except to a lesser degree. Burned Haku out like an old devil and fought with a lot of wolves. That's where I got my wound. When we came back, we found that land destroyed. We didn't get Haku, either." From what he knew, the bastard was still lurking out there. Snake was far too defensively-minded to think about going out and getting him, but he knew that, if he dared come within a mile of Inferni territory, there would be blood spilled.
At the golden wolf's next question, Snake had to glance back to make sure what he was talking about. His green eyes fixed on the glowing cigarette between his fingers and replied, "Oh. Cigarette." Many had smoked in New Haven—he remembered Rex and Ray doing so, the embers visible in the shadows and the burning smell in the air. Patriot had preferred cigars, though. Tobacco had really been the only thing Snake had seen smoked in New Haven—Patriot had forbidden anything else. He did not want his soldiers addled in time of emergency, and he seemed to believe that tobacco improved their senses or something.
He glanced back at Daisuke momentarily at his initial comment—he had never really considered burned land good land, especially if you were living on it—but he didn't bring it into question. What was a little more puzzling was Daisuke saying that he was going to move his den as well. "Why are you moving?" he asked. But for a new start, it could be seen as that. To Snake, it felt like a reiteration. His life was broken into segments of war and peace, beginning with the chaos of New Haven then to the meandering travel with his parents to life in Inferni with the war and now this. It only meant that something disruptive was looming in the future, as inevitable as the setting of the sun. Snake was not pessimistic—he was realistic.
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Snake personally got caught up in the lull of his own thoughts, his olive eyes staring out across the ocean as he steadily smoked the cigarette down to nothing. He could sense Daisuke's eyes on him but he didn't really put much stock in it—why should he? He only glanced back when the wolf moved at his agreement to a massage, though his question gave him pause. "Uh," he said, trying to narrow it down from 'where it hurt' (which was practically everywhere) to 'where it hurt the worst'. "Shoulders. Back," he replied after a moment longer. He rotated his head and, after hearing the pops of his neck, he continued, "Neck."
The blond coyote gave a noncommittal grunt at Daisuke's reassurance about getting to him before he happened to be dying. Death was not something that was a far-away and frightening thing to Snake—he felt like he had been staring it in the eye for most of his life, so he had stopped really caring. Things that were out of his control he tended to do that to; let them go. He heard the question about why they were in Dahlian territory over the rush of the waves and replied, "Same thing they were doing, except to a lesser degree. Burned Haku out like an old devil and fought with a lot of wolves. That's where I got my wound. When we came back, we found that land destroyed. We didn't get Haku, either." From what he knew, the bastard was still lurking out there. Snake was far too defensively-minded to think about going out and getting him, but he knew that, if he dared come within a mile of Inferni territory, there would be blood spilled.
At the golden wolf's next question, Snake had to glance back to make sure what he was talking about. His green eyes fixed on the glowing cigarette between his fingers and replied, "Oh. Cigarette." Many had smoked in New Haven—he remembered Rex and Ray doing so, the embers visible in the shadows and the burning smell in the air. Patriot had preferred cigars, though. Tobacco had really been the only thing Snake had seen smoked in New Haven—Patriot had forbidden anything else. He did not want his soldiers addled in time of emergency, and he seemed to believe that tobacco improved their senses or something.
He glanced back at Daisuke momentarily at his initial comment—he had never really considered burned land good land, especially if you were living on it—but he didn't bring it into question. What was a little more puzzling was Daisuke saying that he was going to move his den as well. "Why are you moving?" he asked. But for a new start, it could be seen as that. To Snake, it felt like a reiteration. His life was broken into segments of war and peace, beginning with the chaos of New Haven then to the meandering travel with his parents to life in Inferni with the war and now this. It only meant that something disruptive was looming in the future, as inevitable as the setting of the sun. Snake was not pessimistic—he was realistic.