05-19-2010, 04:07 AM
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His own view on life was nearly as fatalistic—death had never been a fear, rather sometimes a comfort as it was a close friend of any soldier. He had always assumed that he was generally meaningless in this world, a world made for creatures that felt and worried and feared and melted. Snake was always the same, impassive and stoic, and it was that mechanical exterior that generally made him set apart from everyone else. He did not mind—his exile was comforting. Nevertheless, it was all the more surprising when some made him feel as though he was something more. He had made friends, friends who actually cared if he lived or died, and friends that knew him more than he probably knew himself. It was confusing, perhaps just as confusing as what Eris was dealing with. Then again, everything was relative based on the person, so he could not say.
And yet Snake could sense her grow still as he grabbed her hand—it accomplished what he had set out to do, which was to stop what she had been doing, but there was something unsettling in it as well. As he returned his hand to the neck of the bottle, she began to quake like an autumn leaf, blinking like an owl. He could not guess what it had meant to her, and he probably did not want to. Feeling simultaneously awkward and guilty, he sloshed the water in the bottle before taking another sip. The water was nearly out, even though it wasn't as though he couldn't get a refill.
He nodded, still trying to understand, though he could not reply to her quiet reiteration. He silently wondered if she was this open to everyone she met, or if she had merely been searching for someone to speak with. It made some sense that she would pick him, he who was not directly involved in any of the family of Inferni. Regardless, he frowned at her last statement, looking at her with some sharpness. "Do not say that," he said, a steely edge to his voice. "Sometimes it is better to suffer, I think, because it has the possibility of change. But you cannot change nothing. It seems safe at times, and maybe it is, but it is its own curse."
Snake, more closely likened to a machine than a man most of the time, knew what he was talking about in this circumstance.
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His own view on life was nearly as fatalistic—death had never been a fear, rather sometimes a comfort as it was a close friend of any soldier. He had always assumed that he was generally meaningless in this world, a world made for creatures that felt and worried and feared and melted. Snake was always the same, impassive and stoic, and it was that mechanical exterior that generally made him set apart from everyone else. He did not mind—his exile was comforting. Nevertheless, it was all the more surprising when some made him feel as though he was something more. He had made friends, friends who actually cared if he lived or died, and friends that knew him more than he probably knew himself. It was confusing, perhaps just as confusing as what Eris was dealing with. Then again, everything was relative based on the person, so he could not say.
And yet Snake could sense her grow still as he grabbed her hand—it accomplished what he had set out to do, which was to stop what she had been doing, but there was something unsettling in it as well. As he returned his hand to the neck of the bottle, she began to quake like an autumn leaf, blinking like an owl. He could not guess what it had meant to her, and he probably did not want to. Feeling simultaneously awkward and guilty, he sloshed the water in the bottle before taking another sip. The water was nearly out, even though it wasn't as though he couldn't get a refill.
He nodded, still trying to understand, though he could not reply to her quiet reiteration. He silently wondered if she was this open to everyone she met, or if she had merely been searching for someone to speak with. It made some sense that she would pick him, he who was not directly involved in any of the family of Inferni. Regardless, he frowned at her last statement, looking at her with some sharpness. "Do not say that," he said, a steely edge to his voice. "Sometimes it is better to suffer, I think, because it has the possibility of change. But you cannot change nothing. It seems safe at times, and maybe it is, but it is its own curse."
Snake, more closely likened to a machine than a man most of the time, knew what he was talking about in this circumstance.