05-26-2010, 08:58 PM
I loooooove Sie~
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Hers was the life that a young Snake had not even believed possible. His childhood had been plagued with pain and the present chance of death—the adults of his life, namely Patriot, had encouraged it. Snake's constant nemesis had been his own brother, Foxhound. Every simple thing was necessary to fight over: food, water, places to sleep, chances to go outside, favor in the eye of the boss. Snake had the winning edge over the easily-upset Foxhound, practically up until the day when his brother shifted to his two-legged form first and used a knife to give Snake the wound he wore across his ribs. That had been the first time Snake had seen death looming close enough to touch; it had been the image of Patriot watching as he bled out, calling for medics once he believed Snake had been tempered by the experience.
In truth, he had been. Patriot's training had certainly made an impeccable soldier, though Snake had to deal with the side-effects now. Regardless, her words made him redirect his olive gaze to the nonalcoholic beverage that he had in his claws. Though he usually drank booze as a beverage (and not to get drunk), he could understand what she meant. "I do wish I had some to give, but unfortunately all that I scavenged from Halifax got caught in the fire." Snake honestly didn't mind hearing about other folk's issues (generally made him feel a little better, honestly), especially since it seemed to happen more than he would expect.
He fell silent, once more coming up blank on what else to say, and not having the conversation skills enough to find another topic.
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Hers was the life that a young Snake had not even believed possible. His childhood had been plagued with pain and the present chance of death—the adults of his life, namely Patriot, had encouraged it. Snake's constant nemesis had been his own brother, Foxhound. Every simple thing was necessary to fight over: food, water, places to sleep, chances to go outside, favor in the eye of the boss. Snake had the winning edge over the easily-upset Foxhound, practically up until the day when his brother shifted to his two-legged form first and used a knife to give Snake the wound he wore across his ribs. That had been the first time Snake had seen death looming close enough to touch; it had been the image of Patriot watching as he bled out, calling for medics once he believed Snake had been tempered by the experience.
In truth, he had been. Patriot's training had certainly made an impeccable soldier, though Snake had to deal with the side-effects now. Regardless, her words made him redirect his olive gaze to the nonalcoholic beverage that he had in his claws. Though he usually drank booze as a beverage (and not to get drunk), he could understand what she meant. "I do wish I had some to give, but unfortunately all that I scavenged from Halifax got caught in the fire." Snake honestly didn't mind hearing about other folk's issues (generally made him feel a little better, honestly), especially since it seemed to happen more than he would expect.
He fell silent, once more coming up blank on what else to say, and not having the conversation skills enough to find another topic.