01-08-2010, 06:26 PM
I'm behind on SoSuWriMo, so you get a MONSTER POST! 1084 words. 
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He had been working tirelessly, thoughtlessly, and he was beginning to feel it. He was sitting on top of the car that served as his den, frowning deeply at the sight of his hands. They looked almost as bad as they felt. He had dealt with splinters and a few accidental cuts—all from stripping the branches off of and sharpening some of the sticks he had been lashing together in the forested borders, creating a kind of fence that would serve as a deterrent for any malicious invaders. He could barley hold his knife anymore; there were bruises where the metal handle had created indentations. It upset him because he could not get the handgun he had found in Halifax working like this. One couldn’t be clumsy when handling something that might kill you in one shot. He didn’t think that the 1911 Custom would work any time soon, but there was always the chance of it accidentally misfiring right into his face.
Snake was trained to ignore pain—his threshold for recognizing it was significantly higher than someone who had never specifically fought before. But he felt this now, a vague aching that seemed to cover his body like a fine film. He was the warrior in-training, which meant he had been doing a lot of sparring. Sometimes he managed to find a partner to fight—he was lucky those days, because there was nothing like practicing fighting with something that could actually think. When he was not so lucky, there was what had once been a beanbag chair that he dueled with, in all forms available to him. His main mantra for these days, these weeks, was to never have a dull moment. If he was not preparing Inferni for possible attack, he was training himself body and mind. If he was not training, he was hunting. If he was not hunting, he was scouting and patrolling. If he was not doing any of that, he was sleeping—not that it gave him any peace. Snake used to feel natural in the threat of battle, in the threat of war, but now he was not so sure. He had gone soft, as Patriot would say. He felt stressed and he wasn’t sure why. This was what he was meant to do; he fit on a battlefield like a round peg in a round hole. And yet something nagged at the back of his mind. Strangely enough, he found himself wanting to talk to those from his past—before Inferni, before Souls. He wanted to talk with his mother, his father… hell, he might even share a few words with Patriot or Foxhound! Things had seemed simpler back then. What had made them change?
It was a quiet day, so perhaps he was lucky in that. Though Inferni was close to the Dampwoods, he was astounded that he caught the call of his friend from so far. Regardless, he could not let a summons go unanswered. He slipped off of the roof of the automobile, kicking some dirt onto the sizzling embers of a fire to make them die out while he was gone. Then he was off, running as swiftly as he could without either exhausting himself or crying out in the pain. No matter what he did, his muscles argued greatly with whatever he did.
It did take some time to get to where the call had originated from, and by the time he got there, Snake was feeling nervous. For some reason, though he knew exactly what it was. He was trying to guess what kind of reaction Daisuke would have to the fact that Inferni was going to war. He knew that the wolf would want to know why and after he was told, he wouldn’t understand. In truth, Snake had no true reason to fight besides the fact that he was a soldier. He didn’t ask questions—he was like a weapon, point and shoot. But he felt loyal enough to his superiors that he would follow their commands, and he felt enough camaraderie with the rest of the coyotes to fight amongst them. He used to feel like a superfluous extension of the clan, but now he almost felt like part of it. Snake hadn’t felt included in something like that… ever, he didn’t think.
He began to stop running when Daisuke’s golden form came into sight. The sandy-furred coyote kept his head down somewhat, his eyes elsewhere—he couldn’t meet the wolf’s blue gaze, for some reason. Probably nervous of what he’d find there, or something like that. He came to a halt a few feet away from the lone wolf, crossing his arms and looking down. “Daisuke,” he greeted—as flat and cold a tone as always. He knew that there would eventually be some kind of question—he could not hide the way he must outwardly appear. Tired, somewhat beaten; he anticipated the questions and decided to cut to the chase. “Inferni is going to war. Dahlia de Mai has attacked one of our leaders. We are going to make them pay.”
Make them learn their place, a voice hissed from somewhere in his mind. But really—was that the reason? Dahlia de Mai had always been their rivals, so perhaps it just seemed natural that they would begin warring eventually. He knew Kaena well, and he respected her. Though he was not nearly as offended by what Haku had done to her as, say, her son. Snake may be impersonal, but he did not want a woman who seemed good enough (though he did not know her completely, of course) hurt like that and have it unanswered. It didn’t surprise him. Within his few months of living in New Haven, he had heard things so much worse. Patriot liked his totalitarian rule over the city; he liked to make those who differed from his own opinions in the slightest way to feel pain. One of his crueler acts upon the young minds of Snake and his twin was taking them to some of those displays of his control. Snake had seen three wolves tortured. The first he was taken away from before the end, but the latter two he had saw to the end. Let’s just say that death did not seem strange to him anymore. And some people wondered why he seemed so… off?
Finally he sighed and glanced up to his friend’s eyes, a somewhat pained expression on his face.
He had been working tirelessly, thoughtlessly, and he was beginning to feel it. He was sitting on top of the car that served as his den, frowning deeply at the sight of his hands. They looked almost as bad as they felt. He had dealt with splinters and a few accidental cuts—all from stripping the branches off of and sharpening some of the sticks he had been lashing together in the forested borders, creating a kind of fence that would serve as a deterrent for any malicious invaders. He could barley hold his knife anymore; there were bruises where the metal handle had created indentations. It upset him because he could not get the handgun he had found in Halifax working like this. One couldn’t be clumsy when handling something that might kill you in one shot. He didn’t think that the 1911 Custom would work any time soon, but there was always the chance of it accidentally misfiring right into his face.
Snake was trained to ignore pain—his threshold for recognizing it was significantly higher than someone who had never specifically fought before. But he felt this now, a vague aching that seemed to cover his body like a fine film. He was the warrior in-training, which meant he had been doing a lot of sparring. Sometimes he managed to find a partner to fight—he was lucky those days, because there was nothing like practicing fighting with something that could actually think. When he was not so lucky, there was what had once been a beanbag chair that he dueled with, in all forms available to him. His main mantra for these days, these weeks, was to never have a dull moment. If he was not preparing Inferni for possible attack, he was training himself body and mind. If he was not training, he was hunting. If he was not hunting, he was scouting and patrolling. If he was not doing any of that, he was sleeping—not that it gave him any peace. Snake used to feel natural in the threat of battle, in the threat of war, but now he was not so sure. He had gone soft, as Patriot would say. He felt stressed and he wasn’t sure why. This was what he was meant to do; he fit on a battlefield like a round peg in a round hole. And yet something nagged at the back of his mind. Strangely enough, he found himself wanting to talk to those from his past—before Inferni, before Souls. He wanted to talk with his mother, his father… hell, he might even share a few words with Patriot or Foxhound! Things had seemed simpler back then. What had made them change?
It was a quiet day, so perhaps he was lucky in that. Though Inferni was close to the Dampwoods, he was astounded that he caught the call of his friend from so far. Regardless, he could not let a summons go unanswered. He slipped off of the roof of the automobile, kicking some dirt onto the sizzling embers of a fire to make them die out while he was gone. Then he was off, running as swiftly as he could without either exhausting himself or crying out in the pain. No matter what he did, his muscles argued greatly with whatever he did.
It did take some time to get to where the call had originated from, and by the time he got there, Snake was feeling nervous. For some reason, though he knew exactly what it was. He was trying to guess what kind of reaction Daisuke would have to the fact that Inferni was going to war. He knew that the wolf would want to know why and after he was told, he wouldn’t understand. In truth, Snake had no true reason to fight besides the fact that he was a soldier. He didn’t ask questions—he was like a weapon, point and shoot. But he felt loyal enough to his superiors that he would follow their commands, and he felt enough camaraderie with the rest of the coyotes to fight amongst them. He used to feel like a superfluous extension of the clan, but now he almost felt like part of it. Snake hadn’t felt included in something like that… ever, he didn’t think.
He began to stop running when Daisuke’s golden form came into sight. The sandy-furred coyote kept his head down somewhat, his eyes elsewhere—he couldn’t meet the wolf’s blue gaze, for some reason. Probably nervous of what he’d find there, or something like that. He came to a halt a few feet away from the lone wolf, crossing his arms and looking down. “Daisuke,” he greeted—as flat and cold a tone as always. He knew that there would eventually be some kind of question—he could not hide the way he must outwardly appear. Tired, somewhat beaten; he anticipated the questions and decided to cut to the chase. “Inferni is going to war. Dahlia de Mai has attacked one of our leaders. We are going to make them pay.”
Make them learn their place, a voice hissed from somewhere in his mind. But really—was that the reason? Dahlia de Mai had always been their rivals, so perhaps it just seemed natural that they would begin warring eventually. He knew Kaena well, and he respected her. Though he was not nearly as offended by what Haku had done to her as, say, her son. Snake may be impersonal, but he did not want a woman who seemed good enough (though he did not know her completely, of course) hurt like that and have it unanswered. It didn’t surprise him. Within his few months of living in New Haven, he had heard things so much worse. Patriot liked his totalitarian rule over the city; he liked to make those who differed from his own opinions in the slightest way to feel pain. One of his crueler acts upon the young minds of Snake and his twin was taking them to some of those displays of his control. Snake had seen three wolves tortured. The first he was taken away from before the end, but the latter two he had saw to the end. Let’s just say that death did not seem strange to him anymore. And some people wondered why he seemed so… off?
Finally he sighed and glanced up to his friend’s eyes, a somewhat pained expression on his face.