01-10-2010, 09:50 PM
637
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Things always seemed to happen too quickly for Snake’s reasoning. Computers may be swift with their computations, but mechanisms were not. Slow to change, slow to adapt—if there was any fundamental change that was happening inside of him, any gears switching, it would take a while for it to show itself. And even so, this Inferni-Dahlia War would wind whatever changes were happening back. He felt his mind regressing, returning to where it had been months ago. Things were somewhat different—he answered to Gabriel and Kaena instead of Patriot and his sons, Rex, Ray, Zero, and all of them. It was all the same, though. Perhaps the coyotes’ motives here were nobler than his faux-father’s quest for power, but he was still going to be a warrior by the side of the commanders.
And despite it all, he knew that he was hurting Daisuke’s feelings. He knew it. He saw it. He felt it. Strange enough, there was the slightest amount of repulsion at how he was hurting his friend. He didn’t believe in lying for the benefit of someone’s feelings, but maybe he should make an exception? Somehow he felt as though what he said and what he did now was going to impact both of their wellbeing in the future. He took a deep breath, his shoulders finally losing some of their tenseness. It didn’t mean that this was any less alien to him—he still felt uncomfortable, out of place. But it was at least for the benefit of Daisuke. Maybe he wouldn’t be so depressed now.
Daisuke backed up from Snake, allowing him to breathe normally. It was nothing that had to do with the wolf—perhaps if Snake had a normal upraising or a normal experience in life at all, he might have taken solace in the action. But as he was it was just something that made him squirm—there was a direct link in his mind between physical closeness and aggression, pain, the flash of teeth and claws. It was an irrational thing, but it was in place. Maybe it would be broken down later, but the war would not do anything to help it.
The golden wolf sat down, looking positively crushed. Snake frown deepened (if that was even possible); he continued standing. He was used to Daisuke being brimming with energy and enthusiasm, it was somewhat disturbing to see him without that usual spark. He felt guilty, but there was nothing in his mind that he could do. He was many things, and painfully truthful was one of them. He looked down when Daisuke put down his ultimatum, and he shook his head. “I can try, but I can’t promise that. I could get hurt, recovering, with no strength to howl. And there is no more sneaking around on clan grounds anymore—there are patrols constantly. You will be caught, and you will be hurt, if not killed.” He shifted his weight, his voice becoming a little hoarse—an odd sound with his automatic tone, “And how do you think I’d feel if I got better and heard that they’d found and killed you?” His ear flicked, embarrassed. He concluded with, “If I am well enough, I will. But you must keep faith in me. I might die, but I will not go easily.” His eyes darkened, his face became particularly grim. He felt dangerous; he knew dozens of ways to cripple enemies without even shifting into his more feral forms, and he could feel the weight of his knife and even his non-functioning gun (which he would try to get working). He said you’d live and die by the gun.
The question for lunch was much more manageable. “Sure,” he said in a quiet tone, dipping his head and waiting for his friend to lead.
Things always seemed to happen too quickly for Snake’s reasoning. Computers may be swift with their computations, but mechanisms were not. Slow to change, slow to adapt—if there was any fundamental change that was happening inside of him, any gears switching, it would take a while for it to show itself. And even so, this Inferni-Dahlia War would wind whatever changes were happening back. He felt his mind regressing, returning to where it had been months ago. Things were somewhat different—he answered to Gabriel and Kaena instead of Patriot and his sons, Rex, Ray, Zero, and all of them. It was all the same, though. Perhaps the coyotes’ motives here were nobler than his faux-father’s quest for power, but he was still going to be a warrior by the side of the commanders.
And despite it all, he knew that he was hurting Daisuke’s feelings. He knew it. He saw it. He felt it. Strange enough, there was the slightest amount of repulsion at how he was hurting his friend. He didn’t believe in lying for the benefit of someone’s feelings, but maybe he should make an exception? Somehow he felt as though what he said and what he did now was going to impact both of their wellbeing in the future. He took a deep breath, his shoulders finally losing some of their tenseness. It didn’t mean that this was any less alien to him—he still felt uncomfortable, out of place. But it was at least for the benefit of Daisuke. Maybe he wouldn’t be so depressed now.
Daisuke backed up from Snake, allowing him to breathe normally. It was nothing that had to do with the wolf—perhaps if Snake had a normal upraising or a normal experience in life at all, he might have taken solace in the action. But as he was it was just something that made him squirm—there was a direct link in his mind between physical closeness and aggression, pain, the flash of teeth and claws. It was an irrational thing, but it was in place. Maybe it would be broken down later, but the war would not do anything to help it.
The golden wolf sat down, looking positively crushed. Snake frown deepened (if that was even possible); he continued standing. He was used to Daisuke being brimming with energy and enthusiasm, it was somewhat disturbing to see him without that usual spark. He felt guilty, but there was nothing in his mind that he could do. He was many things, and painfully truthful was one of them. He looked down when Daisuke put down his ultimatum, and he shook his head. “I can try, but I can’t promise that. I could get hurt, recovering, with no strength to howl. And there is no more sneaking around on clan grounds anymore—there are patrols constantly. You will be caught, and you will be hurt, if not killed.” He shifted his weight, his voice becoming a little hoarse—an odd sound with his automatic tone, “And how do you think I’d feel if I got better and heard that they’d found and killed you?” His ear flicked, embarrassed. He concluded with, “If I am well enough, I will. But you must keep faith in me. I might die, but I will not go easily.” His eyes darkened, his face became particularly grim. He felt dangerous; he knew dozens of ways to cripple enemies without even shifting into his more feral forms, and he could feel the weight of his knife and even his non-functioning gun (which he would try to get working). He said you’d live and die by the gun.
The question for lunch was much more manageable. “Sure,” he said in a quiet tone, dipping his head and waiting for his friend to lead.