01-18-2010, 05:56 PM
525
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Not very many in his life had managed to accept his extremely nondescript state of being—fewer still had found delight in it. He knew that Patriot had simply loved that aspect of him and he had fed it, allowed it to grow and perhaps become permanent. The man had wanted someone on his side who was completely devoid of emotion—he had already had several of his own men crumble under pressure from the inside. Snake had a sneaking suspicion that the leadership of Inferni might feel the same—a warrior whom wouldn’t be distracted with such things was always beneficial. But he had gotten lots of strange looks from many who, after a few minutes, realized that his way of speaking, reacting, was not simply just an act. He apologized to some (it was sometimes very strange), but Daisuke might have been the only one who had really accepted it enough to be comfortable around. One of the reasons Snake remained reclusive was that he was somewhat afraid of being cast out—he had been confronted by many wolf and coyote packs and groups along his travels here, and many had yowled at him and chased him away because he was so strange, so different. It was not nice being treated like a leper for something that you had little choice in being, and less availability of changing.
Regardless, the golden wolf seemed extremely happy that Snake had enjoyed the song, though his response had been less than ecstatic. Snake shook his head when Daisuke remarked he had feared it would “suck”—though the coyote was not really accustomed to such slang terms (something that left him clueless half the time when speaking with Anselm), he could only imagine that he meant it would be bad, or something. Listening to how Daisuke had pieced together how to make his own song, Snake realized that it was very much like many other things—how infants learned to speak, how artists learned to paint, how warriors learned to fight. Most of the time it was from trial and error, not from instruction.
He nodded, showing that he mostly understood what he meant. And though the wolf said he wanted to add lyrics later, Snake could not help him there. The coyote could barely speak cohesively in some points in time, let alone make up words that would go along to a melody. “I’m sure whatever you end up with will be fine,” he said, about as much encouragement as he could muster. He knew it would be a hell of a lot better than anything he could manage. He paused, considering the next question. Could he recall music when he needed to calm down? His head was so dreadfully empty most of the more nerve-wracking parts of his day, “Yes, I think so.” It was only a partial of the truth, though; he knew as time went on, the notes would fade in his memory until there was nothing but a nagging memory of what should have been there. But he believed he might be able to recall it for the next few days, however.
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Not very many in his life had managed to accept his extremely nondescript state of being—fewer still had found delight in it. He knew that Patriot had simply loved that aspect of him and he had fed it, allowed it to grow and perhaps become permanent. The man had wanted someone on his side who was completely devoid of emotion—he had already had several of his own men crumble under pressure from the inside. Snake had a sneaking suspicion that the leadership of Inferni might feel the same—a warrior whom wouldn’t be distracted with such things was always beneficial. But he had gotten lots of strange looks from many who, after a few minutes, realized that his way of speaking, reacting, was not simply just an act. He apologized to some (it was sometimes very strange), but Daisuke might have been the only one who had really accepted it enough to be comfortable around. One of the reasons Snake remained reclusive was that he was somewhat afraid of being cast out—he had been confronted by many wolf and coyote packs and groups along his travels here, and many had yowled at him and chased him away because he was so strange, so different. It was not nice being treated like a leper for something that you had little choice in being, and less availability of changing.
Regardless, the golden wolf seemed extremely happy that Snake had enjoyed the song, though his response had been less than ecstatic. Snake shook his head when Daisuke remarked he had feared it would “suck”—though the coyote was not really accustomed to such slang terms (something that left him clueless half the time when speaking with Anselm), he could only imagine that he meant it would be bad, or something. Listening to how Daisuke had pieced together how to make his own song, Snake realized that it was very much like many other things—how infants learned to speak, how artists learned to paint, how warriors learned to fight. Most of the time it was from trial and error, not from instruction.
He nodded, showing that he mostly understood what he meant. And though the wolf said he wanted to add lyrics later, Snake could not help him there. The coyote could barely speak cohesively in some points in time, let alone make up words that would go along to a melody. “I’m sure whatever you end up with will be fine,” he said, about as much encouragement as he could muster. He knew it would be a hell of a lot better than anything he could manage. He paused, considering the next question. Could he recall music when he needed to calm down? His head was so dreadfully empty most of the more nerve-wracking parts of his day, “Yes, I think so.” It was only a partial of the truth, though; he knew as time went on, the notes would fade in his memory until there was nothing but a nagging memory of what should have been there. But he believed he might be able to recall it for the next few days, however.