02-21-2010, 02:17 AM
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Set at the Mansion.
It looked like rain, it smelled like rain, and it even felt like rain. He had a feeling when he had woken up this morning, and it had been confirmed when he peered out of the window of the car he slept in. Clouds were roiling like dueling beasts up above; the thinner areas glowed silver-gray from the sun behind, but the thunderheads were like bruises. They moved quickly as if someone had pressed fast-forward—it almost made him think that time was speeding faster than usual. Sometimes it felt that way to him. Some creatures had the aspects of water, of fire, of wind; they could adapt so quickly to things, or at least change things to suit themselves. Snake was a creature of rock—of metal. Sometimes things happened and he didn't even notice it until later.
The air was a little warmer today. Spring was coming. And yet things were quiet, as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for the rain. Snake didn't intend to. He could just say inside all day (because his den was waterproof; he had made sure), but he thought staying inside the car one more day would drive him crazy. He had kept himself here for several days already, focusing on healing. He had always been pretty quick to heal—he remembered how Patriot mentioning it when he had recovered from the knife wound Foxhound had given him. The slashes on his shoulder had already faded somewhat, though the scars were apparent. The fresher wound across his chest was getting there—he could almost feel the scar tissue knitting itself together sometimes. He was gaining more mobility every day. He knew soon he'd be good enough to fight again. That was good. Things had been still for so long; sooner or later the storm would break and hell would be back to stay.
He left a few hours after daybreak, meandering towards the forests. Rain started to fall when he had entered the folds of trees, and he soon found himself gravitating towards the mansion. He walked up and stepped onto the broad sheltered front porch. He did not want to enter the building—he disliked enclosures like that. So he sat in one of the chairs, lighting a cigarette with a match (he had not had the luck of finding a functioning lighter yet). Being out in the open air was better than being in his den, even though he didn't really want to run about in the rain. So the green-eyed coyote sat and waited it out, watching the rain as it fell.
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Set at the Mansion.
It looked like rain, it smelled like rain, and it even felt like rain. He had a feeling when he had woken up this morning, and it had been confirmed when he peered out of the window of the car he slept in. Clouds were roiling like dueling beasts up above; the thinner areas glowed silver-gray from the sun behind, but the thunderheads were like bruises. They moved quickly as if someone had pressed fast-forward—it almost made him think that time was speeding faster than usual. Sometimes it felt that way to him. Some creatures had the aspects of water, of fire, of wind; they could adapt so quickly to things, or at least change things to suit themselves. Snake was a creature of rock—of metal. Sometimes things happened and he didn't even notice it until later.
The air was a little warmer today. Spring was coming. And yet things were quiet, as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for the rain. Snake didn't intend to. He could just say inside all day (because his den was waterproof; he had made sure), but he thought staying inside the car one more day would drive him crazy. He had kept himself here for several days already, focusing on healing. He had always been pretty quick to heal—he remembered how Patriot mentioning it when he had recovered from the knife wound Foxhound had given him. The slashes on his shoulder had already faded somewhat, though the scars were apparent. The fresher wound across his chest was getting there—he could almost feel the scar tissue knitting itself together sometimes. He was gaining more mobility every day. He knew soon he'd be good enough to fight again. That was good. Things had been still for so long; sooner or later the storm would break and hell would be back to stay.
He left a few hours after daybreak, meandering towards the forests. Rain started to fall when he had entered the folds of trees, and he soon found himself gravitating towards the mansion. He walked up and stepped onto the broad sheltered front porch. He did not want to enter the building—he disliked enclosures like that. So he sat in one of the chairs, lighting a cigarette with a match (he had not had the luck of finding a functioning lighter yet). Being out in the open air was better than being in his den, even though he didn't really want to run about in the rain. So the green-eyed coyote sat and waited it out, watching the rain as it fell.