west coast smoker - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: west coast smoker (/showthread.php?tid=8729) |
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- Snake - 11-29-2009 [html] He had seen the Mansion from afar several times, but he had been too busy otherwise to go check it out. But nowadays Snake’s den—which happened to be in the hollowed-out remains of an ancient car in the Landfill—was holding up well to the cold and to the rain, and he didn’t have to work on it maintenance nearly as much anymore. He had visited the far north and the Caves and the Beach and so now he found himself wandering in the forests. He remembered his meeting with Gabriel here, as well. He wasn’t sure what he thought about the leader. He thought him very odd, first off. Informal was the word. Snake hadn’t been under a leader since his imprisonment at New Haven, and to compare and contrast Gabriel and Patriot was like comparing night and day. If you didn’t bow your head to Patriot, he’d have your hand cut off. Gabriel had urged Snake to relax in his presence. Weird. Oddly enough, when Snake came to the mansion, he did not go inside. He hated living within buildings, and he hated living underground. He had been imprisoned in the basement of a crumbling skyscraper in New Haven, which had made him somewhat claustrophobic. There had also been one night when he had felt he earth quake—not from seismic activity, though, but because one of the taller skyscrapers had finally collapsed onto the streets. Seventeen wolves had been killed. So, in short, Snake was distrustful of human architecture, and even though the D’Neville Manse looked to be in good condition he wouldn’t dare go inside at the moment. So he skirted it, eventually finding himself in the wild growth of the gardens. Ivies and thorns and bushes and even some lingering flowers suddenly surrounded him, and he grew wary of the snarl of vegetation. He tried to turn around and backtrack, but soon found himself lost within the leafy labyrinth. Great, he thought cynically, walking forward calmly and trying to find the way out. table credit goes to jacoby [/html]
- Samael Lykoi - 12-02-2009 [html]
- Snake - 12-02-2009 [html] http://i187.photobucket.com/albums/x242 ... ntable.png); background-color:#ffffff; background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; text-align:justify;"> Though he would hate to admit it to himself, Snake had no idea that he was being followed, or circled. The heavy scent of the vegetation, both of the living and the decaying, made his sense of smell virtually impossible, and Samael kept himself quiet and well-hidden until he deigned to be found. The coyote lycanthrope came to a halt, looking impassively at the hybrid before him. This place was befuddling his senses well enough that he couldn’t even tell if he belonged to Inferni, though he assumed so. He could see the coyote plainly in him, and he most often also assumed that most of the coyotes of the general area were living here. And though he was vaguely disconcerted that the stranger had been a little too opportune in stopping him—clearly, he had been following—he didn’t seem at all disturbed. Snake was never seemed disturbed, despite what he encountered. Though he did not really think ‘boo’ as much of a greeting, he decided to take it as such—at least until he had more information about the stranger. “Hello,” he responded in his usual, emotionally-devoid voice. It was an automatic response, despite the situation. He was not a myrmidon of conversation, nor of company in most circumstances. This was unique enough, though, for him not to invent some excuse to slip away. table credit goes to jacoby [/html]
- Samael Lykoi - 12-25-2009 [html]
- Snake - 12-31-2009 It's no problem. ^^ [html] http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b171/ ... -8copy.png); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> It was strange—others could look back and see themselves as so different, and how time and its consequences and events changed them so indefinitely. Snake seemed somewhat immune to the clock’s effects, however. He had always been mature for his age, and Kaena herself would put it that he was too old for his age. He saw the big picture, and he saw things for what they were. He did not have emotions interfere with things, and sometimes not even logic. Snake seemed to be an unchanging figure; the general framework of his mind was the same as it had been when he was months old, despite some renovations. The tone that Samael might have taken to be offhanded was actually just the coyote’s general way of speaking: cold, collected, and generally lifeless. If the elder coyote took offense, there was nothing that he could do. He could not animate his voice any less than he could sprout wings and fly. The calculating olive eyes of the Hastati seemed to notice that his features seem drawn, restrained, though he did not take any kind of analysis from that. Everyone he met usually seemed that way, stressed about something. He did not respond when the other male commented that he did not sound excited to see him—why should he? He wasn’t, especially. Meeting others was like spotting wildlife: it made your day different, but not really impacted. Or at least so Snake thought. He continued to remain silent as the stranger continued; Snake was somewhat confused by his words, and he could not guess the intention behind them. That made him slightly nervous, and his instincts told him to be careful. His instincts were rarely wrong. He did not really react to the stranger calling him “blondie”—he had never really heard the term before. The inquiry of his name, however, was something he could respond to, “Snake,” he said in the same tone. He offered no surname, though he had several to choose from. He didn’t feel like he needed them. “And you?” he continued, going through the motions of a usual introduction; he wasn’t dying to know the other coyote’s name, but it was something to ask at least. Snake was mainly just trying to act natural, not do anything that might prove caustic to the stranger. Snake was a master at self-preservation; his instincts were geared towards it and it only. |