03-12-2010, 01:02 AM
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He could hear the gears in his head grind together as the golden wolf placed the steel of the blade in his hand once more. He listened to the wolf's backwards pleas, but he was resolute. If Daisuke wanted some kind of twisted retribution for his own wrongdoing, he would have to do it himself. Snake had bound himself long ago with his own personal philosophies on peace and war—but the true reason for his steadfastness was that what his friend was suggesting would make him feel like... Foxhound. Patriot had commanded him to strike out at Snake, and he would bare the scar of that encounter for the rest of his life. No, he would not make Daisuke carry something similar to that, even if he begged him. Snake would never understand any type of sadism, or masochism. They both enjoyed joy, something that Snake was curiously devoid of. Someone who gleaned pleasure from either inflicting or incurring harm was alien to him, so he could not sympathize.
Words would not convince him, he knew it. He had already braced himself, ready for something that Snake would sooner die than do. He would never cross his own steel convictions—the second he did he would be no better than his brother. Without saying anything, he used the blade that Daisuke had handed him to get himself to his feet. It was an extraordinarily painful action—he could feel it lancing across his chest, a spiderweb of pained nerves. He blocked it, separating it from his conscious and locking it away like he had learned to do so long ago. He could feel his head swim before things grew a little more clearer. He dropped the blade then, trying to navigate to the exit of the den.
He needed to get back to Inferni—it was his duty as a Hydra. And if there was one thing that was characteristic of Snake, it was that, when he got a mission, he focused on that and nothing else. By the time that he had made his painstaking way to the exit of Daisuke's cavern den, he hardly remembered the golden wolf was there at all.
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He could hear the gears in his head grind together as the golden wolf placed the steel of the blade in his hand once more. He listened to the wolf's backwards pleas, but he was resolute. If Daisuke wanted some kind of twisted retribution for his own wrongdoing, he would have to do it himself. Snake had bound himself long ago with his own personal philosophies on peace and war—but the true reason for his steadfastness was that what his friend was suggesting would make him feel like... Foxhound. Patriot had commanded him to strike out at Snake, and he would bare the scar of that encounter for the rest of his life. No, he would not make Daisuke carry something similar to that, even if he begged him. Snake would never understand any type of sadism, or masochism. They both enjoyed joy, something that Snake was curiously devoid of. Someone who gleaned pleasure from either inflicting or incurring harm was alien to him, so he could not sympathize.
Words would not convince him, he knew it. He had already braced himself, ready for something that Snake would sooner die than do. He would never cross his own steel convictions—the second he did he would be no better than his brother. Without saying anything, he used the blade that Daisuke had handed him to get himself to his feet. It was an extraordinarily painful action—he could feel it lancing across his chest, a spiderweb of pained nerves. He blocked it, separating it from his conscious and locking it away like he had learned to do so long ago. He could feel his head swim before things grew a little more clearer. He dropped the blade then, trying to navigate to the exit of the den.
He needed to get back to Inferni—it was his duty as a Hydra. And if there was one thing that was characteristic of Snake, it was that, when he got a mission, he focused on that and nothing else. By the time that he had made his painstaking way to the exit of Daisuke's cavern den, he hardly remembered the golden wolf was there at all.