01-06-2010, 11:31 PM
Yeah, I meant that. XD I'm just dumb. And I suppose that this could be the morningish time after the day of the meeting (the 4th). 633
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Well, the least thing that Kaena did not have to worry about was Snake asking about the facts of the start of the war—as Patriot had told him, a soldier does not question, he only acts. He could care less what was the spark that ignited the fire, only that there was plenty of kindling to keep it going. All that he knew was that Haku Soul, whom he had a close encounter with before already, had done something bad to the Centurion who had been kind to him, so far. That was enough for him, and it had been more than enough for Gabriel. Snake had thought the hybrid Aquila of the clan very even-tempered when he had first met him, but it appeared that the de le Poer had a fiery side. Everyone did, though, if fed enough reason. Sometimes Snake had to wonder what would happen if he ever ignited like that—his tolerance was intensely high. He had not lost his nerve when his twin brother had slashed him open, nearly killing him, nor when his half-brother and savior Gray was killed after allowing his mother and he to escape.
Perhaps if there was one thing that was a boon when it came to Snake, it might as well be his emotionless outlook on things. While it did make many regard him as an oddity—a freak, even—it was definitely useful. Patriot had thought so. Who wouldn’t want a bodyguard that was not swayed by anger or sorrow or distracted by passion, whose hand would not stay because of pity? That was not entirely true, as a strange morality was beginning to show through the cracks of Snake’s composition. He was a warrior, but he did not fight in wars of attrition. If someone bared their fangs against him and lashed out, he would be able to fight them with all his strength. If someone raised their arms to their face to protect themselves and screamed… he might leave them. He didn’t want to see their mourning corpses trailing after him in the river at the end of life.
Moments after his call, the older hybrid woman appeared, her golden eye surprisingly warm when it regarded him. He responded somewhat awkwardly—he was not used to such things; his parents had never been especially affectionate—dipping his head and averting his gaze politely. She returned his greeting and offered for him to come inside, which he said, “Thank you,” to and took a few steps within the cavernous den—but not too far. Snake, ironically enough, was afraid of cramped and underground spaces. He would not go too far away from sunlight into the earth.
He paused, the words of the Aquila from yesterday rolling around in his head as he tried to figure out what he wanted to ask. Eventually he decided to not worry about the big picture (what good was it to worry at?) and focus on the first victim of the conflict. “How do you feel?” he asked, the personal question a little incongruent with his usual dull tone. He probably did not have to ask; in respect for her privacy he kept his eyes on her instead of her den, and emotions were written on her face like human words on the signs in Halifax. Snake had learned to glean emotions from others well; he was almost a savant at it, seeing as though he could not reference them form himself. He believed he saw the wild glint of fear in the back of her eyes, as well as perhaps hints of sorrow and anger. Those all made sense. The only one he would have taken offense to would be joy—there was clearly very little of that in the silvery-furred woman.
Well, the least thing that Kaena did not have to worry about was Snake asking about the facts of the start of the war—as Patriot had told him, a soldier does not question, he only acts. He could care less what was the spark that ignited the fire, only that there was plenty of kindling to keep it going. All that he knew was that Haku Soul, whom he had a close encounter with before already, had done something bad to the Centurion who had been kind to him, so far. That was enough for him, and it had been more than enough for Gabriel. Snake had thought the hybrid Aquila of the clan very even-tempered when he had first met him, but it appeared that the de le Poer had a fiery side. Everyone did, though, if fed enough reason. Sometimes Snake had to wonder what would happen if he ever ignited like that—his tolerance was intensely high. He had not lost his nerve when his twin brother had slashed him open, nearly killing him, nor when his half-brother and savior Gray was killed after allowing his mother and he to escape.
Perhaps if there was one thing that was a boon when it came to Snake, it might as well be his emotionless outlook on things. While it did make many regard him as an oddity—a freak, even—it was definitely useful. Patriot had thought so. Who wouldn’t want a bodyguard that was not swayed by anger or sorrow or distracted by passion, whose hand would not stay because of pity? That was not entirely true, as a strange morality was beginning to show through the cracks of Snake’s composition. He was a warrior, but he did not fight in wars of attrition. If someone bared their fangs against him and lashed out, he would be able to fight them with all his strength. If someone raised their arms to their face to protect themselves and screamed… he might leave them. He didn’t want to see their mourning corpses trailing after him in the river at the end of life.
Moments after his call, the older hybrid woman appeared, her golden eye surprisingly warm when it regarded him. He responded somewhat awkwardly—he was not used to such things; his parents had never been especially affectionate—dipping his head and averting his gaze politely. She returned his greeting and offered for him to come inside, which he said, “Thank you,” to and took a few steps within the cavernous den—but not too far. Snake, ironically enough, was afraid of cramped and underground spaces. He would not go too far away from sunlight into the earth.
He paused, the words of the Aquila from yesterday rolling around in his head as he tried to figure out what he wanted to ask. Eventually he decided to not worry about the big picture (what good was it to worry at?) and focus on the first victim of the conflict. “How do you feel?” he asked, the personal question a little incongruent with his usual dull tone. He probably did not have to ask; in respect for her privacy he kept his eyes on her instead of her den, and emotions were written on her face like human words on the signs in Halifax. Snake had learned to glean emotions from others well; he was almost a savant at it, seeing as though he could not reference them form himself. He believed he saw the wild glint of fear in the back of her eyes, as well as perhaps hints of sorrow and anger. Those all made sense. The only one he would have taken offense to would be joy—there was clearly very little of that in the silvery-furred woman.