02-11-2010, 01:22 AM
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He went back to playing the song between his own question and Snake's reply, though that eventually faded away into a stunned silence when the truth wandered out into the open like some kind of frightening—yet rare—animal. Daisuke's blue eyes rose once more, meeting with the dead-looking gaze of Snake. He seemed to be in disbelief for the moment, almost searching for a reason to laugh it off and think it a joke. But the coyote did not give him any reason to, for he was as serious as the grave. Finally it dawned on the wolf, and he began to stammer out what seemed to be apologies. Snake did not respond, not even nod, not even shake his head, not even shrug. He just sat there, slumped against the wall of the cave, injured and staring.
"You did," he said blatantly, perhaps a little too harshly. He couldn't help it—the negativity was boiling now, spilling over from the realm of his personal thoughts and into the open. The wolf tugged on his ears as he usually did when distressed; Snake could easily see where he had torn the wolf's right ear. That was a testament to that what he said was the truth, as well as his own wound. "You can check one of your blades; the clasp is cut on one, right? I did that, right before you caught me with the other one." He winced slightly, remembering the flash of the steel in the moonlight and the fiery pain. He was used to pain, but that memory was far more vibrant than the dull memories of old. He had grown soft was the obvious answer of that change.
Much like the quickly-shifting phases of grief, Daisuke jumped from disbelief and denial to apologizing. Snake yet again did not reply—he did not know what to say. It's okay? It was not okay. He looked away, feeling distinctly awkward by the tears of emotion that he began to see welling up in the corners of the wolf's eyes. Snake could not look at anyone if they were crying. He stared at an opposite wall, very silent for a long time. During this time his stony composure broke down somewhat, wearing away as if by erosion. When he spoke again, it was a sad countenance, almost childlike. "I don't know what to do now," was all he could say. He felt much like a kid who had practiced so hard for so long to play in some kind of sports game, and he had been benched for the duration. He felt like a failure, and he felt like it wasn't fair. In the tumultuous personality switches that Snake harbored, now he seemed to have reverted back a few months. Sorrow was a new thing, and it was an aching thing, like an old bruise. He had trained for these kinds of things all of his life, and this loss was hurting him more than a physical level. Call him a sore loser or simply unrealistic (as certainly no one would win everything), but he had never really experienced it before. It was frightening, like when the floor underneath your feet suddenly gave way.
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He went back to playing the song between his own question and Snake's reply, though that eventually faded away into a stunned silence when the truth wandered out into the open like some kind of frightening—yet rare—animal. Daisuke's blue eyes rose once more, meeting with the dead-looking gaze of Snake. He seemed to be in disbelief for the moment, almost searching for a reason to laugh it off and think it a joke. But the coyote did not give him any reason to, for he was as serious as the grave. Finally it dawned on the wolf, and he began to stammer out what seemed to be apologies. Snake did not respond, not even nod, not even shake his head, not even shrug. He just sat there, slumped against the wall of the cave, injured and staring.
"You did," he said blatantly, perhaps a little too harshly. He couldn't help it—the negativity was boiling now, spilling over from the realm of his personal thoughts and into the open. The wolf tugged on his ears as he usually did when distressed; Snake could easily see where he had torn the wolf's right ear. That was a testament to that what he said was the truth, as well as his own wound. "You can check one of your blades; the clasp is cut on one, right? I did that, right before you caught me with the other one." He winced slightly, remembering the flash of the steel in the moonlight and the fiery pain. He was used to pain, but that memory was far more vibrant than the dull memories of old. He had grown soft was the obvious answer of that change.
Much like the quickly-shifting phases of grief, Daisuke jumped from disbelief and denial to apologizing. Snake yet again did not reply—he did not know what to say. It's okay? It was not okay. He looked away, feeling distinctly awkward by the tears of emotion that he began to see welling up in the corners of the wolf's eyes. Snake could not look at anyone if they were crying. He stared at an opposite wall, very silent for a long time. During this time his stony composure broke down somewhat, wearing away as if by erosion. When he spoke again, it was a sad countenance, almost childlike. "I don't know what to do now," was all he could say. He felt much like a kid who had practiced so hard for so long to play in some kind of sports game, and he had been benched for the duration. He felt like a failure, and he felt like it wasn't fair. In the tumultuous personality switches that Snake harbored, now he seemed to have reverted back a few months. Sorrow was a new thing, and it was an aching thing, like an old bruise. He had trained for these kinds of things all of his life, and this loss was hurting him more than a physical level. Call him a sore loser or simply unrealistic (as certainly no one would win everything), but he had never really experienced it before. It was frightening, like when the floor underneath your feet suddenly gave way.