The question seemed to upset Snake—he reached around behind his head, pulling at the longer fur there (which he needed to cut, before he started to look like he had a mullet) in a bit of an anxious habit. Such habits that he had never had before coming here; this place was changing him more than he would usually care to admit. "I really don't know," he said in a low tone. "I don't really like fighting—though I've accepted it, I don't really like the chance of dying. But without it, I get really anxious. The war may be over, but I feel like I need to do something, and there's nothing." His voice rose slightly, but by the end of his words it was down to where it had started—gruffly quiet and monotone.
He took a deep breath, nodding to acknowledge that he always had a masseur in the back pocket if needed. And then he focused on keeping his breathing measured, something in the back of his head not pleased with the feeling of being held by the neck as Daisuke now did with the shell of his necklace. But after a while the golden wolf relinquished it, and Snake relaxed somewhat. Regardless, he knew that the twine would not much get in the way. When Snake shifted to four-legged forms to fight (and especially his Secui form, which he used for the battle), it transformed from a necklace into a choker, disappearing into his thicker fur. One might have to search for it, and Snake kept his neck jealously guarded while fighting anyway. That's why it was his side that was hurt, and why he was not dead right now.
He waited patiently for the answer to his demanding question, his brow furrowing somewhat when the words escaped from Daisuke's pierced lips. As he often didn't, Snake did not know what to say. He had never considered his eyes like that—they were his parents', as both of them had the same hue. But Snake had never liked his eyes personally, for he remembered his parents too well. The light that danced in his father's when he was sitting by the fire, playing the banjo while intermittently sipping from some type of bottle. The fire that he had seen in his mother's as she had confronted Patriot, and also the glimmer of tears and of laughter. Snake had their eyes glazed over with stoicism—he was a mockery of them. Generally the comment made him feel strange, his frown fixating on his face as he cast his own gaze down, growling a neutral, "Uh-huh."
.snake b {font-weight:bold; color:#800000; }
.snake .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;}
.snake p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px; color:#000000}
.snake {margin:0 auto; width:311px; background-color:#FCDDC1; background-image:url(http://i972.photobucket.com/albums/ae20 ... CDDC12.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #000000; padding: 10px 0px 175px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#0F475F; line-height:14px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;}
</style>[/html]