He wasn't really sure. Snake had been conditioned from birth to about six months to not give into any type of pleasure—it was a distraction, and was therefore dangerous. Patriot had constantly drilled him that life was little more than survival, and you had to do all you could to survive in this world. It had been true in New Haven—if Snake had remained there, he would have done well. But still, he would have had no soul; as of now, he was getting to there, but it wasn't complete. He wasn't—and probably never would be—a hedonist; searching for things that he enjoyed was outlandish to him, just as much as self-mutilation. He was a man with a strange code to live by, but it all made sense to him. So, when it came to that suggestion of Daisuke's, the blond coyote did not respond—that was as close as he ever got to an outright refusal.
He grew still at the mention of his mother. Snake's relationship with his parents was not exactly traditional, and how he interacted with his mother was even more complicated. It was hard to think positively on a woman that bewailed your existence for the first few months of your life. She had claimed that he and Foxhound were the only of her boys that she had cared for, but he found that hard to believe. She had hated him, he was sure of that. She had seen her eyes as he lay, crumpled and bleeding, after the long days in New Haven. Why had she ever given him anything? If she did not hate him, he thought she was indifferent. When Laurel had come to speak with him all those months ago, Nikita had not come. Obviously, his mother did not care. He did not really blame her. Snake was not a very good son.
"My mother did not really enjoy giving me things, no." He had a nervous pause, as he didn't really like speaking of his family, but added, "She gave me her knife and her bandanna because she no longer needed them." Would she be proud of him? Well, he remembered when she first gave it to him—he had nervously put it on, and a rare smile had crossed her features. "Fits you well," was all that Nikita had said, and then she walked away.
Snake glanced down to the wolf as he asked his name, waiting for whatever he had to say. At his request, however, the coyote felt uncomfortable. Snake was not as obstinant as he used to be, and he just wasn't sure how to respond—he would need more time to think, probably. So he just said, "Daisuke," in a warning tone, not moving.
.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]