12-31-2009, 09:01 PM
It's no problem. ^^
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It was strange—others could look back and see themselves as so different, and how time and its consequences and events changed them so indefinitely. Snake seemed somewhat immune to the clock’s effects, however. He had always been mature for his age, and Kaena herself would put it that he was too old for his age. He saw the big picture, and he saw things for what they were. He did not have emotions interfere with things, and sometimes not even logic. Snake seemed to be an unchanging figure; the general framework of his mind was the same as it had been when he was months old, despite some renovations. The tone that Samael might have taken to be offhanded was actually just the coyote’s general way of speaking: cold, collected, and generally lifeless. If the elder coyote took offense, there was nothing that he could do. He could not animate his voice any less than he could sprout wings and fly.
The calculating olive eyes of the Hastati seemed to notice that his features seem drawn, restrained, though he did not take any kind of analysis from that. Everyone he met usually seemed that way, stressed about something. He did not respond when the other male commented that he did not sound excited to see him—why should he? He wasn’t, especially. Meeting others was like spotting wildlife: it made your day different, but not really impacted. Or at least so Snake thought. He continued to remain silent as the stranger continued; Snake was somewhat confused by his words, and he could not guess the intention behind them. That made him slightly nervous, and his instincts told him to be careful. His instincts were rarely wrong.
He did not really react to the stranger calling him “blondie”—he had never really heard the term before. The inquiry of his name, however, was something he could respond to, “Snake,” he said in the same tone. He offered no surname, though he had several to choose from. He didn’t feel like he needed them. “And you?” he continued, going through the motions of a usual introduction; he wasn’t dying to know the other coyote’s name, but it was something to ask at least. Snake was mainly just trying to act natural, not do anything that might prove caustic to the stranger. Snake was a master at self-preservation; his instincts were geared towards it and it only.
It was strange—others could look back and see themselves as so different, and how time and its consequences and events changed them so indefinitely. Snake seemed somewhat immune to the clock’s effects, however. He had always been mature for his age, and Kaena herself would put it that he was too old for his age. He saw the big picture, and he saw things for what they were. He did not have emotions interfere with things, and sometimes not even logic. Snake seemed to be an unchanging figure; the general framework of his mind was the same as it had been when he was months old, despite some renovations. The tone that Samael might have taken to be offhanded was actually just the coyote’s general way of speaking: cold, collected, and generally lifeless. If the elder coyote took offense, there was nothing that he could do. He could not animate his voice any less than he could sprout wings and fly.
The calculating olive eyes of the Hastati seemed to notice that his features seem drawn, restrained, though he did not take any kind of analysis from that. Everyone he met usually seemed that way, stressed about something. He did not respond when the other male commented that he did not sound excited to see him—why should he? He wasn’t, especially. Meeting others was like spotting wildlife: it made your day different, but not really impacted. Or at least so Snake thought. He continued to remain silent as the stranger continued; Snake was somewhat confused by his words, and he could not guess the intention behind them. That made him slightly nervous, and his instincts told him to be careful. His instincts were rarely wrong.
He did not really react to the stranger calling him “blondie”—he had never really heard the term before. The inquiry of his name, however, was something he could respond to, “Snake,” he said in the same tone. He offered no surname, though he had several to choose from. He didn’t feel like he needed them. “And you?” he continued, going through the motions of a usual introduction; he wasn’t dying to know the other coyote’s name, but it was something to ask at least. Snake was mainly just trying to act natural, not do anything that might prove caustic to the stranger. Snake was a master at self-preservation; his instincts were geared towards it and it only.