12-06-2009, 10:17 PM
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| http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/snake.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:130px; padding-left:15px; padding-right:15px; padding-bottom:10px;"> “Alright,” Snake agreed, though it wasn’t much of a big deal for him. Music—like virtually everything else in the world—held little importance to him. His mother had described that she felt as though she could speak better with the music of her cello than with her words; she had been very sad without it. He could never understand that, as he rarely communicated what he really thought and felt… because that was usually so little, and not worth mentioning. Music just sounded like jumbles of notes to him; he could not discern melody or meaning or extract any image from it. It just sounded like noise. Regardless, the knowledge that the island that Daisuke coming from not having any hint of Luperci was intriguing to Snake. Everywhere he had gone had werewolves—New Haven, here, and all those that he met on the road had been lycanthropes as well. “I didn’t know places still existed, untouched by Luperci,” he commented lightly before asking, “How did you get it, then?” He knew that there were two ways: you were born with it, or you obtained it from someone else. Obviously it was the latter option, and Snake was curious as to how it had came about. Any subtle changes to Daisuke’s expression or demeanor were lost upon Snake—such intricacies were so rarely perceived by him anyway. He could barley discern sorrow from anger in others sometimes, for emotions brewed in darkness looked the same to him. Bonhomie was easier to see, as it manifested in smiles and laughs and looseness. He heard the creak of the door opening while he was peering in the windows, and looked over to Daisuke. “It’s open,” the golden wolf said, and Snake gave him a simple nod before slipping inside. It surely had been raided before; many of the shelves on the walls that had once held records, CDs, and instruments were empty. On the back wall, however, there were some still there. A few guitars—some electric ones that were rusted and some acoustic ones that were in better shape, though not exactly brand-new looking. “There you go, some guitars.” Snake did not bother looking around—he knew he wouldn’t find anything to his liking. |
table credit goes to sie