01-18-2010, 01:30 AM
Sure. (: 465
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A decent size of the reason Snake had chosen to live in the landfill of all places was the fact that no one went there—usually. No one really wanted to go wander around and look at the old human junk that was falling apart and decaying, and he liked his solitude. Coyotes were naturally solitary creatures; they rarely grouped up and, to his knowledge, the only reason Inferni was in existence was the threat of the wolves in the area. It was something made out of necessity, not instinct (as it was in a wolf pack). Snake understood that—he had joined Inferni to be safer from the wolves while he lived here, and he had no problem with being a warrior for them if it meant having regular food and a place to sleep every night. He just wouldn’t stand for it if the social aspect of clan life was mandatory. He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist.
It was funny—he wasn’t even asked before he was made into the clan’s Hastati. He hadn’t mentioned that fighting was one of his aptitudes when first meeting with Kaena at the borders. He guessed that the leaders had observed him and his attitude and somehow observed that he had the potential of a warrior. If so, they had keen sight. Snake had been trained practically since birth—Patriot had been grooming him into the perfect “shadow guard”, someone who would keep the leader safe by following him closely. It was almost ironic that Snake was being trained now to become a Hydra, or one of the personal guard of the leadership.
He was decently fascinated at what this coyote could do though—he had never really met anyone who was an engineer, a machinist, by trade. In Snake’s first home, there had been a few that could scavenge from old human things and usually could get them to work (usually by hitting them until they did so). No one had had the aptitude to actually find out how it ticked and get it to work properly.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to find whatever sort of parts you may need in the landfill. You can’t go three paces without stepping on something metal and sharp,” he said, being half-helpful and half-ironic. “But… that’s really something. I’ve never met someone who worked with machines specifically. What sorts of things do you make?”
And yet he knew he would not be able to satiate all his curiosity now. He had been not tired before, but it was beginning to sneak up on him now. His mind was slowing, and his eyelids were beginning to feel leaden. He would have to head back to the shell of an ancient automobile that he called his den sooner or later.
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A decent size of the reason Snake had chosen to live in the landfill of all places was the fact that no one went there—usually. No one really wanted to go wander around and look at the old human junk that was falling apart and decaying, and he liked his solitude. Coyotes were naturally solitary creatures; they rarely grouped up and, to his knowledge, the only reason Inferni was in existence was the threat of the wolves in the area. It was something made out of necessity, not instinct (as it was in a wolf pack). Snake understood that—he had joined Inferni to be safer from the wolves while he lived here, and he had no problem with being a warrior for them if it meant having regular food and a place to sleep every night. He just wouldn’t stand for it if the social aspect of clan life was mandatory. He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist.
It was funny—he wasn’t even asked before he was made into the clan’s Hastati. He hadn’t mentioned that fighting was one of his aptitudes when first meeting with Kaena at the borders. He guessed that the leaders had observed him and his attitude and somehow observed that he had the potential of a warrior. If so, they had keen sight. Snake had been trained practically since birth—Patriot had been grooming him into the perfect “shadow guard”, someone who would keep the leader safe by following him closely. It was almost ironic that Snake was being trained now to become a Hydra, or one of the personal guard of the leadership.
He was decently fascinated at what this coyote could do though—he had never really met anyone who was an engineer, a machinist, by trade. In Snake’s first home, there had been a few that could scavenge from old human things and usually could get them to work (usually by hitting them until they did so). No one had had the aptitude to actually find out how it ticked and get it to work properly.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to find whatever sort of parts you may need in the landfill. You can’t go three paces without stepping on something metal and sharp,” he said, being half-helpful and half-ironic. “But… that’s really something. I’ve never met someone who worked with machines specifically. What sorts of things do you make?”
And yet he knew he would not be able to satiate all his curiosity now. He had been not tired before, but it was beginning to sneak up on him now. His mind was slowing, and his eyelids were beginning to feel leaden. He would have to head back to the shell of an ancient automobile that he called his den sooner or later.