03-12-2010, 12:12 AM
YES YOU CAN HAZ PRIZE... ONCE I FIGURE OUT WHAT IT IS.
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Patriot had wanted a working gun. He had tried to fix one himself, and it took him a while to swallow his pride and acknowledge that he couldn't figure it out. Right before Snake had escaped New Haven, he remembered the wolf giving one of the guns to Otacon, his son and Snake's half-brother. Snake had no doubt that Otacon would figure it out. His half-brother might not know anything about what the world really was, but he understood machines and he understood logic. He could probably stare at the inner workings of the device for half an hour and know everything about it. Of course, that was how they all were—Snake and all of his brothers. They excelled at one thing, but they were totally inept at everything else.
She moved back fluidly, and as his claws raked through the air he found himself impressed with the elder hybrid's speed. She certainly didn't let her age prohibit her—he respected that. He was in the process of bringing back the hand that he had attacked with when he saw her charing forward. Processes raced through his mind, so quick that he wouldn't remember them—he could try to dodge, meet the forward rush with one of his own, or fall back and try to control it. Option one: likely to fail, or be counterattacked. Option two: risk damage to both parties. Option three: optimal for these circumstances.
He lifted an arm just in time for the impact, catching the blow to where it didn't knock the wind out of him. He staggered, but did not fall. He paused for a half-second, regaining his stance and scanning for any movements that would suggest any further attack. He saw none, and took his own initiative. He feigned toward the right—his preferred side of attack due to his injured left shoulder. But then at the last second he switched, taking a step to the left and attacking with both claws.
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Patriot had wanted a working gun. He had tried to fix one himself, and it took him a while to swallow his pride and acknowledge that he couldn't figure it out. Right before Snake had escaped New Haven, he remembered the wolf giving one of the guns to Otacon, his son and Snake's half-brother. Snake had no doubt that Otacon would figure it out. His half-brother might not know anything about what the world really was, but he understood machines and he understood logic. He could probably stare at the inner workings of the device for half an hour and know everything about it. Of course, that was how they all were—Snake and all of his brothers. They excelled at one thing, but they were totally inept at everything else.
She moved back fluidly, and as his claws raked through the air he found himself impressed with the elder hybrid's speed. She certainly didn't let her age prohibit her—he respected that. He was in the process of bringing back the hand that he had attacked with when he saw her charing forward. Processes raced through his mind, so quick that he wouldn't remember them—he could try to dodge, meet the forward rush with one of his own, or fall back and try to control it. Option one: likely to fail, or be counterattacked. Option two: risk damage to both parties. Option three: optimal for these circumstances.
He lifted an arm just in time for the impact, catching the blow to where it didn't knock the wind out of him. He staggered, but did not fall. He paused for a half-second, regaining his stance and scanning for any movements that would suggest any further attack. He saw none, and took his own initiative. He feigned toward the right—his preferred side of attack due to his injured left shoulder. But then at the last second he switched, taking a step to the left and attacking with both claws.