05-17-2010, 12:07 AM
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Age meant next to nothing to Snake. He had met those who were several times his own age and acted as though they were still children, and he himself had always felt as though his months had been years instead. Though he personally despised it, he never ceased to take advantage of those who underestimated him for his age. It was a part of Snake's individual style when it came to fighting—he would remain still, goading the opponent to think of him as slow or weak or too young, and wait for the proper moment to strike. Usually by that time, it was too late for whoever it was to take back their preconceptions and make any defense. And that was why Snake was still alive today.
He dipped his head when she mentioned her name—Corona—and he could tell by her line of sight that she was looking at the half-healed scar across his chest. He shook his head, replying, "No. But I've had wounds like this one before; I think I can handle it." It was virtually a larger scale of the smaller slash across his ribs, that one faded with months of time between its creation and now. But with the way she said it, he guessed that her intention was perhaps a little deeper than just base concern. Figuring that he might as well say something about this suspicion, he continued quietly, "But I never refuse any advice. My knowledge of medicine is limited to first aid." Snake knew that he should keep the wound clean and not let it get infected. Anything else was far beyond him.
And besides, he needed to heal as swiftly as he could. He could not allow himself to be compromised when the time came that he was called to defend Inferni, its leaders and its people. Snake knew that his utility was linked directly with his own health, which was why he generally obsessed over maintaining it. It was perhaps ironic that he didn't know anything more about healing arts, but in his own defense he could say he had never been around any apothecaries, healers, or doctors before.
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Age meant next to nothing to Snake. He had met those who were several times his own age and acted as though they were still children, and he himself had always felt as though his months had been years instead. Though he personally despised it, he never ceased to take advantage of those who underestimated him for his age. It was a part of Snake's individual style when it came to fighting—he would remain still, goading the opponent to think of him as slow or weak or too young, and wait for the proper moment to strike. Usually by that time, it was too late for whoever it was to take back their preconceptions and make any defense. And that was why Snake was still alive today.
He dipped his head when she mentioned her name—Corona—and he could tell by her line of sight that she was looking at the half-healed scar across his chest. He shook his head, replying, "No. But I've had wounds like this one before; I think I can handle it." It was virtually a larger scale of the smaller slash across his ribs, that one faded with months of time between its creation and now. But with the way she said it, he guessed that her intention was perhaps a little deeper than just base concern. Figuring that he might as well say something about this suspicion, he continued quietly, "But I never refuse any advice. My knowledge of medicine is limited to first aid." Snake knew that he should keep the wound clean and not let it get infected. Anything else was far beyond him.
And besides, he needed to heal as swiftly as he could. He could not allow himself to be compromised when the time came that he was called to defend Inferni, its leaders and its people. Snake knew that his utility was linked directly with his own health, which was why he generally obsessed over maintaining it. It was perhaps ironic that he didn't know anything more about healing arts, but in his own defense he could say he had never been around any apothecaries, healers, or doctors before.