03-03-2010, 09:03 PM
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It was an interesting first topic—not many had anything positive to say about the blade that he carried. Most liked to ridicule it as an obsolete human artifact. Luperci today figured themselves superior to humans, with their mouths full of razors and their claws like stilettos. Snake disagreed. Humans were masters at the art of killing—they could end a life from several dozen yards away simply by twitching a finger, and he didn't even know anything of missiles, bombs, or biologics. No, he had reverence for them while most had hatred or ignorance. He had lived in their cities, and he knew that they had been far more powerful. They simply had not the strength against a rapid disease. There was nothing to say to that. Perhaps the Luperci would all perish to a similar contagion years from now. One never knew, and Snake tried not to guess.
Still, it was an odd thing to be complimented on, and he was unsure of what to say; this meant that he said nothing. Her initial question was as easy as breathing to answer, though: "Yes, I have been taught." When fighting with teeth and claws, you got lucky if you killed swiftly. With a knife, it was easy—cut their throat or stab their heart. Snake didn't take any bloody joy in violence, unlike his brother. In truth, he didn't exact joy from much of anything. There was a vague satisfaction of being superior to an opponent, but that was it for him. He didn't have any problems with fighting with a blade when others scoffed—it was how he had been taught, and the object itself was also a gift. Snake had been given three gifts in his life, and he kept all of them with him: the bandanna on his head, the necklace around his neck, and the knife clasped behind his back.
He shrugged in response to her thanks; he knew the thank-yous well enough, but the your-welcomes were still a little beyond his comprehension. Just trivialities that had become traditional, such as introductions. She gave hers, Lucia. "I'm Snake," he replied automatically, as if programmed and continuing, "Nice to meet you." He was still a little cautious, however—one aspect of a good soldier was never letting your guard completely down. He had been attacked by a good friend (not in his right mind) and that was how he had been given the most impressive of his scars. It was all because he had let his guard down, let emotions get in the way. He would not make that mistake again.
The coyote smoked steadily. He had only recently begun smoking; it had not been socially-impressed or anything. He had found it a way to distract his mind when resting, recovering. It also helped dull pain a little, though he wasn't sure if that was actual or if it was just the result of a vacant mind. He didn't really care. It was calming, and he was ignorant of any detrimental effects (just as humans had been for hundreds of years). Even if he did, he wouldn't have any inclination of stopping. Soldiers, like other people in dangerous lines of work, smoked often. Perhaps it was just a side-effect of a fatalistic train of thought, the kind of 'I'm going to die some day anyway' kind of thing. That would have been his counter-argument.
Her complimentary comment was not strange to him. Well, unexpected in topic, but not strange. Snake was not one easily insulted, easily pleased, or easily unsettled. He was an astoundingly neutral person, more like a machine than a man in most aspects. She seemed to be far more affected than him, immediately dropping her gaze and acting in an agitated manner. No, not agitated—he remembered this to be embarrassment. The coyote didn't get embarrassed; one could say that he was extremely secure in himself, but the truth was that he just didn't think about it. The list of things that he actually cared about was... extremely short. Anyway, "You don't have to be embarrassed. I don't mind." He gave a brief pause before adding, "Thanks." He didn't return the compliment because he usually didn't put much stock in physical attributes. Snake also wasn't the man to say something out of character to gain a good impression.
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It was an interesting first topic—not many had anything positive to say about the blade that he carried. Most liked to ridicule it as an obsolete human artifact. Luperci today figured themselves superior to humans, with their mouths full of razors and their claws like stilettos. Snake disagreed. Humans were masters at the art of killing—they could end a life from several dozen yards away simply by twitching a finger, and he didn't even know anything of missiles, bombs, or biologics. No, he had reverence for them while most had hatred or ignorance. He had lived in their cities, and he knew that they had been far more powerful. They simply had not the strength against a rapid disease. There was nothing to say to that. Perhaps the Luperci would all perish to a similar contagion years from now. One never knew, and Snake tried not to guess.
Still, it was an odd thing to be complimented on, and he was unsure of what to say; this meant that he said nothing. Her initial question was as easy as breathing to answer, though: "Yes, I have been taught." When fighting with teeth and claws, you got lucky if you killed swiftly. With a knife, it was easy—cut their throat or stab their heart. Snake didn't take any bloody joy in violence, unlike his brother. In truth, he didn't exact joy from much of anything. There was a vague satisfaction of being superior to an opponent, but that was it for him. He didn't have any problems with fighting with a blade when others scoffed—it was how he had been taught, and the object itself was also a gift. Snake had been given three gifts in his life, and he kept all of them with him: the bandanna on his head, the necklace around his neck, and the knife clasped behind his back.
He shrugged in response to her thanks; he knew the thank-yous well enough, but the your-welcomes were still a little beyond his comprehension. Just trivialities that had become traditional, such as introductions. She gave hers, Lucia. "I'm Snake," he replied automatically, as if programmed and continuing, "Nice to meet you." He was still a little cautious, however—one aspect of a good soldier was never letting your guard completely down. He had been attacked by a good friend (not in his right mind) and that was how he had been given the most impressive of his scars. It was all because he had let his guard down, let emotions get in the way. He would not make that mistake again.
The coyote smoked steadily. He had only recently begun smoking; it had not been socially-impressed or anything. He had found it a way to distract his mind when resting, recovering. It also helped dull pain a little, though he wasn't sure if that was actual or if it was just the result of a vacant mind. He didn't really care. It was calming, and he was ignorant of any detrimental effects (just as humans had been for hundreds of years). Even if he did, he wouldn't have any inclination of stopping. Soldiers, like other people in dangerous lines of work, smoked often. Perhaps it was just a side-effect of a fatalistic train of thought, the kind of 'I'm going to die some day anyway' kind of thing. That would have been his counter-argument.
Her complimentary comment was not strange to him. Well, unexpected in topic, but not strange. Snake was not one easily insulted, easily pleased, or easily unsettled. He was an astoundingly neutral person, more like a machine than a man in most aspects. She seemed to be far more affected than him, immediately dropping her gaze and acting in an agitated manner. No, not agitated—he remembered this to be embarrassment. The coyote didn't get embarrassed; one could say that he was extremely secure in himself, but the truth was that he just didn't think about it. The list of things that he actually cared about was... extremely short. Anyway, "You don't have to be embarrassed. I don't mind." He gave a brief pause before adding, "Thanks." He didn't return the compliment because he usually didn't put much stock in physical attributes. Snake also wasn't the man to say something out of character to gain a good impression.