03-04-2010, 07:59 PM
Btw, in what territory is this set in?
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He didn't feel the need to forgive her—he believed that if people spoke what was on their mind more often, a lot of meaningless trouble would be prevented. It was one of his own personal aspects, telling the blunt truth whenever asked. Snake often seemed enigmatic, but it was only because of his distant nature. He did not withhold information. Whatever someone asked, he would answer truthfully. It was really the fault of whoever was curious about him, not having the guts to ask him what was on their mind. That, by his reasoning, returned right back to his first code of speaking what you thought. He spoke as he thought and spoke truthfully, and he had not really gotten in much trouble yet. That would probably change, however. There was always a counter-example.
The coyote blinked at her slight concern. Tense? Yes, he suppose he felt tense, but he was always like that. It was not being tense or upset, it was being cautious and aware. Snake harbored a slight paranoia that might have driven others mad; with his calm mind, it was much more like a casual reminder. He shook his head, answering, "Nothing is bothering me. I suppose that I am usually like this." He could have continued to say that his clan was at war with a nearby wolf pack, but that might be too much information. If she asked, though, he wouldn't have any trouble talking about it.
The weather was worsening, as Lucia pointed out. The bright (and yet not really warm, per se) sunshine of earlier was blocked out by gray clouds that rolled in from across the sea. He glanced up to the sky to check, but didn't say anything about it. Rain, snow, sleet, hail—he could usually endure it and, if not, he would go and wait it out until it stopped. He had no peeves about getting rained on or whatever. Wolves lived outside; there was no reason to get finicky about things like that.
His attention returned when her tone changed, his name becoming nothing more than a sibilant whisper as she said it. Unsure, he remained quiet, crossing his arms. She had finally gotten to the part of asking the questions, parts of which made the fur along his spine prickle with surprise. He was busy formulating a response when she gave up the overarching theme of her inquiries, a general "who are you?" type of deal. Not many had bothered to come out straight with it like that before. He started with her first questions, working systematically through the list. "A pack? Yes, a clan, Inferni. It is up the coast. A family? Yes, everyone has a family. I haven't seen mine in several months, and I don't intend on seeing them in the future. And a—lover?" The emphasis to which he gave the word was much different than hers, on the fringes of disparaging but generally just sounding alien. "No."
Snake was—to put it lightly—damaged. Someone's childhood was very important to their development, and his was key to understanding his psychology. There had been no love or affection. His mother generally treated them well, but whether or not she cared about either Snake or his brother Foxhound was up to her. She had said she'd wished they were 'normal', so apparently she didn't love them as much as she should. Snake had thought his father to be Patriot, the cruel tyrant of New Haven, for his entire stay there. Patriot had pitted Snake and his brother against each other (eventually leaving itself as the horizontal slash across Snake's ribs). So when he escaped from that place and eventually met up with his real father, the affection between his parents seemed strange and almost disturbing to him. In order to become a perfect weapon, Patriot had tried to devoid Snake of emotions. That encompassed love, and blocked everything else.
"My story? I was born in a city called New Haven. I was kept a prisoner because my mother and the ruler had a... falling out, of sorts." He left the fact that they were ex-mates and that Nikita had mothered seven of his children out of it. "The tyrant trained me to be a soldier so I could serve him. I escaped with my mother before the end of it. We traveled, I met my father, and then I left and came here. Now I fight and serve for Inferni." Sparing a lot of the details, that was pretty much it. "What did you do before you came here?" It seemed only polite to ask. Or just an obligation.
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He didn't feel the need to forgive her—he believed that if people spoke what was on their mind more often, a lot of meaningless trouble would be prevented. It was one of his own personal aspects, telling the blunt truth whenever asked. Snake often seemed enigmatic, but it was only because of his distant nature. He did not withhold information. Whatever someone asked, he would answer truthfully. It was really the fault of whoever was curious about him, not having the guts to ask him what was on their mind. That, by his reasoning, returned right back to his first code of speaking what you thought. He spoke as he thought and spoke truthfully, and he had not really gotten in much trouble yet. That would probably change, however. There was always a counter-example.
The coyote blinked at her slight concern. Tense? Yes, he suppose he felt tense, but he was always like that. It was not being tense or upset, it was being cautious and aware. Snake harbored a slight paranoia that might have driven others mad; with his calm mind, it was much more like a casual reminder. He shook his head, answering, "Nothing is bothering me. I suppose that I am usually like this." He could have continued to say that his clan was at war with a nearby wolf pack, but that might be too much information. If she asked, though, he wouldn't have any trouble talking about it.
The weather was worsening, as Lucia pointed out. The bright (and yet not really warm, per se) sunshine of earlier was blocked out by gray clouds that rolled in from across the sea. He glanced up to the sky to check, but didn't say anything about it. Rain, snow, sleet, hail—he could usually endure it and, if not, he would go and wait it out until it stopped. He had no peeves about getting rained on or whatever. Wolves lived outside; there was no reason to get finicky about things like that.
His attention returned when her tone changed, his name becoming nothing more than a sibilant whisper as she said it. Unsure, he remained quiet, crossing his arms. She had finally gotten to the part of asking the questions, parts of which made the fur along his spine prickle with surprise. He was busy formulating a response when she gave up the overarching theme of her inquiries, a general "who are you?" type of deal. Not many had bothered to come out straight with it like that before. He started with her first questions, working systematically through the list. "A pack? Yes, a clan, Inferni. It is up the coast. A family? Yes, everyone has a family. I haven't seen mine in several months, and I don't intend on seeing them in the future. And a—lover?" The emphasis to which he gave the word was much different than hers, on the fringes of disparaging but generally just sounding alien. "No."
Snake was—to put it lightly—damaged. Someone's childhood was very important to their development, and his was key to understanding his psychology. There had been no love or affection. His mother generally treated them well, but whether or not she cared about either Snake or his brother Foxhound was up to her. She had said she'd wished they were 'normal', so apparently she didn't love them as much as she should. Snake had thought his father to be Patriot, the cruel tyrant of New Haven, for his entire stay there. Patriot had pitted Snake and his brother against each other (eventually leaving itself as the horizontal slash across Snake's ribs). So when he escaped from that place and eventually met up with his real father, the affection between his parents seemed strange and almost disturbing to him. In order to become a perfect weapon, Patriot had tried to devoid Snake of emotions. That encompassed love, and blocked everything else.
"My story? I was born in a city called New Haven. I was kept a prisoner because my mother and the ruler had a... falling out, of sorts." He left the fact that they were ex-mates and that Nikita had mothered seven of his children out of it. "The tyrant trained me to be a soldier so I could serve him. I escaped with my mother before the end of it. We traveled, I met my father, and then I left and came here. Now I fight and serve for Inferni." Sparing a lot of the details, that was pretty much it. "What did you do before you came here?" It seemed only polite to ask. Or just an obligation.