03-12-2010, 01:46 AM
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He might appear to be shielding, but in truth he was trying to do the opposite. Snake did not really fear divulging information about himself, but he would not do so needlessly. If someone prompted about his family, he would tell them who they were and where they were. But they would have to ask again what he thought of them to know that, or anything further such as that. It was like calling commands on a computer—it would respond how you asked, but anything beyond that would need more input. Most were afraid of trespassing on his feelings; a futile attempt. He was not easily offended, just put slightly off balance. He adjusted, slowly, to those that he met. He believed that becoming offended by someone stemmed secretly from a lack of security within oneself. Snake had no illusions with who or what he was, so he didn't get offended. It was either that or he just knew how perfectly superficial insults were regardless. Snake believed in one old adage: Sticks and stones may break bones, but words never hurt me.
This was why he appeared dully surprised at her electric reply—there was a curious spark in her vibrant green eyes that was alien to him, but he did not comment on it. No one had really asked him about this particular subject before; he had no precedents to go from. He hadn't thought it so disturbing or strange, but apparently it was to this Lucia. But her next few questions were ones that gave him some pause. Usually he would answer without any thought, but this was always one of those thornier subjects he tried to navigate around. They all clung to love like it was more vital to life than blood—Snake could not understand.
Had he ever loved? The simple answer was no. It is hard to do when one never received much affection regardless. Sometimes he felt that his mother had some small tenderness for him, but that was only between her bouts of self-hatred for being unable to have a "normal" child. His brother had cast him as his enemy; while Snake did not hate him, he did not like to be near him either. He had not known his father for so long that he didn't know how to feel when he had met him—most attempts at a connection that Laurel had offered his son had fallen on deaf ears. And as for everything else, Snake had really not met many others in his life. In New Haven, he had been restricted from the general public. On the run, no one until they met Laurel. After that, it was family friends and wanderers and always the need to move on, move on. Here, he had not found anything either—not that he was even looking in the first place. Affections were merely weaknesses in his point of view. If he had not formed any friendship with Daisuke, he would not have the disfiguring scar on his chest. That was all the proof he needed.
All this rolled through his head as he was wordless; he probably didn't need to say anything, because the cryptic look he gave the wolf was enough to answer her question. He felt obligated to at least attempt to answer that first one, so he said quietly, "It had never come up." Of course, Snake was so obstinately thick when it came to any affections directed towards him that he would never know unless someone came out and just said it.
The subject turned towards his own history, or his mother's to say the least. Snake would be lying if he said he wasn't a little pleased with the transition. This was far easier to explain. "My mother was his mate a while ago," he said, leaving out that Patriot had not ever been formal in the relationship. Snake knew that he did not limit himself to one woman in New Haven. "She was with him for many months before realizing who he was and how he was changing her—she didn't like either. She escaped, and that angered him. She returned later to New Haven to face him a final time. A fool errand; he captured her again. It was in that imprisonment that she realized she was pregnant." Of course not Patriot's, but those of man she had traveled with and grown close to. As for New Haven itself, "It is west of here, and perhaps a little south. A great human city, falling into disrepair."
She answered his question then, remarking on the focal points of her own past history. He was silent as she recalled her parents, a mother who was killed by a man who had given her children against her will and how one child had taken her revenge over him. While it was a more different story than he normally heard from passersby, he didn't know what to think of it. A dark and depressing tale, but life was as it was. Was he supposed to say he was sorry? He doubted it; she seemed resolute in her actions, as far as he could tell. He was not sure if he would have done the same in her place. In the end, he was satisfied with her answer—he didn't feel the need for any more intricate details.
"I was trained to fight—I am skilled in little more. In biped and quadruped forms, with weapons and without. I was trained to ignore pain. That sort of thing," he answered. "What sort of things did you learn along your travels?" The rain was beginning to fall in earnest now; he could feel its chill running down his body like trailing fingers. It was somewhat refreshing, he thought. He was distracted by this when she asked her final question. He looked to her once more, pondering his response. At last he said, "Like?" It was to highlight the meaning of what he meant—he did as he had always done, there was no pleasure within it. Did he like being alone? No, but it was what he knew. He was sure that if he had grown up being with others, he would feel the same way. "It is what I know. In familiarity, I suppose I am at ease with it. But that does not mean I like it or dislike it." He didn't feel the need to ask her if she liked solitude—seeing as though she had sought his company while he had been content to leave her alone, it showed that she liked it enough.
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He might appear to be shielding, but in truth he was trying to do the opposite. Snake did not really fear divulging information about himself, but he would not do so needlessly. If someone prompted about his family, he would tell them who they were and where they were. But they would have to ask again what he thought of them to know that, or anything further such as that. It was like calling commands on a computer—it would respond how you asked, but anything beyond that would need more input. Most were afraid of trespassing on his feelings; a futile attempt. He was not easily offended, just put slightly off balance. He adjusted, slowly, to those that he met. He believed that becoming offended by someone stemmed secretly from a lack of security within oneself. Snake had no illusions with who or what he was, so he didn't get offended. It was either that or he just knew how perfectly superficial insults were regardless. Snake believed in one old adage: Sticks and stones may break bones, but words never hurt me.
This was why he appeared dully surprised at her electric reply—there was a curious spark in her vibrant green eyes that was alien to him, but he did not comment on it. No one had really asked him about this particular subject before; he had no precedents to go from. He hadn't thought it so disturbing or strange, but apparently it was to this Lucia. But her next few questions were ones that gave him some pause. Usually he would answer without any thought, but this was always one of those thornier subjects he tried to navigate around. They all clung to love like it was more vital to life than blood—Snake could not understand.
Had he ever loved? The simple answer was no. It is hard to do when one never received much affection regardless. Sometimes he felt that his mother had some small tenderness for him, but that was only between her bouts of self-hatred for being unable to have a "normal" child. His brother had cast him as his enemy; while Snake did not hate him, he did not like to be near him either. He had not known his father for so long that he didn't know how to feel when he had met him—most attempts at a connection that Laurel had offered his son had fallen on deaf ears. And as for everything else, Snake had really not met many others in his life. In New Haven, he had been restricted from the general public. On the run, no one until they met Laurel. After that, it was family friends and wanderers and always the need to move on, move on. Here, he had not found anything either—not that he was even looking in the first place. Affections were merely weaknesses in his point of view. If he had not formed any friendship with Daisuke, he would not have the disfiguring scar on his chest. That was all the proof he needed.
All this rolled through his head as he was wordless; he probably didn't need to say anything, because the cryptic look he gave the wolf was enough to answer her question. He felt obligated to at least attempt to answer that first one, so he said quietly, "It had never come up." Of course, Snake was so obstinately thick when it came to any affections directed towards him that he would never know unless someone came out and just said it.
The subject turned towards his own history, or his mother's to say the least. Snake would be lying if he said he wasn't a little pleased with the transition. This was far easier to explain. "My mother was his mate a while ago," he said, leaving out that Patriot had not ever been formal in the relationship. Snake knew that he did not limit himself to one woman in New Haven. "She was with him for many months before realizing who he was and how he was changing her—she didn't like either. She escaped, and that angered him. She returned later to New Haven to face him a final time. A fool errand; he captured her again. It was in that imprisonment that she realized she was pregnant." Of course not Patriot's, but those of man she had traveled with and grown close to. As for New Haven itself, "It is west of here, and perhaps a little south. A great human city, falling into disrepair."
She answered his question then, remarking on the focal points of her own past history. He was silent as she recalled her parents, a mother who was killed by a man who had given her children against her will and how one child had taken her revenge over him. While it was a more different story than he normally heard from passersby, he didn't know what to think of it. A dark and depressing tale, but life was as it was. Was he supposed to say he was sorry? He doubted it; she seemed resolute in her actions, as far as he could tell. He was not sure if he would have done the same in her place. In the end, he was satisfied with her answer—he didn't feel the need for any more intricate details.
"I was trained to fight—I am skilled in little more. In biped and quadruped forms, with weapons and without. I was trained to ignore pain. That sort of thing," he answered. "What sort of things did you learn along your travels?" The rain was beginning to fall in earnest now; he could feel its chill running down his body like trailing fingers. It was somewhat refreshing, he thought. He was distracted by this when she asked her final question. He looked to her once more, pondering his response. At last he said, "Like?" It was to highlight the meaning of what he meant—he did as he had always done, there was no pleasure within it. Did he like being alone? No, but it was what he knew. He was sure that if he had grown up being with others, he would feel the same way. "It is what I know. In familiarity, I suppose I am at ease with it. But that does not mean I like it or dislike it." He didn't feel the need to ask her if she liked solitude—seeing as though she had sought his company while he had been content to leave her alone, it showed that she liked it enough.