04-25-2010, 11:19 PM
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He had always believed that the events of one's life was accidental, chaotically falling in place depending on where you went and what you did every day. It was largely because he thought that life was like war, and after sixteen months of life, he knew full well that there was no symmetry in it. Life eventually seemed like just keeping death at bay, at least it had been in New Haven. But once he had gotten out, he had the chance to see things a little different. It had taken nearly a year for him to do so, but even with this Dahlian War, he realized that things were not just random. Fighting in the city had been, but here it had other things involved: honor, loyalty to your clan. So perhaps that was wrong; maybe life was a path—a twisting and backwards path sometimes, but one nonetheless.
She dropped her gaze to the sandy ground, a response to the slight tilt of his head that he had not anticipated. His brow furrowed slightly; he shifted his weight between his feet, wondering what had caused her to do that. But the strange occurrence did not last long—a few moments later her forest-green eyes darted up to his olive ones once more. And when they returned there was something in them, something that seemed new and curious. He looked towards it intently, trying to figure out what it was. He didn't succeed, but it gave him all the more reason to study her face.
He shrugged his scarred shoulders lightly at her musing over his past circumstances—despite all that had happened to him, he was not a creature that hated what had happened. He did not hate Patriot, nor Foxhound, nor any of the others. They did what they had to, and he did what he had to as well. But sometimes he felt as though he was obligated to feel wronged for what they had did, but hell. It was in the past now, and he was stronger for it. But no, the doubted that the fighting would start even while here. Less for himself, one of the acting Hydras for Inferni in the war. He definitely hoped that things would proceed more peacefully for her, though that was always hard for an unaffiliated wolf in this place.
Did he agree? Well, of course. It was a virtual reflection of how he saw things most of the time. Snake nodded, choosing not to speak. Her words did not seem nonsensical to him—actually, it seemed much more sensible than what many around these parts said.
Snake was definitely amused by the reaction that his step forward had elicited, not usually used to having such captivation over others. Maybe that was because he so rarely dedicated his entire attention to anyone (or stayed around them) long enough to do so. He rather liked having that effect, and the power to cause it. The slight curvature of his lips became a true smile of amusement as she floundered for something to say—he partially couldn't believe he would have such an effect, but there it was. It was not so often that the snake charmed the charmer. She closed her eyes, he felt her compose herself. And then she spoke, questioning his assurances with a tone that seemed to slog through some kind of mental mire. His smile twitched, a single chuckle escaping him, though it was cut off as she drifted closer to him as well. She was close now—extraordinarily close. Snake rarely let anyone this close, a defense mechanism. As a kid, he had directly linked anyone close to him to physical harm, a side-effect of his wartorn birthplace. He had maintained a buffer zone between himself and others, usually, to prevent getting hurt. But this. This was different. Usually his instincts would be screaming for him to back away now, to put up those guards once more. But that fighter's instinct had been usurped, beaten down by one far more convincing. It urged not to back away, but to move closer.
Her words came in now above a distant hum he heard—he felt—running through his blood, as if it was charged with some kind of voltage. There was a similar feeling while fighting, but not identical in the least. This was far more intoxicating. He picked up that she intended to kiss him through this thrumming, something unprecedented for the coyote but only in a way that made it—and her—more desirable. Another flicker of a smile at her asking permission, her pleading permission. Something devious in him made him pause, feigning a decision (though his mind was already quite made up). After he paused as long as he could stand (and he was pretty patient) he drew just a little closer, the gap between them closing rapidly—tantalizing with an impish light to his expression that had never been there before. And then, "Yes," spoken little more than a breath.
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He had always believed that the events of one's life was accidental, chaotically falling in place depending on where you went and what you did every day. It was largely because he thought that life was like war, and after sixteen months of life, he knew full well that there was no symmetry in it. Life eventually seemed like just keeping death at bay, at least it had been in New Haven. But once he had gotten out, he had the chance to see things a little different. It had taken nearly a year for him to do so, but even with this Dahlian War, he realized that things were not just random. Fighting in the city had been, but here it had other things involved: honor, loyalty to your clan. So perhaps that was wrong; maybe life was a path—a twisting and backwards path sometimes, but one nonetheless.
She dropped her gaze to the sandy ground, a response to the slight tilt of his head that he had not anticipated. His brow furrowed slightly; he shifted his weight between his feet, wondering what had caused her to do that. But the strange occurrence did not last long—a few moments later her forest-green eyes darted up to his olive ones once more. And when they returned there was something in them, something that seemed new and curious. He looked towards it intently, trying to figure out what it was. He didn't succeed, but it gave him all the more reason to study her face.
He shrugged his scarred shoulders lightly at her musing over his past circumstances—despite all that had happened to him, he was not a creature that hated what had happened. He did not hate Patriot, nor Foxhound, nor any of the others. They did what they had to, and he did what he had to as well. But sometimes he felt as though he was obligated to feel wronged for what they had did, but hell. It was in the past now, and he was stronger for it. But no, the doubted that the fighting would start even while here. Less for himself, one of the acting Hydras for Inferni in the war. He definitely hoped that things would proceed more peacefully for her, though that was always hard for an unaffiliated wolf in this place.
Did he agree? Well, of course. It was a virtual reflection of how he saw things most of the time. Snake nodded, choosing not to speak. Her words did not seem nonsensical to him—actually, it seemed much more sensible than what many around these parts said.
Snake was definitely amused by the reaction that his step forward had elicited, not usually used to having such captivation over others. Maybe that was because he so rarely dedicated his entire attention to anyone (or stayed around them) long enough to do so. He rather liked having that effect, and the power to cause it. The slight curvature of his lips became a true smile of amusement as she floundered for something to say—he partially couldn't believe he would have such an effect, but there it was. It was not so often that the snake charmed the charmer. She closed her eyes, he felt her compose herself. And then she spoke, questioning his assurances with a tone that seemed to slog through some kind of mental mire. His smile twitched, a single chuckle escaping him, though it was cut off as she drifted closer to him as well. She was close now—extraordinarily close. Snake rarely let anyone this close, a defense mechanism. As a kid, he had directly linked anyone close to him to physical harm, a side-effect of his wartorn birthplace. He had maintained a buffer zone between himself and others, usually, to prevent getting hurt. But this. This was different. Usually his instincts would be screaming for him to back away now, to put up those guards once more. But that fighter's instinct had been usurped, beaten down by one far more convincing. It urged not to back away, but to move closer.
Her words came in now above a distant hum he heard—he felt—running through his blood, as if it was charged with some kind of voltage. There was a similar feeling while fighting, but not identical in the least. This was far more intoxicating. He picked up that she intended to kiss him through this thrumming, something unprecedented for the coyote but only in a way that made it—and her—more desirable. Another flicker of a smile at her asking permission, her pleading permission. Something devious in him made him pause, feigning a decision (though his mind was already quite made up). After he paused as long as he could stand (and he was pretty patient) he drew just a little closer, the gap between them closing rapidly—tantalizing with an impish light to his expression that had never been there before. And then, "Yes," spoken little more than a breath.