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He had seen the Mansion from afar several times, but he had been too busy otherwise to go check it out. But nowadays Snake’s den—which happened to be in the hollowed-out remains of an ancient car in the Landfill—was holding up well to the cold and to the rain, and he didn’t have to work on it maintenance nearly as much anymore. He had visited the far north and the Caves and the Beach and so now he found himself wandering in the forests. He remembered his meeting with Gabriel here, as well. He wasn’t sure what he thought about the leader. He thought him very odd, first off. Informal was the word. Snake hadn’t been under a leader since his imprisonment at New Haven, and to compare and contrast Gabriel and Patriot was like comparing night and day. If you didn’t bow your head to Patriot, he’d have your hand cut off. Gabriel had urged Snake to relax in his presence. Weird.
Oddly enough, when Snake came to the mansion, he did not go inside. He hated living within buildings, and he hated living underground. He had been imprisoned in the basement of a crumbling skyscraper in New Haven, which had made him somewhat claustrophobic. There had also been one night when he had felt he earth quake—not from seismic activity, though, but because one of the taller skyscrapers had finally collapsed onto the streets. Seventeen wolves had been killed.
So, in short, Snake was distrustful of human architecture, and even though the D’Neville Manse looked to be in good condition he wouldn’t dare go inside at the moment. So he skirted it, eventually finding himself in the wild growth of the gardens. Ivies and thorns and bushes and even some lingering flowers suddenly surrounded him, and he grew wary of the snarl of vegetation. He tried to turn around and backtrack, but soon found himself lost within the leafy labyrinth. Great, he thought cynically, walking forward calmly and trying to find the way out.
table credit goes to jacoby [/html]
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Occasionally, Samael entered the confines of the house. He was accustomed to human architecture, living in the city when away from Inferni, but since his return he hadn’t entered the mansion very often. He hadn’t lingered in the clan’s territory long in general this time around, rejoining only to be by Kaena’s side, yet distancing himself to try and attempt to fight off his desires. When he was apart from her he was miserable, and yet when he was beside her he was equally tormented. She didn’t love him as he loved her, and so he walked alone, avoiding her when not following her ghostly paw-prints across the terrain. Slinking through the gardens outside the great house, he lowered his head and tested the air with a lift of his muzzle. Someone else was lurking in the great expanse of decaying plants laid out across the once finely manicured lawn, and just for the hell of it Samael became to stalk his companion.
Normally, he was horribly anti-social, but if he was going to bow his head to Gabriel’s crown he may as well familiarize himself with the others crouching on their knees as well. Slinking through the vegetation, he grew closer and closer to the other coyote. Body pressed low to the dirt and moving quickly across the packed soil, he slide through the bushes and vines like a serpent after a rodent. Restraining the desire to leap from the growth and sink his fangs into the other’s hide, he merely paused, half-hidden by thorn-infested branches, and whispered a soft, just audible “boo” once in sight to get the canine’s absolute attention.
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Though he would hate to admit it to himself, Snake had no idea that he was being followed, or circled. The heavy scent of the vegetation, both of the living and the decaying, made his sense of smell virtually impossible, and Samael kept himself quiet and well-hidden until he deigned to be found.
The coyote lycanthrope came to a halt, looking impassively at the hybrid before him. This place was befuddling his senses well enough that he couldn’t even tell if he belonged to Inferni, though he assumed so. He could see the coyote plainly in him, and he most often also assumed that most of the coyotes of the general area were living here. And though he was vaguely disconcerted that the stranger had been a little too opportune in stopping him—clearly, he had been following—he didn’t seem at all disturbed. Snake was never seemed disturbed, despite what he encountered.
Though he did not really think ‘boo’ as much of a greeting, he decided to take it as such—at least until he had more information about the stranger. “Hello,” he responded in his usual, emotionally-devoid voice. It was an automatic response, despite the situation. He was not a myrmidon of conversation, nor of company in most circumstances. This was unique enough, though, for him not to invent some excuse to slip away.
table credit goes to jacoby [/html]
[html] i suckkk. and i'm too lazy for a table atm.
He’d changed so much in the past few years that if the previous and present could be separated into two separate entities and encountered each other face to face for an extended period of time, Samael doubted he would be able to recognize himself. The arrogance remained, but he was destroyed—shattered and torn down like the worthless whore he’d allowed himself to become again and again over time. Slowly, piece by piece the prince of hell was allowing his former radiance to gleam through the darkened cracks, but the metamorphosis was gradual and slow, like the movements of a glacier across the frozen tundra. He’d never particularly cared for getting to know the other members of Inferni. Only those of Lykoi blood held his interest, but he’d gone from the proud, confidence prince high on his throne to an exile vagabond, wandering the wilderness far from the reaches of his mother’s clan. Madness infiltrated his soul and crept through his mind like venom from a snake’s bite, necrosing his insides and leaving the monster to crawl on his hands and knees, reaching futilely for the salvation he’d never attain and rescue from the filth and muck he so lovingly embraced.
The so-called “King” despised the demon, ensuring he would gain nothing more than insignificance within the coyote clan once held by their mother. There was no reason to try for more, else he’d clash with holy fire in any direction he aimed to strike from. For Kaena he would lay down his life, but none else alive held such a privilege. The coyote before him answered, offering a “hello” in a tone far removed from pleased. Twin souls of an avoidant nature encountering each other left Samael forced to become the conversation’s dominator else they would do no more than part ways without another spoken word. Faintest smirk threatened to spring to life across his lips, but was pressed tightly into oblivion as his mouth narrowed into a thin line. “You don’t sound very thrilled to see me,” he commented lightly, noting the male’s apathetic tone. “But I guess such is to be expected when effort is lacking on my own part,” he continued, speech ever laced with thinly veiled sarcasm. “So, what’s your name, blondie?” He wouldn’t be surprised if the man simply turned around and walked away. It was something he would do himself under usual circumstances.
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It's no problem. ^^
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It was strange—others could look back and see themselves as so different, and how time and its consequences and events changed them so indefinitely. Snake seemed somewhat immune to the clock’s effects, however. He had always been mature for his age, and Kaena herself would put it that he was too old for his age. He saw the big picture, and he saw things for what they were. He did not have emotions interfere with things, and sometimes not even logic. Snake seemed to be an unchanging figure; the general framework of his mind was the same as it had been when he was months old, despite some renovations. The tone that Samael might have taken to be offhanded was actually just the coyote’s general way of speaking: cold, collected, and generally lifeless. If the elder coyote took offense, there was nothing that he could do. He could not animate his voice any less than he could sprout wings and fly.
The calculating olive eyes of the Hastati seemed to notice that his features seem drawn, restrained, though he did not take any kind of analysis from that. Everyone he met usually seemed that way, stressed about something. He did not respond when the other male commented that he did not sound excited to see him—why should he? He wasn’t, especially. Meeting others was like spotting wildlife: it made your day different, but not really impacted. Or at least so Snake thought. He continued to remain silent as the stranger continued; Snake was somewhat confused by his words, and he could not guess the intention behind them. That made him slightly nervous, and his instincts told him to be careful. His instincts were rarely wrong.
He did not really react to the stranger calling him “blondie”—he had never really heard the term before. The inquiry of his name, however, was something he could respond to, “Snake,” he said in the same tone. He offered no surname, though he had several to choose from. He didn’t feel like he needed them. “And you?” he continued, going through the motions of a usual introduction; he wasn’t dying to know the other coyote’s name, but it was something to ask at least. Snake was mainly just trying to act natural, not do anything that might prove caustic to the stranger. Snake was a master at self-preservation; his instincts were geared towards it and it only.
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