@soulcluster
ocelot is perhaps the only person left in the world who can actually understand quiet— everyone else has seemed to let their loving grips succumb when prodded enough, but not them; not them. he understands, as strange as any kind of understanding between them may be, especially now that their separate loves are directly combative of one another. but as he holds big boss close to his chest while she holds venom, he does. a small part of him wonders if she does too; or if she lacks the capacity of this specific brand of empathy ocelot possesses.
his heart aches. it’s always aching! there’s nothing to do but ache anymore— the world is so stupid, and it’s only getting more stupid as every great and proud creature to stalk its grounds turn their backs on God in favor of some new-fangled idol. lately it feels like ocelot is the only one left standing. he’s not dumb. he knew where quiet’s love lied, and that was with venom, but he had been hopeful that it would, perhaps, transfer to john.
“you’re picking the wrong side, you know,” he warns, his voice remarkably calm. his already hawkish face is sharper than ever, the crow’s feet bordering his eyes further indicative of his cold disappointment. fine, be that way. “what are you doing it for? Him?” Him, HER capital H, him, who’s just the shadow of ocelot’s subject of adoration. he doesn’t get it. why not the real deal? “do you think he’d prefer this; that he didn’t lay his life down especially for big boss? or do you just like following phantoms for the hell of it? that’s all snake is. another shadow of the real thing.”
