Thinkin' about how Inarius breathes in his death cinematic.
Like yeah, him panting and sighing is just good voice acting, but also. Do angels breath? Pretty sure they don't. Lungs are not a thing they need or possess.
So either angels do breath, and have lungs and possibly other organs too, or maybe that whole 'spent too much time around mortals and picked up their mannerisms' is playing at it again.
Well, here's some more of Sniv's miserable life lol. Just a small scene with his dear ol dad.
“Come on, Snively.” Bunnie shook her head slightly. “Yer daddy couldn't have hated you.”
He smiled without mirth. “Just because you can't imagine such a thing doesn't mean it doesn't exist.”
“Ah just can't imagine a parent hatin' their kid.”
“Because you...people (he had very nearly slipped and uttered the derogatory 'animals')...live in an idyllic fantasyland. All of you Freedom Fighters had the perfect little families. Loving mummies and daddies. Well, until Robotnik and I came along, I suppose.”
“So what are you saying? You Overlanders all had dysfunctional families and nobody loved anyone? Ah guess that explains a lot. Ah guess if that's the case, we ain't ever gonna be able to understand each other.”
He grunted. “No, not all Overlanders. But my family, yes.”
“Well, yer mama must've loved yer dad. Must've loved you.”
She must've seen the doors slam shut in his eyes. The darkening. Maybe she understood something about him after all, because she veered away. “Fine, ya don't want to talk about that. Ah won't make you. Not that Ah could.”
“My father didn't have any affection for me.” He moved the conversation even further away from Mother. “He wanted the best education for me merely so I wouldn't embarrass the family name. Julian was doing enough of that, according to Father.”
“But he didn't like Robotnik talking to you, right? That must mean he was lookin' out for you.”
“He just hated Julian. He just...wanted to control me. That's all.”
“Ok. If you say so.”
His mind wandered back across the years of Father's disapproval, his put-downs, the subtle and not-so-subtle jabs about Mother's death. Was there ever a time Father displayed any affection? Did love ever break through that stony facade?
“Perhaps there were a few times,” Snively finally said. “That I wondered...if maybe he felt something for me. But there was never any defining moment. So, with a lack of overwhelming evidence, I'm going to tell you the same thing. My father did not love me.”
He remembered one time. The last time, really.
He was thirteen years of age and had been living in Mobotropolis for two months.
The day was balmy, beautiful. The climate of Mobotropolis was just on the edge of tropical, more humid and warm than his homeland on the Great Steppes. There it was flat and dry and often windy. An imperceptible dust seemed to coat everything. Hovercraft and windows always seemed dull. White clothing - like that of Julian's new Warlord uniform - would quickly look dingy, no matter how clean.
He far preferred it here. Of course the Mobians would hoard the good land for themselves and resign the Human scum to live out in the wastes.
Despite the caress of warm breeze, he had exiled himself inside the apartment that he and Julian shared. Sitting in a window seat, an unread book in his lap, he looked over the gleaming eggshell buildings far below the King's palace. He could see the gardens he would usually frequent with his books.
Yesterday, Uncle had relayed news from the monarch. Bad news. Snively was to be enrolled into the school of the furred rabble next month.
So, here he was, sulking.
I thought I would be Julian's apprentice. But no, I simply am being transferred from one ridiculous academy to another. Like a toy, like a thing overlooked and inconsequential.
His rage for Uncle accepting this command from the King simmered inside him.
A knock at the door startled him. He decided to ignore it. But the noise didn't cease. He grumbled and went to answer. A dog stood dressed in the cerulean and white livery of the King's guard.
Snively raised his eyebrows. "Julian isn't here -"
"Colin Kintobor? The King has requested you."
For a wild moment, Snively imagined the King had heard his disparaging thoughts of the afternoon. That's impossible. But perhaps he's decided to revoke my refugee status? Gnawing his lip, he followed the silent guard.
He was led to the throne room.
"Your Highness?" Snively kept his eyes down, his overgrown bangs hiding his gaze further.
The King gave a small chuckle. "I've been on a blistering vid call. My ears are still ringing."
Snively didn't speak.
"Your father is on the line."
The boy flitted his eyes up. His limbs felt numb suddenly, his mouth dry.
The king may have chuckled, but his face was stern. "I've been assuring him we didn't receive you by nefarious means."
Snively said nothing.
"He thought perhaps we'd abducted you." The Monarch clarified to his silence, although Snively had deduced that.
"It is a tenuous situation. To keep the child of my enemy? I shouldn't do it."
Snively swallowed hard.
"Speak to your father. Consider your true desires, Colin. Remain here? - for I will allow it. We are already at war. The hostility is already over the tipping point."
And perhaps having me here is insurance... But that would only work if Father actually cared about the bird in your hand.
"Or return and be granted full safe passage."
"No," Snively said quickly. "I came here, I want to be here... I want to be with Uncle."
The King merely gazed at him. His eyes calm.
"It took him two months to bother contacting me!" Snively's voice went into the squealing register he despised. He fought to get it under control. "That...that says it all!"
"Things better said to him." The King's eyes softened just a shade. A soft light blue, much like Snively's, but warmer. Summer skies instead of glacier ice. "Speak with your father, Colin." The King moved towards a heavy door adjacent to the throne room. His study - a room clad in dark wood, decadent furniture, artwork of real paint rather than hanging vidscreens, shrouded in the earthy odor of longweed.
Atop a desk Snively could see a computer, the glowing rectangle of a screen, and a face there.
I could hang up on him. The thought was tempting. But that wouldn't deter Father. He'd call back and King Acorn would get angry.
No, you must face him. Snively sucked in a breath, let it out, then approached the desk.
Father appeared to be in his study at the Ministry. The lights were dimmed and he sat back from the screen. Behind him, the lamplight haloed orange around his fiery hair. It was more grown out and unkempt (by Father's standards) than Snively had ever seen.
Father's voice lashed out, that dark tone that promised a good thrashing with the belt. "Snively. There you are, boy."
The son said nothing. He pressed his back firmly to the plush purple upholster of the chair. No cringing, no huddling, sit straight!
Father was silent too. Waiting. The waiting stretched. Snively dug fingernails hard into his thighs.
"You've thoroughly disgraced yourself," Father finally said, "And you may take pleasure that you were successful in causing me some embarrassment."
Snively said nothing.
"It's time to come back home. Your prank's worn thin and if you apply yourself, you can catch up with your missed studies."
That was hovering dangerously close to a compliment. Snively felt a sneer tug his lips. "It's not a prank, Father."
"Snively, enough. I've arranged with the King to safely escort you across the border."
Snively stiffened even more in his seat. But the King said I could stay here. "No, I'd rather not."
"The border is getting dangerous. Both sides are defending it aggressively. You can't dilly-dally when I've pulled strings to get you through." Father sighed, rubbed at his face. Snively knew Father relished the feeling of sleep-deprivement, of stress. It made him feel potent, meaningful.
"I'm not coming back."
"Pack whatever meager things you took in your little tantrum. When the King is back on the line, we'll arrange the time tomorrow."
There was a silence in which Snively knew meek subservience was expected. Father sat, his face shrouded in the darkness.
"You haven't asked about for me for two and a half months." A dry accusation, with the edge of a knife.
"The first night, I thought you might come home. I gave it a day, then contacted Julian. For once, my brother was honest. He told me you were there."
"You knew I was here? The whole time?"
He hadn't imagined Father frantically searching for him, tearing out his hair in panic. But he'd imagined some kind of distress. But no, Father hadn't been. He'd been happy for his son to be gone. Until now?
Father shrugged. "I thought to let you get - whatever this is - out of your system."
Snively's lip curled. "Why now, Father? Has it become too hard to explain my absence to the public?"
"I don't intend to let my son become an uneducated delinquent. If you don't care about shaming my name, then at least care for your own."
"Oh, but I am getting educated here." Snively leaned back, sneering even more deeply. "Why, I'm to start schooling with the darling Mobians very soon."
Even the darkness couldn't hide the flare of rage in Father's steel-grey eyes. "Don't be foolish, boy. Your place is here, not with those animals!"
"I'm nothing but a mutant mongrel, though, Father." Snively let his voice slide into saccharine sweetness. "Why, I'm hardly even human, according to you. Perhaps I'm exactly where I belong."
The visage of Father was still. Snively almost believed he could've been carved from stone.
"I've only been harsh on you for your own good," the statuesque man finally said. "I give an inch, you take a mile. You're like Julian in that way."
A warm sort of feeling moved across Snively's chest. To be compared to Uncle!
Another flash of steely eye. "That is not a compliment, Snively. Julian only sees you - and everyone - as a tool. You might have some of his wiles but... But..."
This was interesting. Father's voice was growing tight, a rubber band stretched.
"...you need to come home. This isn't an argument."
"I'm not arguing." Snively sniffed. "I've already told you - I'm not coming back." He jumped as Father slammed his fist on the table.
"Enough! I will come and collect you myself! I'm not letting you stay with The Monstrosity. And those animals, their days numbered? You are my son. You belong here!"
A shiver went down Snively's spine. The tightened rubberband was acquiring cracks. It was breaking.
For a moment, he reconsidered. What am I doing here? I don't want to school with the Mobians. Julian - 'the Monstrosity' - hadn't told the King that Snively was meant to be his assistant? Maybe he ought to go back if Uncle didn't intend to mentor him. The sting of disappointment bit once again.
He looked to the stony figure on the screen, met Father's eyes like chips of flint. A descendant of Medusa, sapping the will and life away. He felt himself wilt, like so many times before under those eyes.
I shall have to pack my bag, he thought, his stomach a-twist. Return to the drab halls of St Quentin's, but perhaps it won't be all bad - at least those students aren't crawling with fleas -
Those steely eyes followed the slouch of his shoulders. “Have you come to your senses, boy?”
Snively shifted his gaze past Father, gnawing at his lip. Dust motes floated in the backlight; he saw the fuzz of it on Colin Senior's uniform. Snively remembered the view from the Ministry of Justice, one of the highest buildings in the city. Snively often rode the elevator to the top where he leaned over the railing and gazed outward. Megalopolis perched high on a plateau. The Great Steppes and their dusty, scrubby land laid out far below for miles.
In the recent war, the armada of Mobotropolis was kept at the bottom of the plateau. The dulled metal of hovercraft, tanks, warbots, rows and rows of war machines...They had seemed so vast and intimidating back then. But compared to the armada of the Kingdom of Acorn? It looked like an army of toys!
He shook his head at the thought, and Father scowled at the motion. His stomach flipped queasily, but he fought to keep his voice steady. “Yes, I'm feeling quite sensible, Father. That's why I'm telling you... I'm not returning. Why would I? You're on the losing side.”
He could almost see the bomb counting down inside Colin Senior's brain. “What did you say, Snively?”
“You should call off the war. You aren't going to win. The Mobians...they've got better tech. Bigger numbers. It'd be foolish for me to go back.”
“As if you know anything about my armada, Snively!” Colin Senior snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. “The animals might have more bodies, but they are stupid and soft creatures! They only dominate because we never stood up to them! They don't know a thing about war!”
Snively gave a smary shrug. That kind of blasé movement never sat well with Father.
“You think you're clever, but here you are swallowing Mobian propaganda like a good little traitor.” Colin Senior spat in disgust. “All this time I thought you were lazy in your studies. Maybe you're just stupid.”
Snively sat back in the chair, folding his arms over his skinny chest. His hair swept over one eye. “You're not exactly wooing me back to your side, Father.”
“Enough!” Father roared, slamming his fist down. Snively jumped. “Disgusting little mongrel, ignorant and inept little mutant as you are – you are still coming home. Now go gather your things and have your King come back on the line.”
Snively didn't move. “I wonder if Miriam would approve of you saying such things to me.”
Colin Senior went still. Until his voice cracked through, like a croak. “Do not say her name.”
“I can say her name if I bloody well please.” Snively's voice rose in temperature, hissing like a kettle near boiling. “I'm over you laying claim to her, like she was yours and yours alone. She was my mother. And I imagine she would hate that you drove me to do this. Run away from home and live amongst animals.”
“Your mother would hate that her own son killed her.” By contrast, Senior's voice was the artic wastes.
“I'm sick of that tired line.” Snively feigned boredom, even as the words stabbed him – like they always did. Like they always would. He pushed back the chair and stood up. “Goodbye, Father.”
Father leaned back heavily into his chair. Some of the backlight spilled across his face. Bags under the eyes, more lines around his mouth and across his forehead than Snively remembered. Admist the fiery red, he saw a few strands of blonde. Father was greying already?
“Arrangements are made. You must come back soon, before the border is uncrossable.” Father's stony voice was rough. Like his vocal cords were tightened.
Snively shook his head. Took a few steps back.
“You have one parent left, Snively. Come back to your own.” Father leaned forward again to engulf his face in shadows. The tightened vocal cords shook. “Come back home.”
Snively stood, heart pounding. He tried to see through the dark. If Father said it, just one word of love, just one sound of sorrow...? Snively would break. He ached to hear it – but dreaded it in equal measure. Do I really want to go back?
But Colin Senior could never give into the softer side of life. The man of iron, with eyes of flint – he could only be hard and cold. The softer half of him long turned to ash in the remnants of Earth. “Decide, now. Come back home or die in the rubble.”
So, Snively decided.
He turned and left the room. No last words. No look back. It was the last time he spoke to his father.
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A/N: hopefully that wasn't too boring. I like Sniv and Senior Asshole angst lol. My next scenes to edit are some of Sniv in Mobian school, Sniv's escape from Robotropolis (I posted the beginning of that a while ago), and a cute wittle Sniv and Bunnie scene. Whoo.
Yellowjackets is a bad show simply because it's promoted as the cannibalism show and so far they have only eaten two people and both times it was an accident!!!
