the chronic chronicles.
#5
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      There was more to his story, of course, though the excitement melted away into a look of pure puzzlement. "Dragon?" he repeated, mostly to himself, before he realised Gabriel was pulling his leg. (Or maybe... Gabriel thought he was pulling his leg.) "Nah, man, I'm serious!" he exclaimed lightly. "That's the fucked up part," he added with a grin that could have mirrored Gabriel's. Although the words that spewed from his mouth on foreign turf were often less than the (whole) truth, he obviously had no reason to lie to his cousin; as he was pretty down to earth, the odds of him sensationalising a story just for kicks were kind of slim, too. It was all pretty ridiculous, however, and he could hardly blame the Aquila for being sceptical.

      "He must've been about average height," he said, holding one hand up to indicate the level above the earth to which the werewolf had stood, "but the tricky part is he was practically as wide as he was tall!" At least it had seemed that way; obviously a square wolf made no sense, but another gesture using both hands probably got the point across. At this point, he shooed the heads away with his foot and plopped to the ground. He began to rummage through his bag as he spoke.

      "Anyway, after all that was over I wanted to hang tight to make sure those punks didn't have any friends... but it seems like that was the start and end of it. While I was there, I ran into an old friend of mine, and one of yours too, actually," he added, taking a pause from his riffling to grin at the leader. "Rurik. 'n he gave me these." He produced a small transparent packet filled with seeds, failing to register that on the surface the spoils of his trade seemed so painfully unimpressive. Though next year he'd get maybe a small opium yield, it wouldn't be until those flowers produced seeds themselves that he'd really be able to expand on that front.
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