oceans and full moons

Rurik Russo · 05-20-2010, 06:48 AM

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Rurik is like BLAH BLAH BLAH >_>

The other man's story regarding the spirit guide was rambly and long, and Rurik tried to remain at attention—but as they were two werewolves well on their way to tipsiness, it was difficult, to say the least. “Maybe, maybe—Markku es just angry he is small bird now, and not bear,” the werewolf said softly, in case the spirit was still lingering around. He lashed out with an elbow toward Attila to nudge him in the side, grinning despite the whispered tone, and laughed loudly. Liquor tended to make one plucky, and Rurik was no exception to this rule. Even his phenomenal tolerance wore down eventually, and now he was starting to get really drunk. “Sobirat'sya domovoi vas like lazy old dog—never mad! Never talked, neizher,” he answered, a little louder, shaking his head.

His homeland! Rurik could talk about this forever, and he took the bottle to take another swig before handing it back over, taking a breath. “Ah, vell, Sobirat'sya es cold, short summer—but yob all zhat, important zhing is....” here he paused, lending drama to his words. “Zhe veemen—zhey are all vorld-rocking, you see?” the silver-shaded man explained, grinning broadly at this statement. It was, of course, a generalization—but he was thinking of Kiska, and there had been no hotter firecracker than her. She took nothing from no one, Rurik included, and he had loved her for it.

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