10-10-2009, 03:04 AM
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| http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_tropic.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:230px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:25px;"> Awrr. :3 Alcohol isn't all terrible, it just needs to be treated with far more respect than most people give it. No reason to go crazy trying to outdrink someone, it's an easy way to get alcohol poisoning. >_O But there's nothing wrong with drinking, so long as it's done in moderation and you are smart about it!  I will edit the M tag in there, and I don't really mind either way, though I'm leaning toward fade-to-black since I just finished off another sex thread with Kae. >_O My chars are sluts! And I powerplayed her taking the next sip, I hope that's OK? :3 If not, poke me and I will edit. The Russian wolf watched eagerly as Finn drank her first sip of alcohol, the reactions and emotions flashing across her scarred face. He could still quite clearly recall the first time he had drank alcohol, and the fire in his belly it had caused. He was quite used to it by now, and over his long drinking career, he had rarely drank to slovely excess. Still, Finn didn't seem to have too terrible of a reaction, and after a moment she said it was rather good. The wolf grinned and took another swig for himself, enjoying the pleasant warmth in his belly and the fire in his mouth. The edges of his vision had begun to blur slightly, the lovely warmth extending throughout his limbs and tingling down to his very extremeties. "Rum's the usually the drink of choice," he said with a chortle, grinning a lopsided grin toward the midnight-colored wolf. The upper classes had their wine and scotch, but Rurik preferred rum if vodka was not at hand. There was nothing quite like the homebrewed poljo his neighbors had made; there was no other vodka quite like that in the world. He was glad he hadn't stashed that in his flask; it was something like everclear with twice the kick, quite possibly too much for Finn's alcohol-virginal tongue. Finn's next words were hardly surprising, and the Russian was quite glad to hear she felt much the same, his cerulean eyes lighting again on her face. Again he marveled at her optimistic and light-hearted personality; certainly one with as many scars as she carried should have been hardened to the world. But here was this lovely, vibrant woman in front of him, the swirl of alcohol on her brain and its sweet spice on her breath. The grin that had planted itself on his face did not fade, only widened at the iron-furred wolf's next statement. Well, that was a blessed turn—she had seemed to almost shy from the subject before, and now the alcohol had emblazoned them both. "Oh? I do like your thinking," he rumbled, his icy eyes meeting her own slate-colored ones, that impish note returning to his features. She inquired about more of the rum, her words already swirling about. "Certainly, but we'll wait a while on some more," he said. It would hardly do to have his date pass out from the liquor. The Russian himself was a little nervous now, as he was thinking of assuming his four-legged form. That was the only way to do it; he might hurt her otherwise, and he found such an odd coupling abbhorent for a first encounter. Better to keep it natural. Still, Rurik had not become a lupus in some time, and he wondered what it would be like to stand on four legs drunk. The silver wolf again tilted the cap back into her mouth, though this time his fingers lingered around her mouth for a moment, rolling the cap back to clutch it with his pinky while his index and middle fingers caressed her muzzle, boldly running over the edges of the scars crossing it. They were bumpy beneath his gentle touch, and he brushed his fingers along her cheek, then drawing them just beneath her jawbone, breaking contact at her chin with a smile. He capped the rum, setting it off to the side. "I will shift for you," he said, as if there were no contesting the matter. His breath came a little quickly now, both flushed with excitement at the thought of making love and nervous at the thought of transforming. He felt it was right, though—both for the physical comfort, and to prepare the slate-furred woman before him. This was what she would become, and though it might be awkward for her at first she would become as natural a luperci as Rurik in time. He shuffled back a little on his hips, standing upright to unbuckle his belt and kick his pants off. His gear made an obscene amount of noise in the cave, and he kneeled back down in his fur in front of her, though his nudity it hardly bothered him. Even in civilized Europe canines wandered the streets naked, and it was as normal as wearing clothing, excepting only the most formal of occasions. He only had to untie his bandana, and his heavy mane shivered loose from its hold. The ashen canine began shifting, and it was something of a longer process for him than most, since he so rarely assumed his other forms. He shrank in size, his hair seeming to fuse along with his spine, translating into a dark black saddle along his shoulders and neck. His long fingers retreated backwards into his paws, and his elbows slowly moved up his arms as they became thinner and more wolf-like. It was almost soundless, save for the occasional grind as a bone shifted here and there, and in a few minutes Rurik stood four-legged. The same darker gray markings extended over his face, though his underbelly and his cheeks were still powdery white. He was still a rather large wolf in his smallest form, his coat rough and thick, clearly built for a cold climate. He peered over at Finn, disoriented for a moment only due to the liquor, and a familiar grin graced his purely wolf face. "Doesn't hurt a bit," he reassured her. |