10-16-2009, 07:23 AM
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The Russian continued on his way, cooking as he did. His thoughts were quaint and rather mute as he did, since he was so absorbed in his task. True, it was simple to stir meat on a skillet, but Rurik was immersed in its monotony. There was something very comforting in cooking here, knowing his children ought to be arriving home soon. They were probably off exploring the wonders of the city, and Rurik was quite glad to find that Lily had accompanied Silas, though he was well-aware that the younger woman had likely done so simply to keep from remaining alone here. The Russian smirked, shaking his head and still marveling that his delicate daughter would come here with him; he had fully expected both of his sons to come, Lily remaining with Verusha until they returned. It had been an unexpected turn of events to find Anatoliy wished to stay home, and Liliya wished to accompany Rurik. For a few long minutes, the Russian was lost in contemplation of his family, his fingers almost mechanically finding the little flask at his side. There was something natural and lovely in cooking and drinking, and the silvery wolf was too happy to oblige his natural instinct to partake of the bottle. It would kill him someday, no doubt—Rurik was no stranger to alcohol-related deaths, as one of his uncles and two of his cousins had succumbed to it. The silvery wolf had only learned of their deaths upon his most recent return to Sobirat'sya, and he mourned them as he should have, though he was not particularly close with any of them. Much of Rurik's family were harsh, hard-drinking fishermen, spending their lives fishing the harsh arctic sea for all it was worth. Rurik was an abnormality among them, desirous of something beyond their simple existence and the cold Russian winters he had grown rather accustomed to. A voice brought him out of his thoughts, and the startled wolf peered curiously into the face of the stranger—no, not a stranger! Delighted and shocked, the Russian scrambled to his feet, his jaw hanging low. "Gabriel?" he asked increduously. He hadn't been here long, he hadn't met many canines, he hadn't spoken to anyone about the old territories—but it made it no less shocking to find a familiar face. The Russian shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and immediately beckoned to the golden hybrid. "Come now, we're a bit more hardy than that," he responded after he had composed himself, matching Gabriel's grin with a far more merry version of his own. "Please sit! I am almost done with dinner," the Russian beckoned, motioning to any one of the odd assortment of chairs Rurik and his family had dragged over to surround a battered wooden table. |