11-13-2009, 07:12 AM
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| http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_angel.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:10px; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-bottom:286px;"> Some of the toasts back in the motherland could grow quite long; Rurik recalled his father launching into a half-hour toast during Zharky's departure. His grandfather Vasil had an even worse tendency to do that, but Rurik preferred short and simple. He had never been that great with wording things, even in his mother language—perhaps a product of poor education or just the way Rurik's mind worked. He had a talent for aquiring languages and learning new ones, but he was eloquent in none of them. Communication was the key, though, and there were several places where Rurik would have felt quite comfortable. Grinning, he lifted his cup, speaking in his rumbly voice. "Za fstryétchoo," he said, first in Russian. "To our meeting," he added immediately after, tipping the small cup back to down it in a single swallow. He recalled the last time he'd drank with Gabriel, and though he wouldn't mind housing the golden hybrid for a night, he hoped the liquor wouldn't hit him as strongly as it had before. Then again, thad had been years ago, and the Inferni canine had been younger then. Setting the cup down, the Russian leaned in, vodka on his breath and seriousness in his eyes. "Pardon the directness, but... you seem tense, mine friend." the leaden-furred wolf concluded, interlacing his fingers together. |