The slave boy

Rurik Russo · 01-10-2010, 03:50 PM

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Words: 778

This afternoon was turning out to be a rather fun one; the silver-furred Russian watched with clear amusement on his featurs as Conor crawled around. He didn't think much of sharing his marijuana and alcohol with others; he knew that weed had anti-emetic properties, so he'd thought to share it with Conor to keep him from upchucking again. It had seemed to work well on that end, but Rurik had overlooked Conor's youth and his lack of exposure to this particular chemical, and perhaps in getting him high, the silver-furred werewolf had put him in a worse-off position than when he'd been barfing his guts up from motion sickness. The mix-up of the boy's speech had clued him in to that, however, and though he smiled Rurik did not laugh at Conor, for he knew that the drug could often increase paranoia and make it seem as if the whole world was laughing, though everyone was liable for a stumble or a word-mix-up when they were intoxicated on this drug.

Rurik himself had experienced quite a few of these moments, some of then brought about by alcohol and others brought about by marijuana; either way he'd had his share of tumbles and speech screw-ups. He was liable to lapse into Russian when drunk enough, not even realizing those around him could hardly understand the language he was using, much less respond in kind. "Hey, if you're that close, whyncha drop by for a visit sometime? I'm on the docks, right along Halfax's coast," the Russian said, fully hopeful that the younger canine might stop by. He was enjoying Conor's company on the trip, even if he was a little bit odd. It took a hell of a lot to make Rurik mad; though he was obviously a rather weathered, well-muscled wolf and he looked capable of inflicting quite a bit of damage, he really and truly wasn't. Rurik was a lover, not a fighter—his musculature came from living a life on the run, scaling up and down the masts of ships and darting around in the clutter below-deck. This was a lifestyle he'd known since childhood, and both Rurik and all of his brothers were much the same, inheriting their ancestry's large stature and strength.

Conor was very nice—Rurik hadn't even thought much beyond utter shock at finding him tucked away in the tiny room, intended for the boat's owner to take a crouched, smushed shelter against bad weather on the water. It didn't do much in the way of comfort, but for keeping dry, it was most excellent. The Russian hadn't even assumed Conor was there to steal anything or attack—and upon seeing the golden-furred wolf's shocked expression, the Russian's suspicions were immediately confirmed. The explanation wasn't necessary, but the Russian wolf appreciated it nonetheless, smiling as he coasted along quickly down the stream, still paying the utmost attention to their way. It wouldn't do to get distracted and smash himself up along the riverbank after taking so much care to reassure the Dahlian wolf. "No worries, my friend. Curiosity is a good thing—you will have more fun in life if you explore and inspect things. Aye, maybe it will get you cut up a bit more, but what good is a life lived without a couple scars?" the werewolf said, about the most philosophical he got.

This was something Rurik truly believed, however; he was fully supportive of anyone who got out of their comfortable little bubble and pushed the envelope. It was akin to exploring with him—if he had not been gripped so strongly by the wanderlust, he might have spent his whole happy life in Sobirat'sya. He might have never met Kiska, he might have never met Verusha, he might have never met any of the awesome people on this continent that he could now call a friend—he was glad to have known Gabriel so long, and more glad that the golden-furred hybrid had been able to carve a name and a reputation for himself at the helm of Inferni. Though the Russian wolf knew he ought to have felt some residual anger at the clan for what they'd done to Aremys, he knew that the remnants of Syemv were no longer around to care. He was but one canine who remembered the seven wolves who came over here from the far continent and settled so close to the coyotes, and though that had certainly cost them some, Rurik was rather pleased that he had been able to befriend Gabriel even after this. After all, it was not Gabriel who had attacked the mix of Syemv and Chimera.

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