That surprised Rurik quite a bit to learn that the man could make clothing. As far as Rurik knew, clothing was a total mystery—he had his own shorts and that was it. They had served him well for many years, as they were made of a durable type of material and they were unlikely to deteriorate, even as he wore them thin. He considered for a minute, wondering if perhaps it might do to have a backup pair. He smiled at the wolf's offer, and nodded his head. "Thanks much. Where might I go to seek you out?" he wondered. Rurik didn't have too much knowledge of any of the packs around here. He found AniWaya and Crimson Dreams, and he knew the city was surrounded on both sides by different groups, but he'd met no one of the other group, and only Jantus had spoken of Phoenix Valley, although oddly, as if he was not a full-fledged member there himself.
The ash-furred werewolf settled back onto a chair and offered one to Strel, figuring to crack open one of his own bottles and kick it in for the night. He did just that, turning his coal ears to the other werewolf while he cracked open his flask. It was filled with clear liquid, some of the very same Chekov-brewed vodka that he'd given the man in the bottle. He held it in his hand for a moment, speaking with the other man before he drank any. "Seven years old is kinda old," he admitted with a shrug. "Gotta be light about getting older, though," he said casually. The man's next question gave him definite pause, and Rurik looked over at him sheepishly, and finally: "I don't mind either way, actually." That was as close as he could get, and even that made him laugh aloud, a giddy sort of feeling flooding through him. "That'll be the first time I've even said somethin' like that aloud," he added, kicking the ground with a still-sheepish grin.
The wolf nodded his head, a frown crossing his face. He worried about his children, and he still wanted to find them, though it would seem the search would end soon. They were not here, he was realizing with a dimming hope. He would have smelled them or seen them or heard of them. "Thanks anyways, my friend," the Russian wolf said with a shake of his head. The conversation shifted once more and the werewolf grinned broadly, tossing back a little of the strong liquor in the flask, passing it over to the other wolf immediately after. "Have a sample now?" he offered. "Tastes like it was brewed at home," he said nostalgically, finding no other way to describe the liquor.
<style type="text/css">
.rurik-bottledrage b{font-weight:bold; color:#BC2B26; letter-spacing:1px; font-family:trebuchet ms, sans-serif; font-size:13px;}
.rurik-bottledrage p{text-indent:35px; padding:0px 15px 15px 15px; margin:0px;}
</style>
[/html]