black market bodega.

[Rurik Russo]

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eeee. <3

The silver-furred werewolf nodded in response to the other canine's question, thinking of his many journies over the years. He had lived on the ocean for most of his life, raised in the Beloye More, the White Sea, by his elder brothers and his paternal ancestors, each of them experienced sailors. Rurik had generations of sailing knowledge locked away in his head, though it was more of an instinct than anything else—the Russo clan was simply predispositioned to like the water, and to feel comfortable swimming in it or floating above it. He smiled sheepishly, nodding his head. "Aye. When I first sailed to this continent, we did not have such good ships, you see. It was more dangerous to travel. It is still, depending on who's your Captain," the werewolf added, a broad grin creeping across his silver-furred muzzle.

"Thank you," the wolf said, smiling at the other canine's hopeful thoughts. The Russo was losing hope of finding his elder sons, but he couldn't allow it to permeate his entire being. He had his younger children to worry about, and he had to be a good parent to them. The Russian wolf had to make sure they were cared for and safe in this new world. He'd brought them here to culture them, to impart onto them some of this strange and very, very interesting place he'd called his home for so long. There was something lovely and simple on this side of the world, the expanses of pristine wilderness expanding around them. Much of Europe was still urban or suburban, though the nature had begun to reclaim the lands somewhat, surreptitious in their attempts to take back what had been forcefully taken from it. Buildings the Luperci ceased to care for were slowly crumbling, undermined by the water which steadily eroded their foundations and crept into the cracks, swelling all of the wood and rotting it out. Roots crept beneath the ground, further attacking the foundations of the buildings. Some had already begun to fall.

He listened with interest as the golden-furred canine explained how mushrooms reproduced. He did not understand what a spore was, and he tilted his head to the side, lifting a brow quizzically. "Spores?" he questioned, pressing. He wasn't a big fan of anything beyond marijuana and alcohol, but there was no denying that other psychedelics held power. Mushrooms were intruiging, to say the least, and he enjoyed the buzzing, slightly-hallucinogenic properties of that paricular drug. "Ah. You should see the east, the deserts and the mountains... poppy grows wild there, all over the hillsides in wild explosions of color," the werewolf said, grinning. It was no wonder that some wolves had chosen to continue the tradition of synthesizing drugs from the beautiful flowers.

The prospect of trade had Rurik interested, and he watched as the other canine grabbed a jar stocked full of marijuana, all puffy green buds, pale white crystalline structures dusting the leaves. He licked his lips, picking up one of the jars almost as soon as the other canine had put it down, twirling the jar in his hand to get a better look at the plant. It was a pallid, almost minty-colored green, fading darker closer to the stems, interspersed with tiny reddish-orange hairs. This delighted Rurik; he had seen all manner of different marijuana plants, some with beautiful leaves almost burgundy in color, a wild and wicket purple that appeared almost poisonous. The stench from those was unbelievable. Another of his favorites was a ghostly-white version of the stuff, hardly any green coloration at all clinging to its leaves. "Govno! I would be a fool not to accept this trade. Though, I got to tell you, I am no gardener," he said sadly. He could manage to grow his own spindly, sickly looking plants, but nothing like the gorgeous buds Anselm had just presented him with. "I don't live too far from here. I could go and grab them now for you?" the werewolf offered, thinking about the distance. It really wasn't much of a trek, and Rurik figured he could be round and back in just fifteen minutes if he hurried. If he weren't so stubborn and set in his Optime ways, he might have considered shifting to cover the distance faster.