BTW, earlier, you should've poked me to reply to you. |: I would've. <3 Also, am thinking to mark this mature thanks to las drugas, y/y? :p Word Count: 850.
Rurik's joke hadn't done anything to ease Anselm's apparent discomfort about sea travel, but Rurik let the subject rest. The silver-furred werewolf figured not everyone was cut out for sea-faring ways, just as he thought he'd be highly uncomfortable flying around in the sky. That was a bird's territory, and perhaps if he had grown up with wings he would feel differently. Sea legs were a far sight different from wings, however, and Rurik wasn't about to go careening off toward the zenith overhead, either. Instead, the conversations shifted back to mushrooms, and Rurik cursed himself for not thinking to bring any of those here. But who would have known that synthesizing plants from plants themselves was possible? The Russian was smart enough to figure out that seeds disseminated plants in most cases, but mushrooms had no seeds that he could identify, so he assumed they reproduced by some other method. "Aye? 'Tis too bad I didn't know this 'fore I headed to this continent," he lamented. It was not so terribly long ago that he'd wandered the streets of Amsterdam, his head in the clouds and his vision filled with the bright and buzzing colors of a mushroom trip.
The tawny-furred Infernian continued to speak, and the werewolf perked his shadow-dusted ears in interest. He didn't know how to do a damn thing with plants, this much was true, but he was quite capable of brewing samogon. True, this homebrew was not nearly as good as the triple-plus distilled polja the Chekov family produced in his hometown, but it damn sure did the trick fast enough. Rurik wondered what kind of scheme this coyote was running here, growing marijauana and poppy flowers for their opiates, maybe even learning how to brew up some liquor. The silver-furred Russian grinned, and nodded his head in agreement. Such a trade was far more commonplace than one would think; in most instances, once information was given by one party, the other was quick to offer up something of their own. "Sounds like a plan, my friend. I make samogon, this is a type of liquor. Pretty easy, if you are interested and you got a strong 'nough stomach," the werewolf said, throwing this out there. If not, there were plenty of other useful little things he might be able to teach Anselm. Since they were on the subject of mind-altering substances, however, that was where the wolf's brain remained.
The Sobirat'sya native stood without much further ado when the other canine agreed to this arrangement, his toothy grin reappearing as the other canine proposed to have celebratory materials on hand for Rurik's triumphant return. "Sounds like a plan," he said. The world seemed a bit more fuzzy thanks to the big hit of smoke he'd taken, but the city streets were almost kinder thanks to the marjuana's influence. The asphalt didn't feel so strange beneath his paws and the steel-and-concrete structures expanding around him, crowding the horizon from his vision, did not seem so awful now that he had just a bit of his happy medicine. The werewolf began to sing to himself as he walked, hurrying his pace along so as not to dawdle. It wouldn't do to keep Anselm waiting all day and into the night; Rurik had been able to surmize the canine lived in Inferni from his scent, and he had to return there at some point or another. It didn't take more than ten minutes for Rurik to return home, digging through the piles and bags and boxes of crap they'd both scavenged from the city and imported from their homeland. Liliya was in her room, the door wide open, and she called to Rurik as she heard him rustling through their things.
Their conversation was brief, and Rurik simply informed his daughter he'd made a new friend, and he was spending some time and doing a bit of trade. That satisfied her, and the teenager took no further interest in her father's actions. Rurik was becoming less cool to his children by the second, and though it saddened him he figured it was rather natural. The time would come again when they'd love him and adore him as they did when they were younger. The trek back to Anselm's was a fair bit easier, as he simply followed the very fresh scent trail he'd made. Once again passing by the decapitated heads, the silvery werewolf ducked inside of the garage, rather triumphantly holding up the folded envelope of seeds. Surely some of them would have died in the long months since they'd last seen the soil of the earth and the water from the sky, but there had to be a few viable seeds left there, and so long as Anselm could reproduce just one of the plants he'd have a stash for the year afterward. "See? We are neighbors," the werewolf said with a laugh, placing the packet of seeds down on the table. There was no need to cause them added trauma now; they'd been through quite a lot in their journey around the world.
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