No, I think I am full of fail. :[ Also, I just wanted to let you know—I noticed Strel is the "Lady in Waiting" for CdM and I find that hilarious. Just FYI. XD Do you think we could OOCly wrap this up after your post? I would really like to get Rurik in CdM sometime soon; maybe we could do a joining thread together, if you didn't mind posting as Toliy and Strel in the same thread? 
If you'd rather not, then we could do a Strel-Rurik right after he joins, where Rurik comes in all "
! HAY WE'S PACKMATES" and such? You did say Tol would be coming to CdM with Rurupants, ja? I can't remember, mehmehmeh. I suck. :x<
Rurik had never really thought about falling off the boat and floating in the wide ocean—it had simply never occurred to him that his ship might sink one day. He considered himself quite a captain, and if his boat ever did sink, certainly it would be the fault of the weather or a rogue Vodyanye knocking his ship over. Perhaps if the Russian werewolf had paused to consider a fate of floating to death at sea, maybe he might have reconsidered his seafaring ways—or maybe not. It was just as possible Rurik would have viewed such a death of drifting to nothing on the wide ocean fitting or poetic in some way; it was not clear. Death was a subject Rurik tended to avoid.
Smirking, the silver-furred werewolf tilted his head, narrowing his brilliant blue eyes at the other canine, his face taking on a mock-stern look. “Hey now,” he said teasingly, shaking a finger at Strel. In truth, Rurik didn't much mind where the bottle went—his new pair of pants were payment, and his end was fulfilled. What happened with the alcohol was entirely up to Strel now. Before he knew it, the other canine was pulling him toward the sea, and speaking of fish. Happily yanked along into the Cour des Miracles territory, the silver-furred werewolf's muzzle split into a grin, and he swatted playfully at the other canine's hands. “Oy, now I know y'just want to touch me,” he exclaimed, though something about his tone said Rurik didn't mind it at all.
“Gotta admit though—much as I love the ocean, if there's one thing I hate about it, it's feesh,” he admitted, wrinking his grizzled nose at the very thought. He had been fed nothing but fish for many years as a child, it seemed, and he could stand no more of it. “If you like it, though, I can catch some for you sometime,” he added. Anytime, he also wanted to add, but he kept his mouth shut.
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