02-21-2010, 02:38 AM
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300+
I bet I lag twice as hard as you.
Strel shook his head as he rolled his lavender hued eyes at the defense the loner put up. Truthfully, the redhead did know that Rurik had not meant it that way, but his mind being the way it was it always assumed the most egregious things out of the most innocent of comments. As the saying went, men had two heads, one on their necks, and one in their pants. As a child, he never quite understood it, but when he realized that there were more, ah, pleasurable things in life the statement made more sense. A lot more sense. "If I just don't drink it with some friends and myself," he added, grinning ruefully in the midst of his prodding. When his satisfaction was reached he had risen.
There was something about Rurik that struck Strelein as him being an ol' seadog. Drawn to the sea and the water and the waves. And the cold, drowning currents too. Shuddering internally, the redhead ignored his dislike of so much open water with no where to go in sight. No way was he ever, ever, ever, ever getting on one of those accursed transatlantic vessels. Europe, while tempting, was not a place tempting enough for him to stand the weeks in travel on a broad expanse that could easily be twisted into a more stormy background. No, the sea was most definitely not for Strel. It was amazingly beautiful to gaze at, but there were limits. The most egregious thing a friend could do to him would be to push him off a boat into the sea if they managed to get him on it in the first place.
Laughing, the Chevalier grabbed one of the belt loops on Rurik's pants and pulled him in the direction of the sea. It was a playful action more than anything. "Shattered Coast it is!" he stated with an absolutely decided tone. "Jaw dropping cliff views and rocky shores. People told me it's primo for fishing and crabbing. I just think it's pretty since I'm useless with that kind of pole," he added slyly, letting go of Rurik's pants since it was obvious which direction Strel was now taking the two of them.
I bet I lag twice as hard as you.
Strel shook his head as he rolled his lavender hued eyes at the defense the loner put up. Truthfully, the redhead did know that Rurik had not meant it that way, but his mind being the way it was it always assumed the most egregious things out of the most innocent of comments. As the saying went, men had two heads, one on their necks, and one in their pants. As a child, he never quite understood it, but when he realized that there were more, ah, pleasurable things in life the statement made more sense. A lot more sense. "If I just don't drink it with some friends and myself," he added, grinning ruefully in the midst of his prodding. When his satisfaction was reached he had risen.
There was something about Rurik that struck Strelein as him being an ol' seadog. Drawn to the sea and the water and the waves. And the cold, drowning currents too. Shuddering internally, the redhead ignored his dislike of so much open water with no where to go in sight. No way was he ever, ever, ever, ever getting on one of those accursed transatlantic vessels. Europe, while tempting, was not a place tempting enough for him to stand the weeks in travel on a broad expanse that could easily be twisted into a more stormy background. No, the sea was most definitely not for Strel. It was amazingly beautiful to gaze at, but there were limits. The most egregious thing a friend could do to him would be to push him off a boat into the sea if they managed to get him on it in the first place.
Laughing, the Chevalier grabbed one of the belt loops on Rurik's pants and pulled him in the direction of the sea. It was a playful action more than anything. "Shattered Coast it is!" he stated with an absolutely decided tone. "Jaw dropping cliff views and rocky shores. People told me it's primo for fishing and crabbing. I just think it's pretty since I'm useless with that kind of pole," he added slyly, letting go of Rurik's pants since it was obvious which direction Strel was now taking the two of them.