oceans and full moons

Rurik Russo · 04-20-2010, 05:18 AM

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310. Is okay if this happened yesterday? 4/19?

The silver-furred werewolf approached the Aniwayan borders for the second time since he joined Cour des Miracles. He enjoyed his own packlands, sure, but he had fun the last time he was here—Nayati had been really nice, and that cougar was just gorgeous, though he didn't quite know what to make of it at first. The silver-furred werewolf eventually got over his initial shock at seeing the big cat, and it had ended up a rather enjoyable night. He figured such things strengthened relations between the packs, anyway—no one had told him anything different, anyway, and it didn't seem like his pack really kept to itself anyway. This was quite alright with him—the better his packs' relations with the rest of the world, the easier the silver-furred werewolf could make friends.

Rurik padded forward happily, his tail swinging from side to side as he walked. It was late afternoon, just like the last time he'd visited—though now, of course, the sun was still up. There was still a good hour or two of daylight left, and the Russian werewolf intended to use it to his advantage. He stopped outside of the actual packlands, of course, hesitating and waiting. He never knew whether or not to howl anyone; it wasn't like he was here on official business. The last thing he wanted to do was give off the wrong idea—but then again, it was kind of creepy to just hang about the borders. Then again again, he did have a gift—a brand new bottle of liquor, clutched beneath his left arm. He was intending to share it with whoever happened upon him first and leave whatever was left with the pack. Even if they didn't drink it, it still made a decent antiseptic in a pinch. It was, after all, high-grade Russian vodka—Rurik's favorite.

Attila Aston · 04-21-2010, 12:03 AM

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Fine with me! :3

And goodness was this place dull. In fact, it seemed less was happening now than any of the previous times he'd come back, and yet Attila was not quite eager to leave already. Was he hoping for something to happen? No, not really, nothing really happened in AniWaya. The Aston boy wasn't dumb; if he'd wanted to submerge himself in danger and adventure, he would have wandered to the Dahlian pack instead. He may have not been present in the pack during the extent of that silly war, but of course he'd learned about it. More than one of his girls had made pillowtalk out of it, but there had never been time for such nonsense. What knowledge he had on that silly war was limited, for he was one to fall asleep quickly and without hesitation.

The riverside den he'd finally been able to locate had been found and abandoned just as quickly. Sure, he would run back whenever the rain decided to make itself present, but until then the snowed boy took his iced eyes on small journeys, meandering the tribe land he'd forgotten quickly in his absence. Not much was different, he learned quickly, save several foreign scents from what he assumed to be other members, but they kept to themselves. It was a task to catch a glimpse of just about anyone, not counting his family. He just kept running right into them. On top of that, the damned owl wouldn't leave him alone about finding his mother, but with enough effort Attila had ducked out of Markku's gaze.

Ah, yes, here were the borders. He knew them well, considering how many times he'd sneaked over them back and forth without notice. And yet today he found a stranger waiting at them a little ways down; typically Attila did not much care for outsiders and just assumed be on his way, but the glare on the bottle he held and the strange peculiarity to his looks brought the Aston boy closer. "Vodka?" he said, cool eyes stolid on the glass for some time before moving up. "Who're you?"

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Rurik Russo · 04-21-2010, 04:32 AM

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310 <3

He flip-flopped quickly between the options of howling for another and remaining where he was, waiting for someone to happen upon him—just as he would inhale a breath to howl, he second-guessed himself again and shut his mouth. He was locked in this decision, contemplating it, when another happened upon him and solved his dilemma for him. It wasn't Nayati, but the man did recognize the bottle. To this Rurik grinned broadly and held it up. “Oh yes, vodka,” he said, turning toward the other canine and wagging his tail. “I am Rurik Russo, I come from Cour des Miracles. I make friend here last time, named Nayati. Maybe you know?” he said pausing to allow the other man to answer.

“But you drink with me, for good of packs?” the man said, determined to make a good impression. He knew the wind would come and take him away sooner or later; he intended to make the absolute best of whatever time he had left. Rurik was also convinced that the best way to go about doing this was to bestow alcoholic gifts to their neighbors and drink it with them; he would have to pay a visit to the other packs, eventually, but for now he was content to do his work here. He felt no particular itch to move on just yet, of course—his children might still need him, after all. He had only just gotten settled in, and the Miracles packlands were brand new to the silver-furred Russian. There was no denying it, though—he'd been unable to stay in one place for long for many years now. The last attempt he'd made at settling had been on this very continent, in fact—and it had failed miserably, of course, though there were few around who could repeat the sad and sorry tale of Syemv.

Attila Aston · 04-21-2010, 11:11 AM

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His accent was fine and exotic, strangely intriguing to the Aston boy. He was French-born, technically, but possessed no accent on his tongue; he had been born there in AniWaya, and although he could sometimes hear a differing inflection and use of terms in his mother's common speech, she had not passed it on to her children. And where was his father, anyway? Attila hadn't the slightest as to who he was or where he was from, and the Aston boy supposed he'd never bothered to ask his mother, either. Perhaps that mystery man had been of a foreign country and swept his mother of her feet with his romantic talk and slick tongue--or perhaps that was what Attila simply wanted to be, and instead projected onto the lack of imagery the idea of his father provided.

But ah, what did it matter? This funny-sounding stranger had brought alcohol, and Attila had built up a mighty thirst from the stuff since it proved quite a task to find it in the pack lands. What kind of spirit-loving treehugger wanted to waste themselves away with alcohol? Attila didn't know, but it meant there was all the more for he, and how fortunate he was to have stumbled on a stranger this day. "Ah, yes, Nayati. Big eyes, that one. Any friend of Nayati is a friend of mine." He hadn't the slighest clue who this Nayati was, but this guy had alcohol. "Attila Aston. Come, let's crack that thing open." He motioned with his hand, curls dawdling in his eyes as he turned and led the Cour des Miracles man into the territory, completely unabashed and undaunted. His den was a trek from here, thus they would have to find another place.

"So, uh, Rurik," he smiled sweetly, "tell me about yourself. I don't see people like you very often."

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Rurik Russo · 04-22-2010, 04:32 AM

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Aha. I think Attila would beat Razekiel up. 8D Also lol Rurik is oblivious. 339

These Aniwayans were a lovely bunch—Rurik had met a grand total of three. The first was a young puppy, Emma. He no longer discerned her scent about the myriad of different smells persisting in the pack's lands, but it had been many months since he'd seen her. The child was rather young, after all, and it was entirely possible she'd grown up a bit and moved on to try and find her parents. Nayati was far more recent, and Rurik assumed he was still on the land—his scent was still relatively fresh. The tawny werewolf smiled broadly at the other wolf's compliment to Nayati and nodded his head. “I zhink it ees blue,” the werewolf said, drawing a line across his muzzle and horizontal beneath his eyes with an extended finger to illustrate the marking Nayati carried. “Maybe make his eyes... ah, ‘pop!’ as you say,” the werewolf said, oblidging his friend's wishes and cracking open the bottle of alcohol. “To new friends, Attila Aston,” the man said, laughing and tilting his head back to take a swig of the liquor, trotting after the other man to pass off the bottle to him.

The question did not surprise Rurik, who was quite used to fielding questions about where he was from and how he acquired his accent—he was just as liable to inquire on others' accents and which parts of the world they had picked them up, after all. “Vell, I am from Sobirat'sya. Zhis is place in Russia, vhich is vay, vay over the ocean, you know?” the man said, illustrating with his hands just how far it was, making a few wild gestures. “I travel the vorld to see deefferent zhings. But I like zhis place. I come here zhree times before, but back in old burned place,” the werewolf stated, gesturing again in the general direction of Halcyon Mountain and the old territories before. “And you? You come from here, there, other place?” he asked in return, already having spoken his piece several times over.

Attila Aston · 04-22-2010, 05:33 PM

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Even with Rurik's little illustration, Attila wasn't any closer to identifying the AniWayan he spoke of--but still, the Aston boy practiced his skill at legitimate-looking simpers and nodded along, grinning his teeth, smiling his eyes. He was well aware he had plenty to catch up on now that he'd returned, but Attila was in no rush to do so--as far as he was concerned, he would meet the faces he came by and learn names of those who might have importance later. The second this Nayati was referred to as male, however, Attila lost a considerable amount of interest, but he knew best than to say that aloud. "Hahaha, is that what it is? I could have sworn sh-- he had green eyes." A little, playful chuckle and a broad grin that only widened at the Russian's toast.

They reached the edge of the river soon enough, and since Attila couldn't remember much of anywhere else in AniWaya nearby, he plopped himself there on its edge. Rurik spoke of the ocean and his land of birth far away; Attila had seen enough of the world as it was, but he preferred to see other things more than nature, and those things didn't require incredible feats of distance to cover, thankfully. The Aston boy tried to repeat the name of his home, but only stumbled when trying to pronounce it without the Russian's convenient accent, and grinned a sheepish smile as he instead took a swig from the bottle offered to him earlier. "Born here, bred here. That fire was before my time, but I've heard plenty about it. I don't really care that it happened; there's the possibility I wouldn't be here if it hadn't, I guess." He didn't know, really, but anything was possible. Had his parents met because of that fire, or because they'd been dislocated? Would they have met otherwise? Hell, he didn't even know who his father was, and Attila made a mental note to question his mother on that later.

He gulped another mouthful of vodka and handed the bottle back, continuing. "I just got back last week to this place. Went down south to the states a while, but that's about the furthest I've gone. Not much to look at down there--nature-wise, I mean--so don't bother going that way if you want to sight-see."

It was just that moment when Markku made his appearance, flickering past in the air briefly before catching a budding branch in a neighboring tree. "Who is this? Are you drinking with a complete stranger?!" the owl accused almost instantly and, with Attila forgetting that Rurik might not have been able to hear their conversation, the owl and Aston began arguing back and forth.

Rurik Russo · 05-02-2010, 04:46 AM

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304

Things were going swimmingly, it seemed. Attila was a nice enough wolf, and Rurik was enjoying his company. He was too thick-skulled to notice that the other man maybe hadn't actually met Nayati, but even so, it probably wouldn't have bothered Rurik. There wasn't much doubt Attila was an Aniwayan; they didn't seem like the type to lack vigilance about their borders, from what he knew of them. With spirits to help them, it was probably a hell of a lot easier.

“Ah yes! The past, eet es not good to zheenk on eet too much,” the werewolf said, smiling, glad they found something in common already. “Nozhing anybody can do to change, so why bother?” the werewolf asked, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't understand that at all—there was no point in lugging around baggage, but even he broke this cardinal rule where Kiska was concerned. Some things were worth regretting, but they were few and far between.

“I only have seen Freetown—that is as far south as I go,” the werewolf stated, recalling the last human settlement he'd seen. “Never really wanted to wander zhis continent too much,” he confessed. He liked seeing all different places, true, but he had reason to return here, himself. When the bird landed in the tree, the werewolf's eyes were drawn to it. It was some kind of owl, apparently, and it had rather pale feathers, with orangey highlights here and there. He was rather pretty, and Rurik became a fair bit more solemn in the presence of the spirit, finding it disrespectful to be all grins and giggles around such a thing. He took another sip from the bottle and remained quiet, unwilling to interrupt the pair even if he couldn't hear the bird's side of the arguement. It seemed rude to interrupt, regardless.

Attila Aston · 05-04-2010, 11:41 PM

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They argued on for some time, the Aston boy not realizing that his comrade was unable to hear half the conversation. At some point the barn owl up and left, great wings carrying him over neighboring trees where he disappeared. Attila harrumphed, now clearly buzzed from the devil's water, and turned back to his Russian friend, only then registering what had been said but left in the air.

"Sorry, stupid owl," he grunted and cleared his throat, coolly smoothing the curls near his face. "Spirit animal, part of the tribe. Thinks he has to be my father." An ear twitched and iced eyes glared stiffly towards where the owl had vanished over the trees. His torso wavered a little, loose under the influence of alcohol, and he pointed a finger at the Russian forwardly. "Listen to me. Any animals ever go talking to you, you ignore them. You talk to them, and they start messin' with you. Just!... Just don't do it."

Attila leaned back, cleared his throat once more, and straightened his clothes as if preening his feathers. "I dunno where Freetown is, but there isn't anything around here worth lookin' at--other than the ladies." A goofy, boyish smirk crawled across his lips. "Makes up for all of it, if you know what I mean, huh?"

Rurik Russo · 05-10-2010, 11:31 PM

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badpost is bad

The tawny-furred werewolf hadn't seen Nayati act like that toward his spirit guide, and the bright blue eyes of the werewolf grew perplexed as Attila spoke. He laughed when the man told him not to speak to animals, grinning his wide grin toward the other man. “No problem, man. Never much vanted to talk to animals anyways. I like talking to others better,” he said, wagging his tail. “S'funny that you don't like your speereet, though. I had troublesome one living in mine house—nothing make heem happy!” the silvery werewolf declared, speaking of the Syemv house's domovoi. The house spirit had never been a kindly one, and Rurik had never been able to placate it.

At the mention of girls, however, the werewolf laughed heartily again, nodding his head enthusiastically. “So many pretty ladies here, I know!” the werewolf said, sighing heavily. He had his fun with some of them, true, but for Rurik, it was never really enough. He certainly wasn't a mugwump when it came to sex—he liked it and he wasn't afraid to admit that at all. “The women, they always do,” he agreed, tilting his head back to sip from the bottle of liquor once more, passing it over to his comrade. “Gotta love it,” he added, sighing softly, his breath coated with the fire of alcohol.

Attila Aston · 05-16-2010, 10:08 AM

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The fur on his neck still bristled after the argument with his spirit guide, though the owl had long since taken off. There would have to be some compromising later on, something Attila dreaded doing with the stubborn wannabe father figure, but for now the Aston boy allowed the intoxication of the vodka to sink in and wash away the irritation. "Mmmnaahh, it's not that I don't like him," the Gata Hineyu gurgled, pausing only to down more of that delicious swill. After a belch, he continued. "His name's Markku. He was a bear once, bahaha, but he changed when some fuck-ass fox killed my owl... pet... thing. He's all right, just thinks I can't make any decisions on m'own." Hiccup. "You had a spirit in your house? Did he try to be your father? My ma dun't even have one, and she's the one who wanted to live here." Hiccup.

Attila squirmed a little as his anger washed away with the thought of women. The Aston boy smirked at his friend, the Russian clearly understanding the emotions the white male. It seemed the two had not lived terribly different lives and had similar tendencies from one another; it was not often that Attila met people he could empathize with, or at least people who wouldn't look down on him for the choices he made. With the cool twist of alcohol in his system, the walls he'd created to hide himself became flimsy and unguarded; he was more himself, though not much had changed. "Tell me about your homeland, man," he gurgled. "It's gotta be better than this dump. I dunno why you'd want to stay here."

Rurik Russo · 05-20-2010, 06:48 AM

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Rurik is like BLAH BLAH BLAH >_>

The other man's story regarding the spirit guide was rambly and long, and Rurik tried to remain at attention—but as they were two werewolves well on their way to tipsiness, it was difficult, to say the least. “Maybe, maybe—Markku es just angry he is small bird now, and not bear,” the werewolf said softly, in case the spirit was still lingering around. He lashed out with an elbow toward Attila to nudge him in the side, grinning despite the whispered tone, and laughed loudly. Liquor tended to make one plucky, and Rurik was no exception to this rule. Even his phenomenal tolerance wore down eventually, and now he was starting to get really drunk. “Sobirat'sya domovoi vas like lazy old dog—never mad! Never talked, neizher,” he answered, a little louder, shaking his head.

His homeland! Rurik could talk about this forever, and he took the bottle to take another swig before handing it back over, taking a breath. “Ah, vell, Sobirat'sya es cold, short summer—but yob all zhat, important zhing is....” here he paused, lending drama to his words. “Zhe veemen—zhey are all vorld-rocking, you see?” the silver-shaded man explained, grinning broadly at this statement. It was, of course, a generalization—but he was thinking of Kiska, and there had been no hotter firecracker than her. She took nothing from no one, Rurik included, and he had loved her for it.

Attila Aston · 05-22-2010, 09:20 AM

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The change in Markku's space had been entirely his own decision; there had been no input from Attila whatsoever. After the small bird he'd adopted had been killed and a corresponding sleepless night, Attila had emerged from his den the next morning to find the barn owl alive again, staring down at him from the tree that stretched over his den. The sight had nearly stopped his heart. Markku explained his reasoning, claiming that the change not only made movement more convenient for he, but was a constant reminder to Attila what happened when he let his guard down and allowed his boyish tendencies to distract him from the responsibilities he had in life. Although the Aston boy had not taken appropriate strides to change his ways, the reminders still rang in his head.

"He's just moody," Attila concluded, furrowing his brows. He and the owl typically got along marvelously, but their occasional bouts sometimes lasted for days on end before the two made up. Rurik continued on about the spirit and his house and his homeland, and although the Aston boy was thoroughly interested, guilt loomed in the heart of his chest and his iced eyes glanced occasionally at the treetops where Markku had disappeared.

He offered some cracked smile at Rurik, lacking some of the youthful spirit he had harbored before with the onslaught of guilt. Attila had never fit into any type of stereotypical drunk—he was not wild, nor manic depressive when intoxicated. His borders and guards fell when the sickness seeped in and his words were loose and humorous, but the boy changed little from the charade he typically carried himself with. "You must have good taste," he grinned, trying to push aside the lingering thoughts in his head. "I was born here... nothing happens. Not worth your time staying if you don't wanna get tangled up in spirits and ghosts."

Rurik Russo · 05-26-2010, 10:38 AM

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-paws at attilas prettypretty avatar-

Rurik understood moody spirits. “Aye,” he said, more seriously than he'd spoken in moments, and straightened up. “Maybe you give him something, offer something, he will be better? Zhis sometime vork vith Domovoi,” he said. Even so, there were some that were simply beyond all happiness—the one in the Syemv house had never been happy, to Rurik's knowledge. Or perhaps it had just been unhappy with him, knowing what he'd done to Kiska and his newborn family. That would not have surprised the silver-shaded werewolf in the least.

At the man's words, the werewolf studied him for a moment, puzzlement filtering through the alcohol. “But... vhy you come back? Vhy you stay, zhen?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. He did not understand—when the world called to him, he answered, and he did so rather quickly. There was no stopping him once the sea called him back again and the itch got into his bones to move along. “Zhere is vhole vide verld to see,” he said. Rurik had wanted to see the whole world when he was young, too—and he had let nothing stop him. in this quest.

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