someone that might be able to push him around a little. . .

He had traveled since morning. His small mainly coyote form traipsing over fallen leaves and a fall chilled ground. It was odd to have been in his natural, four legged, form. It had been some time since he had used it, and even longer since he wasn’t accompanied by a horse. Either Stark or Lumière were always following, or leading him. The stallion and mare were his constant companions, but even the creatures that understood him best did not want to share his unhappy attitude. It was a feeling of anger and self pity melted into one. He was not surprised that the pale silver stallion or the roam mare had not fought when he left the stables without them.

The city was dead, as it always was, with an eerie silence that surrounded him like a shroud. Distant rain of the past night still clung to the pavement, creating puddles in the cracked cement. Heath walked over them on two paws, gold eyes on the ground and a frown ever present on his face. Black fist clenched, he tried not to focus on the problems he had created for himself and wished for nothing more then to forget. He knew the way to such bliss, the store not far, only a block away. It was his favorite, hidden away down an alley and out of sight. Strolling towards it, Heath walked in the middle of the weather battered road.

Hello! Hope you don't mind if I snag this. I love me some Alli writing.

He had gone just beyond the city’s borders and met a strange hybrid. Other than that, Silas had been staying close to Halifax. He and his family had clung close to the harbor in order to keep an eye on their ship while they explored their surroundings and gathered information about the area that stretched beyond the city. Silas had spent many a day rummaging through the various old buildings and had been rather content with fiddling with odd contraptions whose uses evaded him. It was on this day that Silas had made quite a wonderful discovery. Just like those tar sticks Razekiel had had with him, Silas discovered an old crumbled carton of cigarettes. With mischievous grin plastered on his features, he had snuck some and a small box of matches before heading home to Lily and Rurik.

Held between his teeth, Silas raised a match to the cigarette. It took flame rather easily and the boy was instantly sucking at the smoldering plant. He strolled casually down the cracked pavement as if he owned this city, having grown comfortable here over his stay for the past week or so. It was when he turned a corner that he saw that he wasn’t alone here. What surprised the Agata boy, however, was that the other form was not that of his sister or father, yet it was moving in the general direction of their temporary lodging. Silas took a long drag of the cigarette, before extracting it from his lips and holding it securely between two fingers. "Hey!" He called, finding that his slight Russian accent had slipped in quite heavily on that one word. This guy could be completely harmless, but Silas wasn’t going to take any chances with Lily sitting at ‘home’. A little investigation would do the trick.

Had he hurt her? Heath could not say for sure, but he was afraid he did. It was a fear that was so dominant that the coy-wolf was certain that he had. The things she said, the feelings that she exposed were ones she held close to her heart. You didn’t just say you loved someone without reveling something true, honest and fragile. At least Heath couldn’t, and Ruri was the same. He was sure of that. She was innocent, and delicate as the words she spoke and the emotions she held. He was a fool to not have faith in the love he held for her and in his ability to do so.

It had all become too much.

Gold eyes looked out into the streets. Mind focused on the things that would remove his thoughts completely. The small addiction was one he could put away whenever he wished, but at the moment he needed to haze the alcohol would bring him. The shop was different; not holding any of the English or French words the male was familiar with. A banner, tattered and worn, hung in the window, heavy stripes of red, white and blue. It was his signal, reminding him of the location of the store. But it was the bottles inside that held his thoughts. The vodka that stocked the shelves was the smoothest and yet the most potent (if such a thing were possible).

Glancing up from the road he caught sight of the flag, and was drawn in its direction. But instead of making it to the sidewalk the male found someone blocking his path. The call made his head turn and his steps slow and stop. It was a stranger, and the morte dre Soul watched for the briefest of moments at the beast that called to him. His face was unmoving, his features placid and molded to the frown that captured his lips. A step forward, and the smell of the burning cigarette came to him with the male’s own cologne.

“Yeah?”

300+

The smoke seethed from nose and mouth as Silas looked over the stranger. He seemed comparable to Silas – though of mixed blood, slightly more coyote-ish in appearance. Heath, however, seemed to show a better blend of his blood. Silas, on the other hand, could have almost been mistaken for being entirely coyote, aside from the strange coloring of his eyes and the darkness of his coat. As he brought the cigarette to his teeth, Silas rested his gaze on the golden eyes of this stranger, trying to read the emotion there. He looked as if he were determined for something, with a demeanor that was less than jovial.

"Don’t go there," he replied, before taking another drag from his cigarette. He liked the way the smoke filled his lungs, warming his chest from within. And upon exhaling, Silas enjoyed the over powering smell as the smoke emptied from his nostrils. "Family is there now." Rurik had done well to begin to teach his children English. However, Lily was stubborn and mostly reverted to speaking entirely in Russian. Though Silas didn’t mind breaking away from their natural tongue, he had noticed that the lack of practice had hindered his English now. His words seemed slightly unnatural, and he found that his Russian accent fell heavily on his words. He’d need to practice. "You go other place."

The fingers of his black furred hand flexed, loosing balling into a fist and then releasing. Golden eyes looked at the male that had come to stand in the path that Heath had settled on taking. The road was wide enough that he could avoid the stranger, who stood more as a half-hearted sentry rather then blocking his next paw steps. Heath, however, found his presence beyond his comfort. Gaze took in the sight of the seemly coyote male, and as his mind had returned to the need for booze, he also found that it yearned for the trials of confrontation. Months had gone where he had been at peace with every creature that came his way, and yet Heath tasted the tension in the air and found he missed it.

No?, Heath thought, brows and ears moving skywards as he spoke. The smoke billowed in the large empty space that hung between them, and Heath watched his face behind the smog veil. His own face grew hard in the frown that covered it, and tried to decipher the English that was hidden beneath the heavy accent. Who was this male to tell him where to, and not to go? Heath, being in a state of emotions upheaval, was slightly glad that for once he was given a challenge that he knew how to fight. “You own this place?” Heath questioned, speaking of the store where he was headed, as well as the street they walk upon, even the air their breathed. Did he think he owned all of it?

As Silas casually smoked and observed this stranger, he noticed the strain in Heath's muscles as he clenched a fist. He seemed to be agitated by Silas’ confrontation, but the Russian boy saw it necessary to protect his sister. He just didn’t want anyone wandering into their self-proclaimed lodging. At least, not unexpectedly. When Heath spoke again, Silas wasn’t sure what his words meant. His features pulled into a frown of confusion as he tried his best to determine what it was that Heath had asked him.

He let out another clouded breath of smoke, before shaking his head. "I don’t understand," he replied in Russian, before raising the cigarette to his muzzle again. Silas didn’t mind taking his time – it gave him more opportunity to sway this stranger away from his family. He tried again in English. "I no know. Uhh," he made a vague gesture to the buildings around them. "Family home now." He tried studying Heath’s expression. Had he delivered his message clear enough? Or had his choppy English just confused this poor guy? "Silas," he motioned towards his chest, then towards Heath. "You?"

Heath was bi-lingual, and yet his English was just as good as his first French language. He could appreciate the other's issues with the unknown, or unfamiliar words. That was if the male hadn't been standing between he and the vodka he had traveled so far to get. Perhaps the stranger would understand that Heath only wanted to pick up a few bottles before returning to the loft above the stables that he called home. That was if Heath wished to explain. He shouldn't have to, not in free territory such as Halifax. Still the tawny male only stepped closer as the male introduced himself. The anger that was alive and well in his mind was burning for the fight that could so easily be initiated with the slightest shove of the coyote male. But Heath only stared, and didn't touch.

"Your family, lives in there?" He pointed to the window that held the flag that meant Russian vodka and Heath's fast-track to blitzed bliss. There was no need to get caught up in an anger that should be directed inward and not to the smoking hybrid. A muddled mind wondered for a second if it was his last cigarette, or if he had one to bum. Finally the frowning male let the tension fall from his features, though a smile was far from obtainable. The Miracles man looked from the store back to the stranger, who now took on the title Silas and spoke,
"I'm Heath."

Silas and his family had taken up residence in a dilapidated motel for now, but the youth didn’t mind so much. What with it being right in the city and all, he was free to explore at any time. And although he and Heath weren’t quite outside the Russian family’s proclaimed base, Silas still wanted this guy to head in another direction. So when he gestured towards the store front, Silas turned his icy gaze on the window. How he had yet to notice the flag before now, he did not know. But instantly, a beaming grin lit up the boy’s features. "Russia!" He turned back to Heath, beckoning him with a wave of his hand. Silas then turned and made his way towards the store, eager to have a look around inside.

He stopped with a palm resting on the front door, turning back to see if Heath would follow. If he could get him inside the store, then all would be remedied. Silas would have done his job to lead him away from his family’s home. "Come," he told him as he pushed the door open and took the first step inside.

What did this male want from him? Heath questioned in silence and anger. This was a free land and if he wished to venture deep within and seek out a bit of solitude, a bit of vodka, he had the right! Just as he was about to explode with frustration and harmful words that male turned to show a grand smile, exclaiming the land that his favorite flavor of vodka was born in. The tawny man was back aback at the tone of voice and sight of his smile. Confused Heath could do nothing but follow as he had been told to do. He had never wanted to go anywhere else, let alone where ever his family was. What did Heath want with Silas’ family? It was vodka that he was after.

“Yes, yes.”Heath spoke, mimicking the male’s accent slightly in jest. He wanted to enter the store, and if the male was no longer standing in his way Heath was going in. Now. They stepped inside, and Heath let a smile cover his face. A dark soot hued hand went to the neck of the nearest bottle and gold eyes looked at the dusty label. “Russia!” Heath spoke as he looked at the othe male, his voice lighter then it had been in days. Honey orbs dropped back to the label. His voice was low as he spoke to himself, “Thank god for the mother land.”

Silas watched with a grin plastered as Heath made his way to one of the sheleves and removed a bottle. The man muttered words to himself, but Silas disregarded them for now. He was too interested in the things in the store, and also, the flag hanging in the window. He was already planning to perhaps come back and take it for himself once Heath was stumbling his way back home.

Among rows and shelves of bottles, one in particular caught Silas’ eye. He lifted the slightly frosted glass bottle in one hand, running the fingers of the other over the silver neck. The symbols Русский стандарт on the red and silver label were familiar to the boy, as they were Cyrillic letters. He had to take a moment to think of how to say it, but Silas was pretty sure the translation was correct. "Russian Standard," he told Heath, waging the bottle in the air with a grin. "We drink?"

The bottle felt comfortingly heavy in his dark furred hand. It was a glorious feeling, when all he had felt was self loathing and unhappiness for what seemed like years. Of course it had been a little over a day, but it still hung over him like a ghastly shadow. This is what he needed and though he hadn't really wanted company, the male was now welcome to join him in the drinking fest that would now ensue.

"Is that the best?" Heath asked, wanting only the best. At the males question he smiled, nodding. "Yes, we drink!" His voice was excited at the prospect of forgetting all hardship that he felt and once more mimicked the accent of the other male. This would not be a day for glasses, but swallowing strait form the bottle.

He held the bottle of vodka in his hands, studying it for a moment in surprise. Somehow, Silas would have never guessed that he would find a remnant of home here in this strange land. It was oddly comforting and it gave him a great sense of pride to be passing on the knowledge to someone else who had yet to experience a taste of home. "The best," Silas responded, already lifting fingers to work at the cap of the bottle. Upon opening it, he raised it to his muzzle to investigate the smell as if it had been replaced with something else. But no, this was the real deal.

At the elevated tone of Heath’s voice, a grin broadened across Silas’ features. "We drink," he repeated, but with much more fervor this time. He lifted the bottle into the air, smiling all the while, and then titled the neck and took a hearty swallow before resurfacing for air.

Heath was a native, of sorts. There were no seas to travel or massive treks to make. He and his siblings had made the journey themselves, and on foot. They spoke French naturally, but there was nothing that made him miss the lands he had come from. He missed only those he left, and the ones he had traveled with and lost to these lands. The vodka would help those feelings, and all that accompanied them.

The male sniffed the bottle suspiciously, and Heath laughed. There was nothing to worry about; there would be no pain and no regret until morning. And that was only if he woke and didn’t cut the hangover with a few swigs. The tawny hybrid brought the bottle to his maw, drinking a single deep gulp. It burned, as the first always did. The quality, the age, made it less and made the taste something a man could crave in his dreams.

The two tested the first swallow, and the gold-eyed male could not erase the smile. Thoughts of his woman problem were no longer paramount. Instead he was happy to make a brand new friend. “Silas,” he spoke with a new found happiness. “Your from Russia?” he asked though he figured that he already knew the answer. “You had this all the time?” His questions were friendly ones, curious to know more about the land that gave birth to his favorite beverage.

At times everyone just needed to relax, to forget about it all and loose themselves in something or someone. Heath could not bring himself to fall into a woman to forget the troubles he had with the one he loved. It was betrayal before he could even confess that he did indeed love the sightless collie. Before he even committed himself to her, before he even knew what his feelings actually were Heath had forgotten that the world held other females. He wondered idly if Silas had something he was running from.

A nod, and Heath handed over the bottle. He was lucky to have lived in the place that bore his favorite drink. Heath also imagined Russia to be a rustic and yet exciting place. Untouched with vast wilderness where their kind reverted back to the feral lives that they had once lived. Heath knew nothing of those other continents though, and it was a mystery at the mercy of his imagination.

A small chuckle came as Silas spoke of his mother, watching as he rearranged the piece of cloth he wore.
“Yeah,” Heath admitted, though it wasn’t exactly true.
“Well, I used to. Before I joined Cour des Miracles.” The French name rolled off his tongue with ease and Heath felt a little better. He didn’t want to sound like a booze hound, though when the going got tough he certainly resorted to it.

Heath had never really understood what the other’s intention had been. When he had first arrived in the city the gray and black hybrid had one thought in mind. To smother emotion and savor the bitter sweet taste of his favorite liquor. It was working, and this eve was every bit of a success as Heath had strived for.

A nod came as the male spoke his packs name. Heath was proud to be a Miracles man, never having been proud of anything in his life. He took a sip at the next thoughts; they were things he wished to shield his thoughts from for the moment.
“Well, not here.” He said with a point to the floor. Silas’ accent made it difficult to understand at time, and with the haze the vodka was creating it was getting more difficult.

“Yeah, mainly dogs and mixes.” Heath said, thinking off all those that lived there. There was a huge group of domestics in the ranks, their King included. Heath picked up another bottle, for the road. The brisk clear evening was calling him,
“Come on!” he encouraged the handkerchiefed male to follow. He didn’t really understand that keeping him in one place had been his new friends intent, but the night was young and there was plenty to see.

Heath had not known any dogs since joining the pack, though hybrids were nothing new to him. Ruri was pure collie, at least she looked like it. She was beautiful in the uniqueness she bore with folded ears and merle patterns. He shook her out of his mind, he was undeserving of even pleasant thoughts of the woman. "Oh." the buzzed male responded, not really seeing any of the husky that Silas described. "Yote, wolf. I think thats all I got." Heath shrugged.

Out in the cool clean air Heath smiled. The bottle he held was half full, and the second hung in his dark furred hand with a comforting weight. They would be more then drunk before running out. "I don't know." he confessed, looked around and picking a random direction and walking. He headed towards another building, rundown as they all were. What did it matter? The city was empty as it always was and for the moment it was theirs. "Dogs aren't bad." he exclaimed as he looked back at the male. "Our leader is one, and only has one arm."