like a toast at a table.

Rurik Russo · 04-16-2010, 01:49 AM

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Of all the Russos, there was one who excelled above the rest—Rurik's elder brother Thorn was perhaps the best cook in all of Russia, and it was not just their familial attachment that made Rurik think in this manner—the pale-furred man was unparalleled in his cooking skill. He had learned the skill very, very well, and the silvery Russian missed this about his brother. Orin had taken note of the broken hook, though, and the ash-colored hybrid laughed, agreeing with her entirely. “She is right, my friend,” he said, grinning broadly. “Is okay, you no catch now—but I vill have you catch one by end of t'day,” the man stated.

“If you vant try, you cook next feesh, ya?” she said to Zasha. Liliya continued prodding at the fish until it was about done. Sliding the fish from the pan and onto the plate, she offered it up to whoever had yet to munch—there was always more coming, Liliya knew. She depended on her father for sustenance most of the time, but she was slowly learning how to fend for herself—it was a slower process for these Russian-raised werewolves, as they were generally used to living in the cities, and open wilderness was not their particular forte. “Chekov? No, I do not know him,” she admitted. “I do not zhink I could read him. Russian language es in deeferent alphabet,” Liliy explained. Her father could do a much better job of explaining, of course—and as it was, Liliy was only barely literate in Russian. English was a different beast entirely. “I do not have books, sorry. I do not read very good,” the woman repeated. It was difficult for Liliy to read even in her own language.

“Vhat stories you know? I like leesten, even if I do not read,” she asked, stealing a glance at Zasha, allowing the woman to object if she had a problem with human stories—Liliya didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, though she didn't know what problems anyone might have with literature. Orin had suggested it, though, and Lil thought it was only polite to extend the same courtesy to Zasha. She didn't know anything about this Jac person or the history behind this pack—it would be an interesting story, no doubt.

It was not too long before Niro had his second fish—this time, as the man went to pull him in, the silvery werewolf offered some pointers. “Do not jerk line so very hard this time, it vill be better,” he said quietly, his brilliant blue eyes watching with excitement as Niro reeled the fish in. He hoped it would go better for his packmate this turn, but he wasn't going to get frustrated or yank the pole away or anything like that—some canines would get impatient, but Rurik was not one of them. As Niro landed the fish, Rurik's grin spread wide. “Excellent,” he complimented, nodding his head in approval.

“I think if zhis was not your first feesh, we throw him back, but... first one can be keeper,” the man said, grinning. If it weren't Niro's first catch Rurik probably would have recommended throwing it back; as it was his very first, though, they could hang onto him. The werewolf stooped down to grab ahold of the fish, undoing the hook from his lip deftly. He turned back toward the group of women, grinning broadly at Orin's statement. “Well, maybe—but the feesh, zhey are kind of dumb. So... I don't know,” he admitted, holding up the next one. “Niro caught a wee one,” the man said, proud of the younger man.

“Drink?” the man said, his ears perking up. He handed the fish off to Liliya, who looked over to Zasha. “You want try, Zasha?” the younger woman asked. She wouldn't force the other woman to cook if she didn't want to, but it was worth asking. Meanwhile, Rurik held up the bottle of vodka he'd carried with them. “Only the finest!” he declared, offering it over to Orin. “Does have a bit of kick, though,” he warned. The vodka was Rurik's favorite, of course, and he was well-accustomed to the taste, but it didn't mean anybody else was.

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