Word Count → 315 :: Weird post is weird. :3
The frosted glass bottle tilted, the clear fluid inside sloshing up the sides. The label was one that was all too familiar to the Russian (for it was his favorite liquor) and features softened in appreciation as icy blue trailed the gold and white lettering that proudly proclaimed Русский Стандарт. He supposed its consumption was bittersweet, for when the vodka was completely gone Silas would lose one of his last ties with his former life in Russia. Halifax had been scavenged several times, but the young Hastati had exhausted its remaining supply of his favored vodka. The bottle in his hand was all that was left. Raising the bottle to his muzzle, Silas took another deep swig, causing features to contort in distaste as his eyes fluttered closed. It was not particularly enjoyable this way, but it would matter less the more Silas took in.
Her voice found him just as Silas was opening his eyes, and the young Russian almost instantly found the silhouette of the clan’s newly appointed Optio. Familiar crooked smile appeared at her dialogue, while the boy let his gaze wander to the water at their side. After a moment’s consideration, he shook his head. "Not today." His thoughts dwelled for a moment on her words, specifically the last two. Most likely they were just empty words, but they nonetheless sparked appreciation for the woman. Silas was by no means a warrior, but he had been trying his best lately to emulate one. Already the girl had won some points in the Russian's book.
It was obvious that Talitha had just emerged herself, for her coat was still rather sopping. All Silas could think was that she must have been cold. "How vas zhe vater?" While one hand still held the bottle rather securely at his side, Silas’ free hand snaked its way into the pocket of his torn denim jeans.
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