Who wears the eyepatch around here?

Rurik Russo · 02-12-2010, 06:45 AM

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Omg, siefail. D: Sorry.

Their surroundings certainly weren't particularly appetizing to the silver-furred werewolf; most buildings in Sobirat'sya of this quality were not often frequented. Many of those that were badly damaged by human riots or simple exposure to the elements were simply razed, leaving behind only that which was still usable. In this area, it was not the case—as these canines often times seemed to be figuring out the usefulness of human objects, buildings such as these were being explored by canines actively seeking human treasures for the first time. Rurik found it almost that they had not figured things out earlier, but his intention was never to force his lifestyle and imply its superiority—the feral way of life was just as valid a choice as his own, and he was in no position to pass judgement regardless.

The silver-furred werewolf listened, enthralled with the tales of a strange place—he couldn't imagine an area comprised of warriors, though it was rather intriguing to him. With their drinks the other canine's speech had grown slightly slurred, and even Rurik noticed the edges of his vision beginning to blur, a pleasant burn beginning in his stomach and tingling throughout his body. The warmth of the liquor had seized him up in its jaws, and a slow smile spread across his face as the other canine described their women; they sounded much like Kiska had been. For all his flirting, he couldn't impress her worth anything. At the mention of the other canine's daughters, Rurik's ears perked up, and he tilted his head. He couldn't fathom that—the silver-furred Russian was the father to a great many sons, but only one live daughter.

“Sheez, man. Sounds like a rough bunch of women—fun, though,” he said, shaking his head as he thought of the other canine's description of the Pine's ladies. “I dunno that I can think'a what it's like with daughters only—I have just one daughter, Liliya, and many sons! Love 'em all, though,” he declared, obviously proud of his family. “To family,” he said, baring his pearly canines in a huge grin as he held up his jug, clutching it around the neck of the bottle. Tossing his head back he took a long swig. The alcohol had brought a quietus over his finer thinking abilities, and he found himself reduced to such toasting, though in his head it was rather regal and fitting for the situation. Sadly, such perceptions were rarely accurate to how things actually turned out.

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