03-29-2010, 06:45 AM
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Short, sorreh. Word Count: 239 Semyon nodded as he was given the other's name. Good, so they'd exchanged faces and names. Was that all there was to a person? Wasn't it? Semyon glanced downward at his costume when inquired, as if not realizing it was there. What, this old thing? So accustomed to social convention, he was, that he didn't even notice that he was playing the game. His hands moved in vague, seemingly random ways as he spoke, but it was part of a pattern. Everything was part of a pattern. "I made it," he sid bluntly. It was only part truth; he had not created the leather himself. That, he had bought for various services. Some fights, some political... adventures. It was strange what leaders of packs wanted him to do in order to stay in their position. As if it would be better morally if they didn't do it themselves, but rather in the shadows of a thug such as himself. "I bought the leather, and then fitted them for myself." What good was an armor that didn't fit? He elaborated, but he probably didn't have to. He trusted this one now. Moving slowly, the warrior sat down on the ground, arranging the various items in his belt so they wouldn't poke or annoy him. Sitting, he studied the stranger in front of him, and thought of something to ask him. "Been here for a long time?" Small-talk; nothing beats small-talk. |