I owed this to you a long time ago. Sorry about the wait! Yay, spring cleaning! :] +5
Ten clawed fingers twirled up into the dark onyx locks as Silas fastened the blue bandana there. As a youth, the fabric often found itself around his neck, but had been relocated in time to lay amongst the dark fringe of hair that fell into his eyes. Much like Rurik, Silas was almost always in Optime form, trading four legs for two in order to gain the dexterity of having both hands to work with. That wasn’t to say he had abandoned his other forms all together, but it was a rare occurrence to see the Agata boy on four legs. The wounds left behind from the Hydra had formed into thin pink scars, forever marking the boy’s initial venture into Inferni’s territory. It was strange how time had passed. It had been three months since his acceptance into the clan and so much had changed about him – both on the inside and out.
The war was still apparent outside and Silas had continued to serve the clan in ways he saw fit. He didn’t see much battle, as he preferred to help amongst his clan’s borders, but that wasn’t to say he hadn’t seen bloodshed. He had once again dipped his hands in wolf’s blood but by doing so had protected his clan. While Lily, Rurik, and Anatoliy were tucked safe away from the battle in Cours, Silas had come to see the clan as an extension to his family. He had to protect them just as he would any of the Russos.
He roamed the hallway of the second floor in the mansion, looking down over the railing into the living space below. Silas had claimed a room to himself upstairs facing the rear of the mansion and the dirtied window gave a view of the untamed garden growing outside. His fingers trailed the banister and upon pulling away, were caked in the dust of neglect. With nothing better to do that day, the young Agata figured the mansion could use some of his attention. The weather outside was looking nicer with each passing day and it was apparent D’Neville could use some spring cleaning.
Venturing back into his own room, Silas went straight towards the window. The glass was caked in dirt and had been cracked from some long past incident, but the boy was set on getting it opened. Grasping at the edges of the window frame, Silas heaved the glass pane upward, letting in some of the natural light and a bit of fresh air. From there, he turned and stared at the bobbles that had collected in his room. The Russian flag he had stolen from Halifax still hung proudly on his wall over his bed, and the youth grinned with pleasure as he walked by and back out into the hallway. Where to start, where to start…
He began by dragging boxes out of his room and into the hallway. There were lots of things in these that the Russian had no use for and they had only served to collect dust in the meantime. After pulling two card board boxes into the hall, Silas fell to his knees and began rummaging through them. They were both full of seemingly useless junk. Books that the boy didn’t know how to read, odd little figurines whose purpose evaded the Agata, and a few other things here and there. He paused for a moment, opening one of the books, careful not to damage the spine, and studied the foreign symbols. This was nothing like the Cyrillic alphabet and the Russian was sure it was in English, the tongue his father had worked hard to teach his children in order to prepare them for their trek here to Nova Scotia.
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