[M] burning on the highway.

Rurik Russo · 05-26-2010, 10:13 AM

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The ashen-hued canine was interested to see the device Cotl had brought with him; it was an intriguing thing, of course, and his bright blue eyes widening as the man spoke, his words laced with curses. He did not understand why the mask was “fucking cheap shit” or why it needed to be declared as such so loudly, and he shot a sidelong glance at Anselm, who merely grinned and rolled his shoulders in a shrug, mouthing the word Inferni as if that explained everything. And in a way, it did.

“Zhis something I just throw together, you know? No beeg,” he said nonchalantly toward Rikka. It was not as if he had cooked a feast for them all—although perhaps he should have, considering how hungry they would all be in a few moments. Another familiar face entered the circle, and Rurik was more than pleased to see this woman—her russet-colored hair was unmistakable, and he fondly recalled the Halifax night they'd spent together. “Lolita! I am so very glad to see you again,” he declared, nodding at Rikka's sentiment. “Vhat Rikka said goes!” he said, pointing out the golden-hued woman.

Before long there was another joiner to their midst, and Rurik's bright blue eyes looked upon the sable-furred stranger with interest, noting her shadowy fur and her lime-colored eyes. She was pretty, with dark hair framing her face, and she seemed rather confident, eager to join them. He grinned broadly and waved her over. “Velcome! Here you are!” he said, greeting her with a rolled joint someone had thrust into his hands moments before. “Come on over,” he said merrily, always glad to have another face. Anselm and Silas grabbed a couch for their new faces, and he was glad to see his son so cordial and tidy with his manners. Silas had been a good kid, and he was growing up into a fine man. Rurik certainly would never hold it against Silas for indulging himself once in a while.

His attention remained on Conor and Lolita, and how they interacted with the Infernians, but there did not seem to be any further tension. Everyone seemed to understand that this was a day for celebration, and with the war already over, there was no reason to continue to fight. The sable-colored woman spoke again, seeming quite comfortable in their midst. Rurik was glad to see this, and he grinned at her question. “Baking, baking, baking,” he commented, grinning broadly at this little joke. “I am Rurik. And for yourself?” the silver-shaded man said. Anselm piped up with his own name from the corner, though the man seemed particularly drowsy now—he had been complaining that he needed a nap, and it would seem the drugs were steadily taking their effect on him, drawing him into unconsciousness slowly. A few moments later, Rurik looked over and Anselm was sound asleep, his head propped up in his hand still. He grinned at this, and took a moment to stand up once more.

“I just say zhis, and zhen I shut my beeg mouth and we have fun. Zhis guy,” he said, motioning to Anselm with a long finger. “Zhis guy has zhis stuff, when you need eet. He trade, always fair. Zhis is part of vhat ve smoke now,” the werewolf said, wishing to give his friend a shout-out even if he had fallen asleep. It would be helpful to Anselm, Rurik knew. After this he grew more quiet, settling back down to the couch to figure out the mask contraption that someone had shoved at him. Eventually he got it, and strapped it on over his face, drawing smoke from it after some amount of difficulty in figuring out its mechanisms.

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