Space Dementia-Journey to the bottom of the bottle

Rurik Russo · 08-27-2010, 04:28 AM

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Word Count :: 441

Though one would never guess from looking at him, Rurik, too, had suffered in life. He had lost damn near everything once upon a time, and he had headed back to Russia with nothing in his pockets. His ship had sank, his mate and his sons were gone, and everything he had come here to do had ended up as an utter catastrophe, failing in an epic burst of flame and smoke. Not even Syemv could be salvaged from the wreckage five years ago. Even so, Rurik was not the type to become depressed or outwardly show dissatisfaction. He had been broken up over it for a long time afterward, but he refused to let his past and its mistakes huant him. Such was not a way to be at all. Rurik valued happiness and contentedness, and though he was neither with the thoughts of what he'd lost on his mind, he had to act otherwise.

He was unwavering in cheerful optimism, finding at least a polished spot to every aspect ofhis own life and others' lives. Surely such a thing could irritate his companions on occasion, but the staggering majority of Rurik's friends and acquaintences found his bright and positive attitude rather uplifting. The silver-shaded werewolf seemed born to spread cheer, and that was just what he planned on doing today. He still hadn't met many members of the other packs, and he was afraid of becoming a shut-in. One of the things he was great at was interacting with others; he could easily work to improve Cour des Miracles' ties with the other packs. The silver-shaded wolf smiled broadly at these thoughts, and wandered forward.

Slung over his back was a small pack with a few bottles. His stash was running low, but he had replenished it before, and he would replenish it again. Worse came to worse, he could always make his own moonshine—he needed to share these ideas and abilities. Others would make use of them, for sure. He headed out from the Miracles territory, intending to wander until he found a neighboring pack—he already knew where Aniwaya and Cour des Miracles were, but he hadn't yet visited Dahlia de Mai. He remembered Lolita quite well, and he wondered if she still lived amongst that group.

As he continued, a scent drifted over to him, the unmistakable sound of footfalls catching his attention. It would seem he didn't have to head far to entertain visitors today, for one seemed headed for his homeland. Eagerly, the silver-shaded wolf turned, altering his path to head toward the stranger. “Allo,” he said, waving his had around in greeting.

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