(546) TL;DR -- Vasi brings fish on plank. Vasi stands around grinning and nodding then goes outside for smoke, then comes back in.
Vasiliy is by me!
Vasiliy did not bring much with him. The dark-furred Russian did not have much -- he'd traveled halfway across the world to get here, and all his worldly possessions were now in the hands of some ship captain or first mate. Perhaps, if they were particularly unlucky, his things were at the bottom of the ocean, rotting to pieces. This made Vasiliy sad, but there was nothing he'd traded he could not replace. As for right now, however, he must do with something less tangible. He had spent most of the previous day fishing, keeping his fish tethered and alive so they'd stay fresh. This was accomplished easily with some thin rope and a ring through the fish's mouth.
He had cooked them slowly, adding bits and pieces of spice as needed. He would have loved to have lemon -- he'd had it only once, being from the arctic, but it had been memorable, clearly. He'd laid all the fish out on a piece of thin wood before cooking, and it was on this he carried the fish. They'd absorb some of the woody, smokey flavoring, and he hoped the other canines might find it enjoyable. It was nothing for Vasi to carry this from Cercatori d'Arte to their neighboring pack, and he did so while humming, careful to balance so the fish would not slip.
The dark-furred Russian hadn't known where he was going, but that was alright -- there were others of his pack nearby, and their scents guided him to the hall. He slid in amongst the others after placing his gift -- still warm, hopefully -- on the table with the rest. He was glad to notice someone else had brought food-gifts along -- he was not alone in that, at least. The dark-furred Russian stood and listened to a tall, dark wolf speak, his black-tipped ears perked to catch the words from the end of the hall. The building was fabulously large, and even tall Vasi strained to see over the tops of other Luperci heads.
It was after the talking and speeches Vasi began to feel a little out of place. He'd attended parties before, of course, but he'd at least known some of the canines within those parties relatively well. Even those of Cercatori d'Arte were virtual strangers to him, let alone these foreign neighbors. Still, Vasi kept a smile on his face, offering a courteous nod where he thought it appropriate. Soon, however, he began to feel as if he'd been stuffed into an oven. The granite-furred Russian decided it would be best to excuse himself, and slunk outside for a breath of fresh air. Upon standing on the outer porch, however, he began smoking instead -- at least he'd have an excuse to be outside, should anyone come upon him here.
The cigarette was marvelously relaxing, and when he'd gone through half of it, he thought he'd be able to face the party again. Perhaps alcohol might help? He hadn't looked to see if there was any of that. The thought warmed him almost as much as the cigarette, and when he ducked back inside, the Russian was again all smiles.
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