tame the ghosts in my head

Silas Agata · 10-20-2012, 09:03 PM

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Word Count → 296 :: I forgot how fun it is to write dialogue for Silas and his accent hehe. :3

A quick once over of her decided that she was of coyote blood – if not fully, than dominantly. Some things about her did seem somewhat wolfish, to which Silas could compare. Although rather lean and lithe himself (clearly reflecting his coyote heritage), the Russian had been given the broad wolfish shoulders of his father. Nothing that he could see now identified her in any way that he might know – no family symbols, talismans, or tell-tale aesthetic traits. Despite the hint of something familiar in her scent, this girl was all but a stranger to Silas it seemed.

"Aye, I am good." He told her in between drags from his cigarette. The cooling October breeze kept the billowing smoke lingering in the air a little longer than usual. Pale eyes briefly watched it rise in clouds above their heads. "No, no," he waved his a hand, cigarette still balanced between index and middle finger, as if to dismiss her words. "You didn’t eenterrupt anyzhing, mine dear. I vas just zhinking ees all." He wondered if she was cold, or if it was just the slight awkwardness that accompanied many first encounters like this that prompted her to rub her arms. Luckily for Silas, his Russo blood line had provided him with a thick coat in the winter to keep him insulated (despite the fact that he still regularly wore his denim jeans and vest).

"Sparrow, eet ees a lovely name. Mine ees Silas," he told her in response. "Do you leeve een zhe harbor?" His hand waved vaguely at the buildings that surrounded them. Perhaps she had been on her way home before coming across him. "I ‘ave only just arrived," he divulged to her then, flicking the ash from his cigarette into the settling dusk shadows.

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