the water creeps to my chest

Silas Agata · 10-16-2012, 10:56 PM

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Date: 17 October

Setting: The Waste

Time: Afternoon

Character Form: Optime

Word Count → 431 :: Thanks for threading with me! Big Grin My apologies for my rustiness as I get back into the swing of things.

It had only taken the Russian man a day or so to decide what it was that he needed to do first. Perhaps he wasn’t yet ready to face the woman herself, but Silas knew that his heart would ache until he at least heard something about the woman’s state of being. There was much he was sure to find out (and much he was curious to know) but it was the woman who had stolen his heart that came first. He’d gathered his belongings from his temporary shelter within the dilapidated buildings of Halifax’s harbor and then immediately trekked northeast. Though it had been quite some time since he had made this journey, somehow it was still familiar despite the slight changes in scenery.

By way of Arachnea’s Revenge, Silas drew ever closer to the coyote clan as he made his way towards the beaches of the Waste. Though both the water’s edge and the borders of Inferni were out of sight, the Russian could tell he was drawing nearer to both. The smell of the coyote clan wasn’t exactly how he had remembered it, but something in his brain recognized that it was in fact Inferni that lay not far from where he had managed to find himself. The taste of moisture in the air alerted him to the nearing shore, but Silas did not proceed. Instead, he ditched his bags along the rocky terrain and settled himself along a stony outcropping.

Clawed fingers reached for the pockets of his worn denim jeans and fished out the same collection of cigarettes he had first broken into upon his arrival to Nova Scotia. The silver container swung open on a hinge to reveal almost a dozen rolled cigarettes, from which the Russian plucked one. Though within one of the bags he carried the man had more dried plants to roll into papers, he always made sure to have a supply ready for the smoking. The one he procured now was solely comprised of dried tobacco leaves. He did, however, have a couple containing cannabis.

With the cigarette held gently between his teeth, Silas lit the end with a match before returning the cigarette case and matches to his worn pocket. The journey had hardly been arduous or warranted a cigarette break, but the task before him had elevated his nerves. Before he was to discover the state of things, Silas needed to calm his nerves. Spending time by the shore with a cigarette in hand had always been one of the easiest ways to put the Russian’s soul at ease.

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