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OOC: 600+ Dear god, do I ramble
Lubomir was pleased to see that his little endeavour was appreciated. He didn't necessarily need the approval, especially since Cercelee had said she had no problem with it, but it made him feel proud of himself for thinking it up whenever someone commented on it. So far quite a few people had visited the place, which only served to make him happier. Hopefully when the time came to announce the grand reopening there would be very few, if any, shocked faces among the crowd. From what I understand, Cercelee herself with undertake the historian position of the pack. She has been here from the beginning, so it makes a lot of sense to me that she would decide what should be remembered and what is best forgotten. The grey male smiled warmly. He enjoyed being the Ambassador for the pack and for all that he had been the historian of his Old Country pack, he knew little of Dahlia. Unless everyone wanted an account of his love for Mew, Cercelee was the better choice by far.
Her next question threw him slightly. He had imagined that since she chose her Optime form she would be intrigued by the ways of humans. It was refreshing that she wasn't, because it meant that he could explain the things that made him giddy. It's something humans used to reach high places. It has these two vertical legs and then five or six horizontal steps. You climb on it if you want to get somewhere you normally can't. I can show you one when I find it! He could feel himself bursting with childish enthusiasm, because for once he could enlighten another in Dahlia.
It didn't come as much of a surprise, following her ladder question, that she could not read. It was not a skill many chose to waste time on, especially warriors. Lubomir had never enjoyed fighting, for all his monster bathed in blood and gore, so books were his escape from the evils of the world. He could not judge Cwmfen, not really. Cercelee herself could not read, so who was he to say what each and every wolf could do? Her mention of Mew brought a shy smile to his face. He enjoyed listening to his mate play and indeed he found it so relaxing he could lull himself to sleep. Even now he could picture her body leaning against a wall, her hands deftly strumming the strings of the guitar. A beautiful, other-worldly, ethereal. A slice of heaven on earth. She is perhaps the best musician I have ever met. When I open the library, perhaps I will read stories to those in our pack who enjoy this but do not wish to learn. You will most definitely be invited and if you decide to learn, I will be there to teach you.
He listened carefully as she explained her marks and he gazed even more upon them. The Old Country did not have such a thing, so his fascination was understandable. He almost wished he and his mother had had such a personal relationship. After he and Frigg had left the pack, there had been no contact with his parents. Perhaps they were dead by now. It nearly pained Lubomir to think of them, even if their faces had faded into memory a long time ago. He could hardly remember the pack, let alone the members. They are very unique, I must say. I travelled a bit in Europe, before I came here and I don't think I have ever encountered anything of the sort. I trust you are not European, then? To Lubomir, talk of heritage was remarkably interesting. He could feel himself growing giddy with excitement at the prospect of learning something new about the warrior.
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