11-13-2009, 06:03 PM
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S'okay 
Her smile soon faded as a chill began to creep down her spine and settle deep within her. She would have to build a fire and dry off soon or a sickness would settle itself inside her. Though while she thought this small piece of wisdom an all to familiar smell floated past her followed by a similarly familiar accent. Scolding herself for not being more vigilant of these unfamiliar surroundings Marishka turned suddenly, flipping her mahogany hair around so it trailed over her muzzle as she crouched, the Russian girl pulling out her dagger in one fluid, practiced motion as the beginnings of a snarl sharpened her youthful features.
Never fond of being caught off guard or by surprise the tawny-golden girl had quite a blunt approach to these kinds of situations; attack first, ask questions later. Though seeing as she had not been offered violence and only her pride had been hurt she lowered her weapon and offered the stranger only the sharp edge of her lavender gaze instead. The sickly sweet smell of marijuana clung to him as smoke drifted up from the joint between his fingers, causing her to inhale so she could savor the feel of it at the back of her throat. She was no stranger to its effects or smell for she had been among a crew who favored it morning, noon and night. Marishka then let her gaze flick from his face, downward then back up again, taking him all in in a casual manner, appreciative of his rugged appearance; the scars across his chest, the tattoos and piercings as well. She had been among a crew of pirates who liked to similarly adorn themselves and she had come to find the look almost natural to her. His messy black hair, gray toned fur and light blue eyes suited him well, as well as the rugged pair of jeans he wore to cover himself, which she appreciated greatly.
By the end of her long and appreciative look a small smile had wormed its way onto her lips and she had straightened her posture, displaying her chest to its best advantage as well as her hips beneath the clinging cloth of her top and tight shorts, her tail swaying in one slow motion behind her. “Tell me your business here, if not sneaking up on girls,” she said in her heavily accented and broken English, the chill she had been experiencing forgotten for now in her attempt to get what she wished from this man, an art she knew all to well about, her hand going up so she could rub the finger bone she wore around her neck with her thumb. An old and impulsive movement, a tender caress of her horror filled past.
Her smile soon faded as a chill began to creep down her spine and settle deep within her. She would have to build a fire and dry off soon or a sickness would settle itself inside her. Though while she thought this small piece of wisdom an all to familiar smell floated past her followed by a similarly familiar accent. Scolding herself for not being more vigilant of these unfamiliar surroundings Marishka turned suddenly, flipping her mahogany hair around so it trailed over her muzzle as she crouched, the Russian girl pulling out her dagger in one fluid, practiced motion as the beginnings of a snarl sharpened her youthful features.
Never fond of being caught off guard or by surprise the tawny-golden girl had quite a blunt approach to these kinds of situations; attack first, ask questions later. Though seeing as she had not been offered violence and only her pride had been hurt she lowered her weapon and offered the stranger only the sharp edge of her lavender gaze instead. The sickly sweet smell of marijuana clung to him as smoke drifted up from the joint between his fingers, causing her to inhale so she could savor the feel of it at the back of her throat. She was no stranger to its effects or smell for she had been among a crew who favored it morning, noon and night. Marishka then let her gaze flick from his face, downward then back up again, taking him all in in a casual manner, appreciative of his rugged appearance; the scars across his chest, the tattoos and piercings as well. She had been among a crew of pirates who liked to similarly adorn themselves and she had come to find the look almost natural to her. His messy black hair, gray toned fur and light blue eyes suited him well, as well as the rugged pair of jeans he wore to cover himself, which she appreciated greatly.
By the end of her long and appreciative look a small smile had wormed its way onto her lips and she had straightened her posture, displaying her chest to its best advantage as well as her hips beneath the clinging cloth of her top and tight shorts, her tail swaying in one slow motion behind her. “Tell me your business here, if not sneaking up on girls,” she said in her heavily accented and broken English, the chill she had been experiencing forgotten for now in her attempt to get what she wished from this man, an art she knew all to well about, her hand going up so she could rub the finger bone she wore around her neck with her thumb. An old and impulsive movement, a tender caress of her horror filled past.