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Rurik Russo · 01-11-2010, 07:13 AM

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Archive whenever you read this. Word Count: 506

Rurik was fascinated by the notion of plants having entirely different sexes; the silver-furred werewolf boggled at this idea. He tried to imagine what it was like for a plant to have a dick—and he almost snorted aloud with laughter at that thought. It was impossible to picture plants with anything like canine genitalia; the silver-furred werewolf's loopy-high mind was simply trying to conjure the impossible. Rurik was also totally useless with the names of these plants—a tree was a tree was a tree to Rurik, and there was no differentiating by name. Tilting his head to the side, the Russian wondered at this—they had both parts? Such a concept was foreign and almost gross to the Russian, who wrinkled this nose at this.

In describing the brewing processes of samogon, Rurik had forgotten one vital thing: he was no longer in Russia. Things like milk and sugar were exceptionally difficult to find in these parts; whatever milk that was leftover from humans had spoiled rotten and dried to dust years ago, and it was highly unlikely sugar was still viable after so many years. The werewolf had not considered that these things would be extremely had for Anselm to find, but he continued to babble about it happily until he'd come to the conclusion, interjecting one final piece of advice as he pulled out a tiny bottle of what appeared to be human-salvaged stuff. He set this on the table. "This is yeast—throw a few pinches in before you let it ferment. You can grow this stuff, too. I think, anyway," the werewolf admitted with a laugh.

"Aye, this would be the best we can hope for," he said in response to the Infernian's suggestion of experimentation. They would both do their best despite having little foreknowledge of the tasks they were undertaking—though the silver-furred werewolf was certainly appreciative of this meeting. They'd traded in far more ways than one—a swap of knowledge, a swap of product, a swap of friendship. The other canine continued speaking for a moment, his next statement eliciting an outright guffaw from the silvery Russian. "The plants have balls?" he repeated, still chuckling beneath his breath and shaking his head from side to side, disbelief on his face were it not for the myriad of useful stuff Anselm had already provided him with.

"No worries, my friend. I'll kill the ones with balls," he said, still snorting under his breath at this thought. "Thank you," he added brightly as an afterthought. Anselm's suggestion seemed most doable to Rurik, and he grinned broadly, and nodded, packing a little bit more of the bud into the pipe. He took his first hit as was custom—not thinking, for the moment, that perhaps Anselm's customs were different—and passed the thing back over to Anselm, reclining on the couch, quite happy with this meeting here today. It had proven most useful, and he'd met Gabriel's cousin and befriended another of the Inferni clan. A good day, indeed.

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