Rurik is like blah blah blah.
City life was fine for some, but not for Rurik—he liked being around his family well enough, but too long there and it even started to grate his nerves. Perhaps it was simply because he had never had his own place—every time he returned to Sobriat'sya, he simply stayed in his childhood room, rather similar to the way he'd left it. His mother and father always happily housed him. Perhaps if he were to secure his own living quarters in the Sobirat'sya compound, he would do better. The silver-shaded man watched as the golden-hued woman took the flask, appreciative that she did not sputter at the sharp taste. “So you dreenk,” he commented, taking back the small thing and tilting it toward her, having a sip of the tipple himself. He liked that in a lady, of course. He set the thing back down between them and listened, tilting his head to the side at her comment. “Family always drag you back, I zheenk,” the silver-furred werewolf said. “Well. I come here with my two young kids, Silas and Liliy. Anatoliy come later. I want them to learn about life over here, experience this place—plus, I look for my older sons, Zaets, Zorish, and Vladimir. I lose them when I vos younger, when Aremys and Syemv vos around,” the werewolf explained. He wasn't doing so for the sake of sharing his sad tale—he figured the wider number of people who heard his desire to find his children, the better his chances were of finding them. “I am a roamer, too,” he added, smiling. “I like to see lots of places, but some are worth coming back to,” the Marquis explained.
<style type="text/css">
.rurik-bottledrage b{font-weight:bold; color:#BC2B26; letter-spacing:1px; font-family:trebuchet ms, sans-serif; font-size:13px;}
.rurik-bottledrage em {color:#770501;font-weight:bold; letter-spacing:1px; font-family:trebuchet ms, sans-serif; font-size:13px; font-style:normal;}
.rurik-bottledrage p{text-indent:35px; padding:0px 15px 15px 15px; margin:0px;}
</style>
[/html]