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the days they come but the years they go.
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[html] wc 318
no, I love sie! 
Kansas had never met anyone who drank with such an innocent composure. Well, he hadn't been in the presence of many drinking wolves at all. So he had little to base a judgment upon. But from the little experience he had managed to obtain in his short life, he always thought of sex and violence when he thought of alcohol. Yet Rurik brought neither of these things to mind as he put the bottle to his lips. His voice as well as every other aspect of his demeanor spoke of cheer and friendly generosity. Kansas felt nothing else. It was just wonderful.
"We are," Kansas conceded, grinning in the most genuine way since he'd entered the little nook. He liked how the other considered them neighbors in such a light manner. The younger wolf folded his snowy arms across his chest in preparation to hear something most interesting, his chin poised to one side as he listened to the answer of his question. Turquoise eyes widened in wonder as the man described the Motherland, a phrase Kansas recognized from its mention in a book he had read at some point; he didn't take the time to think over which. "Sounds... exciting," he said, smiling, obviously trying to appease. Free-flowing liquor and strong women were not things Kansas had ever valued, and he knew nothing about them. But the difference of origin interested the bookworm very, very much indeed, and he fully enjoyed the information his companion shared. Taking the bottle and drinking once more, Kansas noticed that the disgusting taste of the alcohol was not bothering him so much as he got tipsier. "Yeah, I'm from around here. I was part of a pack called Storm — it no longer exists, though. It wasn't far from here." He hadn't needed to speak of his birthplace for so long. It was nice, to reminisce. "Russia seems so exotic to me."
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