what about the place that we call home?

Marika Russo · 05-19-2010, 11:19 AM

[html]

Rurik! 500+

She had left and now she was coming back. Gone on the wind of war, with the bodies of the fallen to guide her. Marika didn't want war. She didn't want death and violence to follow her. She had had more than enough of it with her mother going crazy and it had scarred her as a child. This was not why she had taken a boat across the ocean. So in the night she had simply packed her things and moved on, like a ghost. Like the traveller's blood she carried in her veins. Unfortunately, there were no boats crossing. The weather was too bad at sea, the other wolves had said. They wouldn't risk a crossing and she had no one to convince. No one listened. So now she was back, like a ghost. She smiled to herself. She hadn't even had time to talk to her grandfather or uncle, no time to see the family she craved so badly.

Cour de Miracles was much as she had left it, or so it seemed. Their King was gone and she couldn't help but wonder whether this would change everything. Whether in a few weeks they would all find themselves homeless. The belt on her waist jingled slightly and she touched the familiar coins to reassure herself. That had been home, in the Carpathian Mountains, with the travelling wolves there. They had accepted her, as had this pack and Vigilante not so long ago. But now she wanted to make amends, to prove that she was not fickle, but reliable and worth keeping around. The scent of her grandfather was strong in these parts and she wanted him to see her first. She wanted him to be the one to help her come back. In a sense, it had all started with Vigilante letting her back in. But the reason she had not moved on to her usual abode was her grandfather. While it felt good to be a part of the pack again, Marika knew she would be unable to sleep until she got a chance to talk to her grandfather.

Rurik. The man's name spoke of history and stories she had not yet heard. She wanted to be a part of something again, to share with them her stories and her experiences. But first, she needed to share them with her grandfather, the reason she had travelled here to begin with. Grandfather? she called out softly. Oh, how much of a child she was. She berated herself for being such a baby. It's me, Marika. I want us to talk. I've... come back. It felt foolish not to know if he was even in or not, but she wanted to take that chance. She wanted to tell him how she missed him, how much he meant to her. And, in all fairness, his love of alcohol could not go amiss, so she could always teach him a thing or two. Marika looked forward to that. Twirling a strand of hair around her fingers, she waited for the man to emerge. Or indeed for anyone to come and find her.

Rurik Russo · 05-20-2010, 06:13 AM

[html]

529

Perhaps some of the old free spirit in Rurik had died. It was never meant to wither; the silver-shaded man was supposed to have been the plucky explorer, wandering the wide and wild world. Things had gone terribly wrong five years ago—he had made a terrible mistake, and he had lost his Kiska and his older sons, all for mere jealousy. Something had changed in him, then, and broken-hearted and wary of love, he had proceeded to leave behind him a long and twisted line of broken hearts. He had been close to Phasma, terribly close—rather than plunge into a life with her, he had uprooted abruptly, taking back to the sea and heading home, too frightened to carry on there. He could have loved Verusha, or at least pretended to, for the sake of their children, but he had never forced himself to. Those were his two biggest victims—however many smaller ones he had left behind as well, he did not know.

It was rare for Rurik to contemplate such things; generally he kept his mind focused and forward on the present, as was the case today. The silver-shaded werewolf sat on the front stoop of his house, his back against the doorframe. The front door was wide open the living room, and the silvery werewolf stretched out across the porch, languidly sipping at his flask. It was hot and dry for the first time in a while—storms and bad weather had plagued the first half of April, and the ashen-hued male was enjoying the good sunshine. Soon enough he would complain of the head of summer, but for now the cool of spring was just right. Rurik was a cold-weather wolf, and even these mild summers here were almost unbearable for him.

The sound of his name immediately drew attention, of course—he sat up and peered up the street. Rurik wasn't yet tipsy—he had just settled out here a little under twenty minutes ago, and he hadn't gotten to the serious drinking yet. He set the flask down and watched the figure approaching, recognizing her after a moment. They had barely the time to meet before she had been whisked away again—their prior meeting was merely a discovery of sorts, quick introductions, followed by a good-bye. He brightened visibly upon seeing her now, however, and stood. “Marika! Zhis is so good,” the werewolf said, his tail wagging. “I am so glad you come back so quick,” the man said, extending his arms wide. It was her choice to accept the hug, of course, but he had been separated long enough from this woman's father and her.

Here she was, all grown up—clearly an adult, and yet she was a complete stranger to him. The silver-furred werewolf nodded quickly. “Come, ve veill talk,” the man said, waving his arm wide to indicate she was free to roam where she wanted, inside or outside of the house where he lived and find a spot most comfortable to her. They had so much to discuss—Rurik was not sure where to begin, and so he would allow Marika to lead the way.

Marika Russo · 06-06-2010, 02:42 PM

[html]

I'm still getting used to the whole Russian accent thing, can we say their whole conversation is in Russian? :3 Also, delay of uber fail. 300+

Her grandfather had always been an idea in her head. The girl certainly never expected to meet him or be in any position where she could talk to him. In her head, she had always imagined them meeting in awkward circumstances, the ways in which they could come to terms with their pasts. Marika missed her father, but it was his blood which now connected her to Rurik. Their first meeting had been short and somewhat bittersweet. Just hellos, awkward, clipped, as if they were children. And then her departure, like a whirlwind, like a hurricane across the seas. She couldn't say what impact that had had on the man, but he was willing to talk to her and that was enough for now.

The blood of travellers was in their veins. She sat down on his porch and smoothed out the skirt. The coins jingled slightly and her fingers quickly stopped their motion. She missed her old pack. Marika had been truly free then, to live her life in ways her mother had prevented. She had been able to learn how to play the panpipes, how to dress appropriately and how to love without restraints. Her hunger for her family had eventually driven her away, but through sheer luck of the gods, she had made it. She had found Rurik. How have you been, Grandfather? Her feet swung off the porch and she watched her toes make slow circles in the air.

I think I want this to be my home now. There is not a lot left for me there, she added, her hand sweeping towards the sea. Towards Europe. In truth, if she ever went back, it would to the Carpathians and the wolves who lived there. I wanted to find you and now I have, I don't even know what to tell you. A slow smile crept across her face. What do you want to know about me?

Rurik Russo · 06-15-2010, 08:05 AM

[html]

http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/erin_rurikban.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">

O yes! I mostly just wing it. >__> And slowsie is slow. D;

Of anyone, Rurik could understand the need to wander, and he did not hold it against Marika for wishing to depart. The war had made him nervous, as well, especially considering that Silas was Inferni. But it had passed; aggression no longer coated the wind, and the coppery scent of blood no longer tinged the air. He smiled at her question, and settled to the porch as well, offering her the flask from which he had been drinking. “Much better, actually. The war is over. Silas came to me and to tell me this,” he explained. “Now, I don't have to worry about my son anymore,” he said, clearly relieved at this prospect.

When she told him she wished to remain in the Miracles pack, he could have leapt for joy. Rurik wanted nothing more than to forge a relationship with this unknown branch of his family—he had never been close with his sons, and maybe he could make up for some of that to his sons' children. “I am so glad you have decided to stay,” he said, reaching out to clasp her hand for a moment. “Your family is in Russia, but it is here, too.” Sobirat'sya was her ancestral home, but she held only her spoken tongue in connection to it—maybe she had never seen it. “Anything! Everything! Where were your born? Do you know where your father is? What is your life like? What do you like?” he said, laughing and rapid-firing questions at her in Russian. “What do you want to know about me?” he asked in return.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?