rising the flag on the masthead
#1
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It had been some time since Marishka had wandered to the Shattered Coast. Perhaps it was the fear that he would find her there, rise from the grave and pursue her over leagues of ocean just to haunt her once more. The man that she would never name, the only father figure she would ever know, her дорогого отца. She spit on the rocky shore at the mere thought of him, fingering the hilt of her dagger with trembling hands as she looked out over the calm waters with her unusual lilac eyes.

Most things about Marishka were unusual; her many toned golden auburn fur and long mahogany hair, the fact that she wore clothes - a tank top and shorts - the dagger upon her slender hip and necklace sporting its one small bone. The native Russian had found refuge in these new lands, remaining a recluse from the time she had first arrived, doing her extreme best to avoid those living around her.

The Russian girl was getting sloppy now though, starting to crave contact with another, whether it be just the sight of them or the sound of a voice. So she now traveled back to where she had swam to shore some seven months ago, where she had met another, albeit briefly. He had spoken her native tongue and it had put her on guard, maybe he had known the man she would not name? Maybe he had been a past customer? She couldn't remember but as the months went by without any sign of her past traumas she was beginning to doubt it.

So with her worries slowly fading away she had went on the hunt this day, closer to the claimed territories then she would normally travel. It had been a spring hare, unsuspecting as it was cleaning out its burrow for the coming summer to the dangers about it. Two swift strikes with her knife and its life was easily ended, in mere moments it was artfully skinned and she had brought it to the shore so she might start a fire and cook it. As it heated over the small blaze though Marishka wandered close by along the waters edge, the flames to warm to stay by during this calm and cloudless afternoon.

It was only then that she noticed blood spattered her top, she had been less careful with her skinning then she had first thought, distracted by passing thoughts of the man she could not name, even the masked man made an appearance in her mind. Sighing she reluctantly pulled her top off and crouched before the water, scrubbing it in the sand beneath the surface, singing a soft tune under her breath. Рост флаг на мачты, паруса и канаты крепко держа, артиллеристы хотят стрелять, хорошо подготовлены к борьбе. Борьба, бежать или сдаваться, поражение вы не можете отрицать, лучше отказаться в первую очередь, или утопить в мгновение ока.


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#2
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371

Rurik had come just a little a way northward from Cour des Miracles to this rocky beach here. He enjoyed this area quite a lot, however, and the silver-shaded werewolf was wont to return to areas he enjoyed, of course. Anywhere there was a beach and an ocean was good by him, though—perhaps that was why he had chosen the pack he had chosen, for their fantastic cliffs and magnificent views. There was nothing quite like it, Rurik reasoned, and he was often doubly glad he had returned to this general area to find this new place. It was not so different from the old, but the landscape seemed more vibrant and more alive. Perhaps it was due to the greater area of coastline—the monochrome wolf was, after all, a seafarer.

The silver-shaded werewolf was rather plucky as he darted here and there between the rocky outcroppings that dotted this coast. He did not know them so well as he knew Sobirat'sya, true, but he had grown accustomed to this area, and he was quite bold as he scrambled up the side of a rock, standing for a moment and peering out over the ocean nearby, always looking to the sea. The smell of blood caught his attention, and he wandered inland some distance, away from the ocean. He enjoyed the scenery here, as well—the forest was generally thin enough to see the ocean in the shallower parts, and he could hear it long after it had disappeared from view. Wandering amongst the trees, vague words came to his ears, and he recognized them for what they were after a moment—his native tongue?


He did not recognize to voice, and so the Marquis meandered forward still, coming across a bent and working figure after some time. Her fur was coppery and cinnamon in color, and after a moment, recognition dawned on him—he had met her some months ago, nearby to this very spot. They had not seen one another since, and though their prior meeting hadn't gone so well as he had hoped, the silver-shaded werewolf prepared his smile, always willing to try again. Stopping some distance from her, he cleared his throat and called out: Здравствуйте еще раз. Можем ли мы начать все сначала?


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#3
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Marishka, lost in her thoughts, let her lilac gaze skim the oceans surface with an appreciative gleam. She felt as if she had been born of the ocean. Ever since her first experience of it when she had set sail to these new lands eight months before, blending into the life of a pirate with ease and life at sea as well. Now she could only admire it and occasionally dive into its silken embrace. She so craved for the feel of sea spray upon her face and the creak of damp, sturdy wood beneath her feet, feet which were well attuned to the ebb and flow of the untamed waters.

Finally deeming the top clean enough she rinsed it of the sand and pulled it out to ring it dry, it was then that a voice - of her own native tongue - disturbed her task. Her first thought, a thought that constantly lingered in the back of her mind, was that he had risen from his grave and come back for her. Hands trembling she turned swiftly, mahogany hair cascading around her shoulders as she tore her dagger from its sheath and held it facing downward, other hand held out defensively in a fighting stance. She calmed instantly when she realized it was not the man that she feared most but a stranger she had met some time ago at this very place when she had first came to this new land, a stranger whom was standing a fair distance away in what seemed to be anticipation of this very thing.

Dropping her knife it embedded itself into the sand and she relaxed her arms with a shrug and apologetic smile. Рефлекс,” she explained dismissively, her voice a little shaky. It was only then that she noticed the soft, plush auburn fur of her breasts was exposed and she twirled just as quickly back around as she had before, body rigid. Slowly she bent down at the waist and picked up her discarded garment, ringing it out once more and pulling it over her head, settling it into place before turning back to face the older, cobalt man.

Shading her lilac eyes with long, full lashes she offered him her best smile and knelt down to retrieve her dagger, picking it up carefully and cleaning it thoroughly of debris. Мы должны положить конец заседания, как это. She said with a throaty, alluring chuckle while placing the dagger back in its sheath with ease. Я надеюсь, что мы можем начать все сначала, что это. With that said she rose back to her feet, brushing the sand from her fur before walking with a slow, casual sway towards him.


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#4
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301.

The sea was like another mother to Rurik. It had carried him where he needed to go and cared for him—there were both long and lonely months spent sailing by himself, and happier ones, spent sailing with his family or good friends. Either way, it mattered little—the sea was just that, and it would always be the same. The silver-shaded werewolf knew this—there was no chance for change in the ocean.


The silver-shaded werewolf's gentle greeting did nothing to calm the woman, and she whirled on him with all the ferocity he had expected. He shrank back slightly, taking a step or two away from her. Rurik was not afraid—fear was a rather foreign emotion to the calm, large werewolf—but he wished to give her space nonetheless. After a moment, however, she seemed to calm down somewhat, and dropped the dagger to the earth. It fell into the sand where it stuck, and Rurik offered her his palms and a smile to show he was unarmed, glad that he had left his sword back in the house today.


“Не беспокойтесь.” he said, the tip of his tail wagging slowly in the air behind him. His pale eyes watched her as she stooped to pick up the garmet, watching the curves of her body. There was something oddly familiar about her to the silver-shaded werewolf, though he could not place what it was exactly. Had they met before, in Sobirat'sya? “Может быть. Очень приятно здесь, однако. Океана, деревья ...” the werewolf started, trailing off as she padded closer to him, speaking once more. “Oh?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. A sly grin slid across his face, and he squared his shoulders, straightening up. “Что вы имеете в виду?” he asked. Of course, he was plucky; when it came to women, Rurik was generally not one to give in to nervousness.


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#5
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Was sitting here eating sushi when I decided to reply to this and when I saw your avatar soy sauce almost shot out of my nose ahahaha love it.


“Не беспокойтесь.” Marishka flashed him an even brighter smile, ears swaying hypnotically to take in every syllable of what the man said. It was a nice place here, the sun warming her and reflecting off of the blue of Davy Jones, the fresh salty breeze titillating to her senses. She slowed in her approach as she neared, dropping her gaze with a few flourished blinks of her lashes as he spoke again, a grin stealing the age from his face and restoring the youth around his searching, luminous blue eyes of which she admired for a moment before tilting her head with an amused smile.

Marishka had many things in mind at that moment, the most prominent of them being toying with him for as long as she could get away with it. Of course in her mind it was all harmless fun for now, for in fact she actually liked this older, seemingly kind and handsome man. He seemed to understand her guarded demeanor and did not take any of her previous brash actions to heart.

Знание вашего названия понравилось бы мне очень, she began, slowly closing the distance between them to lightly trace a hand over the scars across his chest, looking up into face, a burning deep within her lilac eyes before they brightened with a smile. Мы могли поправиться познакомленные у огня. She said, motioning towards the small flickering of flames and roasting rabbit above it with a light gesture of her head, her mahogany hair trailing back and forth over her petite shoulders with the motion.

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#6
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kjdgksjgkjsd delay D;

More than anything else, Rurik was a patient and kindly man, and he was willing to wait for this canine to become comfortable with him. Though their last meeting had not gone nearly as well as he had planned, the silver-shaded hybrid had high hopes for this one; it was already going quite well, in his eyes. She was quite pretty—her caramel-colored fur and russet-shaded hair contrasted quite well with her violet-colored eyes, and her body was the picture of youth in its prime. Rurik was aging, of course—at nearly eight years old he would be lucky to catch something as fine as this. “Rurik Russo. А тебя? Неужели у тебя красивое имя чтобы они соответствовали вашим красивым лицом,” he said, smiling earnestly. If there was one thing all women seemed to enjoy, it was compliments—and Rurik was not short on them.


She invited him to sit by her fire, and he took this as a good sign, and nodded his head. “Это звучит как хорошая идея,” the man said. He wanted to compliment on the rabbit, but he did not know if she was planning on sharing this; food could sometimes be harder to come by, and he did not wish to impede on her resources. She did not carry a pack's scent, and so Rurik figured she fended for herself. “Вы выглядите как вы бы оценили этот материал,” he said as he settled down on the grass next to the fire, close enough to feel the heat of it on his legs. He pulled his flask from its normal place along his belt and offered it to the lady first. “Сильный,” he warned. He remembered what had happened to Orin quite recently; he did not wish to inflict such a thing on any more unsuspecting canines.


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#7
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No prob ♥


Marishka was surprised at how comfortable she was growing in the presences of this older stranger, she had never felt at ease around others this easily and her boundaries were dropping way to quickly for her own liking. Normally her open and flirtatious demeanor was all an act, but now? She wasn't quite sure. Pushing back her nervous, untrusting tendencies for a mask of easy going flirtation she chuckled with a smile at Rurik's sappy compliment. это Marishka, рад встречать Вас, Rurik Russo, she purred in reply, rolling her r's in the practiced manner of her native tongue.

She moved beside him towards the small fire she had created and the rabbit slowly roasting above it, glancing side long at the man known as Rurik Russo with a regnant interest. Who was this man beside his obvious traits? He spoke her native tongue, was clearly a wanderer—renegade of sorts—at one point or another. Had she met him before when she was still trapped in the clutches of the man she would not name. She desperately hoped not.

Settling herself down beside him on her knees, the heat of the flames just reaching the top of her thighs, she leaned forward and removed the rabbit from the fire as he spoke. The skin had grown crisp and the meat still remained tender and almost raw, heated nicely she placed it on a flat rock beside the embers. Rurik had produced a flask and she let her eyes drift from the metallic decanter to his pale blue eyes with a smirk.

Как молоко матерей,” she said as she took the flask from him, letting her fingers trail against his before holding it before her. Приветствия!” She said before taking a swig of the flasks contents, wrinkling her nose as the strong alcohol bathed her tongue and trickled down her throat before returning it to him. Closing her eyes she enjoyed the tingling warmth for a moment, trying to think of how long it had been since she had last enjoyed its biting release.

With a soft sigh she looked down to the rabbit, the heat rising from it fast dissipating. Хотели бы Вы некоторых?” She asked, taking it by a leg to start pulling it apart, trying to concentrate more on the task then looking over Rurik's silver coated form.

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#8
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DEEEEEEEERP slow

The ash-dusted male was glad that this meeting was going so well—their previous meeting had not gone to his liking, and the silver-shaded man certainly reciprocated her pleasure. “И ты! Я рад этой встрече, кажется, идет хорошо.” He lifted his hands toward the fire for a moment to warm them, though it was not exceptionally cold. Perhaps this was just habitual with fire; after a moment he dropped them back down to his thighs, resting them over his pants. “Ах, да,” he said the sable tip of his tail wagging softly. “И вы тоже,” he said, genuinely glad of this. Their last meeting had gone so poorly; this one was worlds better already. The woman took the flask from him readily and drank from it, and the werewolf grinned and laughed at her comment. “Да, кажется, бутылки, что действительно поднимает нас,” the Russian said, rolling his shoulders in a happy shrug. He certainly didn't mind; he'd been drinking as long as he could remember, ever since those long summers on the islands with his brothers. “Конечно. Она выглядит как прекрасная еда.” Rurik wasn't exaggerating in the slightest; while he knew his way around a cooking fire, he was no Thorn, and he missed his brother's wonderful touch with food.


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