10-17-2009, 03:43 AM
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| http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_tropic.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:230px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:25px;"> XTREME SLOWNESS D: & I cannot WAIT for that next thread. XD The deed done, the Russian wolf reclined a little away from her, quite content to stay and bask in the afterglow. It was a strange and wild thing to have her as he had, four-legged—not quite his favorite bedroom act, but one he had enjoyed and would happily repeat. He listened to her breathing, still coming in ragged as his own, and smiled, wanting to be closer to her. As he sidled a little closer, he felt her body almost stiffen, muttered words whispered beyond his hearing. Confused, the Russian retreated as she sat straight up, an obviously torn look on her face. His own expression immediately changed as she backed away from him, and he could not help but look hurt. There was a brief touch, simple words, and in a flash she was gone, leaving the four-legged, confused Rurik staring after her. There was a brief pause and he thought to chase her, but by the time he had reached the beach, she was already an irony-gray blur on the horizon, the strangest dash of gold running by her side. The wolf stared after her for some minutes, absolutely devastated and uncertain what he should do. Twice, he almost started after her, circling back around to stand in the same spot staring at the place where he'd last seen her, just before she'd disappeared from sight. Whining to himself, the Russian again dove back into the icy water, its frigid temperature driving whatever was left of their pleasant feelings together from his mind and body. Once inside, he shifted back to his two-legged form, now tired and hurt enough to simply want to sleep where and how he was, but he had his children to return to now. He reattached his various adornments and once more plunged into the salty water, emerging in a far worse mood than he'd been in some time. Sighing heavily, the silvery wolf began the trot back to the city, ruminating over these events. Why was she sorry? Did she regret it? Did he do something wrong? Had he been bad for her? The wolf whined softly again, muttering to himself something in Russian about loony ladies, and put his head down, still rather disheartened. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry at her, though he knew he should—she had dashed off so quickly! But she had to have a good reason, and the Russian was pretty damn sure he was the root of that good reason. Kicking himself, he trudged onward, his fingers finding the flask at his side, draining the remaining half in two long slurps, allowing the alcohol to numb him once more. |