[html] http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_top.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:200px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:10px;">  Halifax.
The grayscale wolf had spent much of the day exploring these new territories, passing by the closest packs for the moment to explore the wild forest The closest was lovely and lush, and the Russian wolf had greatly enjoyed walking alone in the wilderness. The afternoon sun shone rather brightly down on the sky, though the thick tree growth made the forest rather shadowy and silent. The loner did not find it the least bit unsettling as some might, however, and he hummed as he walked, some pirate tune he'd picked up in a port town years earlier. He could only recall some of the words, so he sang what he knew and hummed the rest, peering around as he walked. There was a young deer slung over the Russian's shoulders, its legs danglings obscenely next to his head. A neat, deep gash in the creature's told the story of its death, cut down by Ilya.
The smells of other canines were all around him, and he figured this must be something like the heart of the whole territory, or at least a part many passed through. He had spent most of the day meandering about, and a smaller part of it hunting down the creature that would now serve as dinner for the Russian and his family. He came across an overgrown dirt rode, and he followed it until he came to the cracked asphalt of a real street, wandering along the city streets until he came to a place he recognized, turning to follow that particular path home. The scent of his children grew stronger as he walked, though the song still had not died in his throat.
Upon arriving back at the tiny place they'd staked out for themselves, Rurik laid the corpse out on the weatherworn block table with its belly facing him, then turned back to the boat. The area was quiet, but it was still several hours to sundown and Rurik knew both Liliya and Silas could handle themselves after dark, so he did not worry when they did not come to greet him. Perhaps they were out; that made this surprise even better. They would come home to a nice dinner. It had been some time since they'd had real meat, and he was certain his children would appreciate it. The silvery canine retrieved a set of knives, setting to work on the corpse. Rurik was no butcher, but he managed to carve the animal's hide almost completely off, throwing it to the side so that he might cure and stretch it later. One could never have enough fur; they made for a good trade and point of conversation should he encounter someone unfamiliar with the process.
This was many of the skills Rurik possessed which were considered basic and common knowledge in the old world; the only creatures that did not know how to skin an animal and derive useful items from its clothes were scholars, and their talents lay mostly in the mind anyway. The same went for obtaining steaks and other good parts of the animal, though that was generally instinctual anyway. Rurik's cuts to the meat were jagged and hardly professional, but he managed to carve most of it from the bones, creating a rather large pile of still-meaty bones they could chew on later.
The silvery wolf set about making a fire, occasionally humming now and again as he worked, though he was mostly silent. These were the mechanical motions he'd learned with Verusha, the happiness in monotony that family had taught him. There would always be dinner to prepare for his children, so long as they had Rurik to care for them. Smiling, the large wolf leaned over the large skillet, feeding the larger chunks of meat into it. The rest he would save and turn into jerky, but he had to cook this for the next few days before he did that. Making jerky was an arduous process, but Rurik would be glad for it during the winter months when game grew slimmer. Smoke bubbled from the fire, the spicy scent of cooking meat wafting into the city air.
|
[/html]
[html]
It took Gabriel several hours to get to the city if he traveled straight through. Inferni was a good deal away from Halifax, mostly because there was little need for them to live near such a place. Only the wolves seemed entirely too interested in the city, and it drew them inexplicably towards its heart. Had they taken up residence near that would-be polestar, it would have been the death of them. Still, the city was useful in its own ways. Though Gabriel did not require the additional things in the constructed walls, they proved useful distractions.
Even though he did not prefer the form he was currently in, it had its uses. With hands, he could manipulate doors and break windows when needed. Luckily, a previous expedition had taken care of that. A worn bag was looped over his shoulder, and in it he had compiled materials he needed—paper that had been spared, brushes, and paint. The hybrid had finished up at the art-supply store after an hour, and then taken a detour into a small maintenance store. With the spray-paint in hand, he had then gone about marking the city as he had before. The Lykoi’s chaos star was an image that did not take long to illustrate, but lack of recent practice had made his hands unused to the behavior of the paint. This one was sloppy, and it bothered him. For the next half hour he worked with black, and all too soon the mechanical behavior became inspired. Several broad sweeps took the simple marking and turned it into a blazing statement, one that had not been done since the last teenagers had died in their own foolishness.
Both cans, not yet unspent, were put back into his satchel. Though he was pleased with the work, red and black now stained his fingers, and the stench was all around him. Gabriel left his still wet masterpiece behind him and headed down another street, absentmindedly scouting for future sights to return to. Most of what he painted he did not think worthy of display, and it was an uncharacteristic display from the image he tried to present. This, at least, was simple. It was uncommon, true, but something that would not destroy the ferocity that he presented to his enemies (and likened to the rumors he was glad to hear).
Smoke wafted through the air, and with it came the scent of cooked meat. Like all carnivores, Gabriel was drawn to it instantly. He could not prevent the salivation in his mouth anymore then Pavlov’s dog could to the bell. What he found, though, was entirely unexpected. Instead of a stranger who he would attempt to con into sharing the meal (or a stranger he would take from without consequence), he found a graying man that looked nearly unchanged since they had last met. A broad and tooth grin broke across the Aquila’s face, and he didn’t hesitate to advance. “I thought we ran the last of you fucking pirates out of here,” he barked, voice twice as harsh as the laughter in his eyes.
|
[/html]
[html] | 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;">
The Russian continued on his way, cooking as he did. His thoughts were quaint and rather mute as he did, since he was so absorbed in his task. True, it was simple to stir meat on a skillet, but Rurik was immersed in its monotony. There was something very comforting in cooking here, knowing his children ought to be arriving home soon. They were probably off exploring the wonders of the city, and Rurik was quite glad to find that Lily had accompanied Silas, though he was well-aware that the younger woman had likely done so simply to keep from remaining alone here. The Russian smirked, shaking his head and still marveling that his delicate daughter would come here with him; he had fully expected both of his sons to come, Lily remaining with Verusha until they returned. It had been an unexpected turn of events to find Anatoliy wished to stay home, and Liliya wished to accompany Rurik.
For a few long minutes, the Russian was lost in contemplation of his family, his fingers almost mechanically finding the little flask at his side. There was something natural and lovely in cooking and drinking, and the silvery wolf was too happy to oblige his natural instinct to partake of the bottle. It would kill him someday, no doubt—Rurik was no stranger to alcohol-related deaths, as one of his uncles and two of his cousins had succumbed to it. The silvery wolf had only learned of their deaths upon his most recent return to Sobirat'sya, and he mourned them as he should have, though he was not particularly close with any of them. Much of Rurik's family were harsh, hard-drinking fishermen, spending their lives fishing the harsh arctic sea for all it was worth. Rurik was an abnormality among them, desirous of something beyond their simple existence and the cold Russian winters he had grown rather accustomed to.
A voice brought him out of his thoughts, and the startled wolf peered curiously into the face of the stranger—no, not a stranger! Delighted and shocked, the Russian scrambled to his feet, his jaw hanging low. "Gabriel?" he asked increduously. He hadn't been here long, he hadn't met many canines, he hadn't spoken to anyone about the old territories—but it made it no less shocking to find a familiar face. The Russian shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and immediately beckoned to the golden hybrid. "Come now, we're a bit more hardy than that," he responded after he had composed himself, matching Gabriel's grin with a far more merry version of his own. "Please sit! I am almost done with dinner," the Russian beckoned, motioning to any one of the odd assortment of chairs Rurik and his family had dragged over to surround a battered wooden table.
|
[/html]
[html]
The shock on Rurik’s face brought rolling laughter from his chest. It was an almost unnatural thing to hear from the Aquila, but his past with the Russian was a happy one. Never once had Rurik judged or expected anything from him. They had been happy companions, content to drink and smoke and throw bottles off of buildings. Brushing his hair from his face, the scarred hybrid made his way towards his older companion. “Must be all that vodka, eh? Toughens you up?”
When he was close enough, rather then simply take a seat the hybrid grabbed Rurik in a sloppy sideways hug, exposing off-white teeth in a grin. “So who did you drag along for the ride this time? Any of those sons of yours? Last one I met had a pretty decent hand for what I’ve been working on.” As he spoke, he released the gray wolf and lifted his hand, showing off the red paint that currently stained it.
|
[/html]
[html] | 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;"> The Russian's big hand clutched the stick, prodding at the meat every now and again to test its juiciness. He hadn't been cooking long, and it was done just that instant. Luperci who bothered to cook their meat generally did not require much thorough cooking; some of them just liked to wave the meat by the flame and have it just slightly warmed. "Well done" simply did not exist in the werewolf world, as they were insuceptible to the parasites or illnesses which might have befallen humans who ate wild game or even domesticated meat too rare. He pulled the skillet from the fire, again returning to the butcher-block table, flipping the meat out onto a large metal plate. Its surface was dinged and not so shiny anymore, but he had had it for most of the time he'd been traveling. He left the majority of the meat on the table, steam rising up from it, and brought back two healthy portions for Gabriel and himself on smaller, newer versions of the metal plates, traded for the last time he'd been in Bucharest.
As the wolf returned to the table, Gabriel spoke, and Rurik grinned, shrugging his big shoulders sheepishly at the mention of his drink of choice. "Could very well be! Sorry, I don't got much in the way of utensils off the boat yet," he apologized, before remembering that this area probably didn't use utensils, ever. They were growing more common in Europe, where some Luperci cooks prepared exotic foods that required them, but it was just as common to see a wolf gnawing a whole lamb's leg in a restaurant next to the one delicately licking gulyás from a spoon. He grinned at his own silliness, shrugging and setting the plate in front of Gabriel.
At the mention of his sons, the Russian stiffened, halting midway to bringing the first piece of meat to his mouth and setting it back down again. "You have seen them here, my friend?" he asked, all serious now. Taking a breath, the Russian spoke quietly. "Gabriel, I return here to find them. Mine younger children have come with me, mine daughter Liliya and mine son Silas..." he took in a breath, shaking his head. There was no need to trouble Gabriel with all of the petty details of what had happened, and anyway—if he had spoken to Zaets or Vladimir, he would know the sordid details of the childrens' upbringing anyway (Zorish was excluded since he was blind, it was unlikely he had any artistic slant). The Russian found it sad that he did not know his children well enough to identify them by a hobby as simple as drawing, and it was a painful reminder that he had failed as a parent the first time around.
|
[/html]
[html] http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/gabrieltable.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; text-align:justify;"> OMNOMNOM Gabe is a fatty.
Gabriel smiled crookedly at his companion. He had learned, mostly through Rurik and Vienna, that this part of the world was considered feral. It was true, of course. There were no humanized cities, and more then half of this world still had not been exposed to the virus. The smile faded almost instantly at the change in Rurik’s body, and Gabriel regretted bringing up the boy knowing how familiar the ache of losing a child was. “I haven’t seen either of them,” he admitted, ears falling back against his head. “Not since before the fire.”
Turning to the meat, his stomach and predatory instincts took over. Quickly, and almost desperately, the hybrid attacked the food. Half of it was gone in two bites, barely chewed, and swallowed. Even though Gabriel was by no means emaciated (this much was apparent by his build), having a meal was never a certain thing. Often he also made a point to bring half of his own meals to Mason, unwilling to let the youngest member of Inferni go hungry. One child had died while under his protection, and he would not allow that to happen again.
|
[/html]
[html] | http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_angel.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:10px; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-bottom:286px;"> OMG, I am watching a crazy show about Russians right now and it makes me want to plays a Rurik. XD
The silvery wolf nodded rather numbly, trying not to let the gloom show on his face. He might see them, yet—someday, maybe. It was his own damn fault they didn't care about him, anyway. His elder sons must have felt pretty rotten, anyway, after their father rejected them and their mother disappeared from the face of the earth. Rurik hurt over Kiska still, but this had translated to a rare, dull ache in his chest, and he did not think of her often. She would have returned to Arkhangel'sk and Sobirat'sya, she would have returned to her family—but they had not seen her, either, and they were rather upset when Rurik had showed up on his own, looking for her. Perhaps she was dead.
Gabriel ate very quickly, and Rurik, too, fell into silence, nibbling on his food and contemplating his sons' fate. They had never so much as seen the motherland, and Rurik hadn't been surprised to hear nothing of them upon his return. Smiling faintly, the Russian wolf took another bite of his meal, chewing it and thinking over what he could possibly do. He could only hope—Rurik hadn't wandered too far through these lands, and he had remained at 'Souls for the entirety of both previous stints spent on the North American continent. He wouldn't know where to begin searching for his children except for here, and that was rather disheartening.
Still, here he was with good company—there was no need to let a sour mood dampen his reunion with Gabriel. True, they didn't know each other too well, but Rurik was always game for company, and according to memory Gabriel was a friend. "I have more to spare," he said with a smile, shoving the darker thoughts from his head. "No friend of mine will leave this table without satisfaction," the wolf added. As almost an afterthought, he stood back up, moving toward a green canvas bag of sorts, hung on a nail beneath a slight overhang so the rain wouldn't soak it through and through. He rummaged for a moment, and withdrew two small wooden cups, simple and whittled from a thick branch. There was a bottle of vodka there, too, and though Rurik had been keen on keeping this Russian-brewed firewater for his own use, an opportunity to share had presented itself, and he was quite willing. "And what's a good meal without a toast?" he asked almost rhetorically as he returned, setting the cups down and pouring out a half-dose in each of the cups, capping the bottle with a twist of his wrist and a grin.
|
[/html]
[html] http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/gabrieltable.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; text-align:justify;"> Hey I need to bother you on AIM later. :O
Both of Gabriel’s children were gone, wandering somewhere out in the vastness of the continent. He hoped, as was the futile hope of all parents, that they had found each other. Ezekiel, certainly, could survive. Talitha, to her father, was still a fragile flower. While her innocence had been ripped from her (by her own uncle), she was still perfect in his eyes. Gabriel was no doubt blinded by his adoration for the girl, but she was his first and only daughter, and he had killed for her (and would again, certainly).
There was hardly any meat left by the time Rurik returned with a bottle of clear liquid. It had been a long time since he could remember drinking, but he recognized the scent as soon as it was released. The concept of a toast, however, was something archaic that had faded with time. Smiling wistfully, the hybrid focused his attention onto Rurik, though all instinct demanded he inhale the rest of his meal. “Toast, then,” he echoed. His scarred hand, which no longer held a memory, lifted the cup.
|
[/html]
[html] | http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_angel.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:10px; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-bottom:286px;"> Some of the toasts back in the motherland could grow quite long; Rurik recalled his father launching into a half-hour toast during Zharky's departure. His grandfather Vasil had an even worse tendency to do that, but Rurik preferred short and simple. He had never been that great with wording things, even in his mother language—perhaps a product of poor education or just the way Rurik's mind worked. He had a talent for aquiring languages and learning new ones, but he was eloquent in none of them. Communication was the key, though, and there were several places where Rurik would have felt quite comfortable.
Grinning, he lifted his cup, speaking in his rumbly voice. "Za fstryétchoo," he said, first in Russian. "To our meeting," he added immediately after, tipping the small cup back to down it in a single swallow. He recalled the last time he'd drank with Gabriel, and though he wouldn't mind housing the golden hybrid for a night, he hoped the liquor wouldn't hit him as strongly as it had before. Then again, thad had been years ago, and the Inferni canine had been younger then. Setting the cup down, the Russian leaned in, vodka on his breath and seriousness in his eyes. "Pardon the directness, but... you seem tense, mine friend." the leaden-furred wolf concluded, interlacing his fingers together.
|
[/html]
[html] http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/gabrieltable.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; text-align:justify;">
There was no need for a mouthy speech, as Gabriel had no need for such a thing. He was short-spoken and had no qualms with this. Eloquence was not necessary to survive; he saved haughty speech for the words of God and his followers. So Rurik’s toast suited the Aquila, who swallowed the vodka in one gulp. It was a familiar burn, one that he had not tasted in a long time. Now, older, he knew his limits and did not intend to be laid out as he had by binge drinking.
Rurik’s posture made a smile come to Gabriel’s face, mostly because it struck him as humorous. He seemed like a man seeking confession, something that Gabriel had seen in Scintilla. Of course, those confessions often ended with their POW led off to be hunted down. His commanders had no room for mercy, and Gabriel remained obedient to their whims. “I was thinking about my kids. They’ve been gone for a long time, now.” A shrug, dismissive. It was beyond either of their control, and in God’s hands.
|
[/html]
[html] http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_tide.jpg);"> Their plights were similar, though Rurik certainly could not see a creature such as Gabriel pushing his children off, claiming they were not his own, as Rurik himself had done. Though the silvery werewolf hardly knew him, he only saw Gabriel in a positive light, and he had never subscribed to the notion that coyotes were dirty, ugly, or worthwhile to be killed. The coyotes plight was similar to that of the jackals over on the other side of the ocean; they were, essentially, the coyotes of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Jackals and wolves had been fierce competitors for centuries before they became Luperci, and tensions had not lessened even after they had gained more human qualities. Rurik could understand their plight, however, and he sympathized; the world was becoming more civilized, and such prejudices should be left in the past, where they belonged.
Rurik smiled wistfully. He hadn't planned for his children; he didn't really even want them—when he was younger he had never desired to have children, himself. He had always figured his brothers would continue the Russo line somehow or another, and if he a clear choice in the matter back when, he would have never opted for them. But they were here now, and Rurik did love them, and he would not have traded them for anything in the world. "Ah, children. They bring such joy, and such stress and worry," the Russian said with a laugh and smile, reclining back a little bit and shaking his head. Absently he pushed the plates away from both of them, though he did glance at Gabriel in a way of wordlessly asking if he wished to eat more. There was always some to spare. "Tell me about them?" the Russian prompted, curious to know his friend's family.
|
[/html]
[html] http://sleepyglow.net/souls/gifts/gabrieltable.jpg); background-position: bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; text-align:justify;">
Though their age difference was great (certainly, considering that Rurik had known his grandfather), they were facing similar pain. Both had lost lovers, and their children; certainly, though, Rurik might have forgiven his mate over the years. Gabriel had not. To him, Faolin was a lost cause—she was not welcome in his home, not as long as she lived. That scarlet temptress had betrayed his trust twice over, and he hated her for it.
A smile and nod accompanied the hybrid’s response, which was a throaty chuckle. “They’re a pair,” he offered, trying to think of the best way to explain the two. “Their godmother raised them for most of their childhood. We were dealing with a war here.” There was only the slightest change in his facial muscles, crinkling his muzzle, a wordless commentary on the event. “My daughter came back first, wanting to prove herself, I suppose. I shouldn’t have let her stay. She—“ His throat clenched suddenly, and Gabriel’s hands balled into fists. She came back and I couldn’t protect her. Gabriel’s amber eyes went hollow, unable to let that guilt go.
|
[/html]
[html] | http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_angel.jpg); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:10px; padding-left:12px; padding-right:12px; padding-bottom:286px;"> Holy crap. Sometimes I forget how long I have been playing Rurik. x_x
For his age, the silvery werewolf was a lot less mature and a lot less experienced than Gabriel was. His children were younger than Gabriel's, and despite being an old man himself, Rurik was a very new parent. He had yet to deal with things such as their trauma or even their endangerment, for which he was eternally grateful. It had been a full year since their birth, and thus far their lives had been relatively comfortable. True, Elizaveta had died, but she had been born a sickly child, and her passing had not been surprising to Rurik or Verushka, though clearly lamented.
Lily was Rurik's only daughter left; the rest of his children were sons, as the Russos tended to breed. There were a lot of men in the Russo family, and Rurik's children were no exception—it had been a strange and wonderful delight to have daughters, and he certainly missed the frail little Liz. The Russian listened to the tawny hybrid's words, nodding here and there and appearing quite interested in the man's words, then concerned as he stopped. Frowning, the Russian tilted his head to the side. "I am sure you raised strong children and you do all you can for them," the wolf said plainly, knowing Gabriel would stop at nothing to insure his children were protected and safe. Even if Rurik did not know the details of what had happened in Gabriel's life, of that he was absolutely certain.
|
[/html]
[html] I r slow
The third of his children had died at birth—something that, to Gabriel, was meant to be. God had a purpose and a plan; a third child would have completed the trinity, but there was a need beyond his knowledge. Ezekiel and Talitha had thrived for one year, and then their trials had begun. It was longer then Gabriel had known stability. For this, at least, he was grateful. No doubt they would always be scarred (Ezekiel more visibly then his sister), but they would be stronger for it.
One dark ear flicked in a doggish shrug. “They’re in God’s hands now,” he explained. “I’m sure they’ll make it home safely.” Yawning widely and licking the side of his muzzle, the amber eyed hybrid smiled slightly. “You and your family planning to live on the coast for a while or join one of the packs?” Rurik wouldn’t reform Syemv—Gabriel knew that with a dire certainty.
[/html]
[html]
http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_bottledrage.jpg); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #000000; padding: 245px 0px 0px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#000000; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;"> Orly? Me too. XP
The werewolf liked Gabriel's faith; he had not realized the man placed his trust in any type of higher power. Rurik was not monotheistic; he could give a nod of his head to any and all gods, and he considered all of them deserving of respect. The werewolf himself placed particular importance on Stribog, the Slavic god of wind and cold, and the Vodyanye, or water spirits. "Aye," he agreed, nodding his head. There was something to give the tawny hybrid hope, and for that the silver-furred Russian was quite glad. There was a faint smile tugging at Gabriel's lips, and he questioned Rurik about another issue he'd been considering as of late. "Both, actually. We settle here for now, and when I learn a little about these different packs, I think we'll slide into one of those, perhaps," the wolf said, shooting a glance at Gabriel. "Any thoughts where I should end up?" he teased. He knew Inferni's general feeling toward packs and pack wolves, but he couldn't give a damn. Gabriel was his friend, he knew that much, and no tradition was going to make the tawny Aquila bow down, rightly so.
OOC ending: Gabe and Rurik chilled and talked for a little while longer till Gabe had to go! It was fun and junk. That's what happened, yayayay!
<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 p{text-indent:35px; padding:0px 15px 15px 15px; margin:0px;}
</style>
[/html]
|
