[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237"> ┤Private for Sie and her pirate =P├
Jantus had gone exploring. It had been important for everyone to stay together for a time, but the massive alpha wasn't the emotional pillar for anyone in his party, and he used that relative freedom to get him off the hook and an excuse to look around. This wasn't the first time he had explored the human city; he'd had to cut through three times already on his way to and from Phoenix Valley, so he wasn't going in totally blind. Still, the place seemed strangely fragile to him. At seven feet and ten inches tall, a little over three feet wide, and over five hundred pounds, human relics all seemed very tiny and very easily broken. Living things were solid, but humans usually made hollow things which were very light given their size, or made of brittle materials (excluding their works of metal, which would corrode and become brittle, but which were quite strong if found in good condition). The remains of their cars were uniformly bigger than he was, but he could roll the things over easily enough. It was actually from a car that he had taken his current weapon: a weather-beaten, broken car axle, which was heavy on one side. The vehicle itself had been rather small, smaller than most he'd seen, which made the half-axle between its two rubber feet just small enough to be usable to him. His friend Skoll had warned him against the limitations of such a weapon, but he hadn't heeded him. There was shock value to the thing, and those who didn't steer clear out of common sense alone usually found they lost whatever he hit with it.
Kneeling down--not always easy given his size--he scented the tarred earth. He couldn't smell anything interesting, yet: most of the human smells had long ago faded away from this place, the city wind-blasted and overgrown, slowly being reclaimed by the growth of the wilds. Sometimes their machines would have some still in them, or he'd smell a new chemical, but since he had no knowledge of the working of machine, and knew better than to breathe too deeply of human toxins, he usually had to pass such interests by.
What he could smell was hardly new to him; he'd smelled the same on his first travels through. The rotting wood of structures which he was too big to safely enter, the sharp smell of iron, which sometimes meant good tools were available, other assorted scents from the myriad useless components of derelict human structures. He hadn't come in looking for anything in particular, but he never knew when he'd get lucky. Sometimes, very rarely, he could find alcohol in these places, which made for lots of entertainment if he could get enough to affect him. There were other substances, many of them one could allegedly grow, which he had heard of or sampled. There were occasionally other amusements or wonders in human places, like the rare working vehicle before it died out (unbeknownst to him and others it was as often as not the result of an empty gas tank) or the papers with pictures that had been kept dry and intact over the decades. It always helped to run into a wolf who lived in the city you were exploring if you wanted to find the best stuff, though.
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[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 silvery Russian was returning from hunting in the forest. It took quite a bit of meat to keep his family full and healthy, but he didn't mind doing most of the hunting. It was good to leave and get out, anyway—and with a sword to strike down the animals one encountered, it was a fair bit easier than trying on four legs. He had two rabbits dangled over his shoulder, their legs twined together with some sort of rudimentary string. They were bloody and ghastly, but Rurik was determined to make a meal of them anyhow. They couldn't last on jerky, it was too high in salt and after being dried out it wasn't the most appetizing thing in the world.
The Russian hummed to himself merrily as he walked. His familiarity with this strange city had grown immensely over the past few weeks, and he knew most of them by sight alone. He was in a familiar part of town, close to home, when he scented an unknown wolf. Always optimistic, the silvery male picked up the pace, trotting a bit quicker to the male, now in sight. Rurik was impressed by the man's size, and somewhat intimidated, though by the looks of it, he wasn't here for trouble. One could never be absolutely certain, but Rurik was one to assume the best of others, and he grinned as he wandered over, his half-mast ears and wavering tail indicating friendliness, while a smile flashed across his lips. Rurik saw as he came nearer that the man was one-eyed; there was a patch covering one of his eyes. "How's eet going, stranger?" he drawled, stopping some feet away from the wolf. His fur was like a gradient, fading from one color to the next in somewhat odd patterning, a brown stripe extending between the lighter gray and black making up the majority of his pelt.
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Turning from his musings, Jantus spied a new wolf approaching, and his hackles raised as he studied him with his lone eye. Living where he had for as long as he had, distrust of strangers was somewhat common, but he was decent at reading people, and the sort stupid enough to tangle with him were also usually the type to broadcast their aggression. When the newcomer came closer, he let his defenses down and offered an easy smile in answer to the greeting.
"Here on sad occasion, but the worst is over. Got done burying a friend with his children in tow. They're back near Phoenix Valley with some family friends, so I thought I'd take the chance to explore." He shrugged easily. When dealing with emotional baggage, Jantus was usually either easygoing, or he recovered quickly. He had been friends with Skoll, but they'd never really been all that similar. They'd had fighting in common, and a closeness and respect that came from fighting side by side; they had been good friends, but outside of the context of war there was little to hold them together. At the end of it all, he hadn't known much about the bronze wolf, it had been Skoll's pupil Aivyr that had learned most everything.
"You from around here, then, or as much a stranger to the city as me?" The wolf was a little strange to look at. He bore a weapon like Jantus did, but a sword, which Skoll had named as the best of the human weaponry (that was excluding some of the more legendary ones which allegedly killed you long before you saw the attacker, though Jantus saw that a little hard to believe). He also had long hair atop his head, darker than the rest, and notable claw marks across his chest. By the looks of it, Jantus might have run into a kindred soul. There was the size difference and alternative clothing styles...his new acquaintance wearing something Jantus knew to be called pants where the most he would tolerate right no was a belt to hold his club to his hip. Still, the weapon, the scarring, the location...they should be able to find something to talk about.
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[html] http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/rurik_tide.jpg);"> Waugh, slowsie.
The silvery wolf was always down for good company, and this wolf seemed to be just that type. He looked interesting, anyway, and the silvery Russian was quite eager to get to know anyone and everyone here. After all, the more people he spoke to, the more faces he met, the larger the chance of encountering someone with knowledge about his lost elder sons. The stranger didn't seem to be too bothered by the Russian's presence, and spelled out just what he was doing here. A sad smile crossed Rurik's face, and he nodded his head slowly. "Mine condolences," he said, shaking his head. "Is sad when others pass on," he said, remembering burying Schastlivyj. At the same turn, though, Rurik was almost glad to have closure; it was better to know those he'd loved and lost had passed on, rather than in the case of Kiska and their sons together—Rurik was left out in the cold wondering if they still lived.
The wolf spoke, questioning the Russian. The silvery wolf shifted the rabbits slung over his shoulder, stopping a few feet from the stranger to converse with him. "A stranger of sorts, sir," the Russian answered, grinning still, his shining blue eyes regarding the wanderer brightly. "I am from Russia, but I have traveled to this coast three times a'fore," he said. It was true, though the last two times he'd landed just a bit north of here, on the old burned coast that was no longer a viable place to make his home. "Rurik Russo," he said, introducing himself as was proper, still grinning.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤It's all good, I won't be caught up in school work until next Monday, and even that's a stretch.├
"Then you're still less a stranger than me," the giant laughed. "Been through this area twice; the first time attending a fighters' tournament. I chose my opponent poorly, hah, lost in the first round. This second time I'm here to honor the wolf who began that tournament." He looked the Russian up and down, studying him again.
"You look like something of a fighter yourself; who's that sword meant for?" It was an intelligent question, he thought. He didn't know exactly where Inferni was, but if it was close to Phoenix Valley, then he would need to return there shortly, and move his company south again shortly. He might be worth many coyotes in battle, but he couldn't guarantee the safety of Skoll's progeny if they were this close, and from what he'd heard, the coyotes had never forgiven Skoll for standing up to them. He could pay all the respects he wanted, but leading the yellow warrior's kids into the mouths of the people who would hate them most wasn't forgivable.
He considered the fact, though, that he might be jumping to conclusions. There were undoubtedly more threats than just angry hybrids around these parts, and there was no guarantee that Rurik wasn't just carrying a weapon out of good sense. Any time there was competition for food, any canine could be an enemy. Aivyr, Tanya, Nikolov, Skirnir, Mala and Ranya should be ample defense against loners, however. Wherever Russia was, it might be that bearing steel was a good idea there.
"Oh," his voice cut back into the silence directly proceeding his last question. "The name's Jantus, I don't have a last one. From the Snow Capped Pine pack. It's a mouthful, though...so we usually call it Pine. Never heard of Russia, though." The irony of this might have been somewhat amusing to someone who could put the pieces together. Jantus counted Nikolov and Tanya among his closer friends, but he hadn't noticed anything altogether strange about their names. After all, in the world as he'd seen it, there were too many different cultures close together for him to get caught up in defining one from the other. The two hadn't spoken any differently from him, so it was unlikely he would know where they had come from. Certainly, they didn't stand out like Rurik Russo...even if they did have the same habit of carrying around steel.
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[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;"> Rurik was rather intrigued to hear of these strange dealings. He knew what a tournament was, but he'd never partaken in any contests save for the kind where you tried to drink your opponent under the table—those, he was damn good at. There were few that could compete with the Russo in terms of iron-plated belly; there were fewer still who could swill as much vodka as the silvery wolf himself. Still, he didn't desire to tread on hurtful territory. He had no idea how close this wolf and his friend had been, and from the reverent tone his voice had taken, Rurik assumed they were pretty close. There was a question to answer now anyhow, and he sheepishly smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders.
"Ilya is mostly for show," the Russian admitted, leaning back a little and shuffling his feet. Surely, he could hold his own if push came to shove, but he was no troublemaker, and he preferred to keep with the friendly route unless his opponent made it perfectly clear they weren't leaving without blood. Then, Rurik was swift to defend himself and his children, and there was little the wolf wouldn't do to protect those dearest to him. "Good to know you," the wolf said in awkward English, nodding his head. "Russia is a beeg place, but it is far across the ocean," the wolf said with a shrug. It was no surprise; the wolves here tended to run more feral than anything else, and there were scarce few who even knew of the world on the other side of the world. "Ever been over that way?" he asked, wondering his questions aloud.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤Massive assignment, my apologies again for the wait.├
Jantus grinned slightly at the Russian's mention of his sword. The idea of giving a name to a weapon was a new one to him, he hadn't been exposed to the sorts of stories where epic heroes had special weaponry; metal tools were only temporary implements of war, until they warped or their edges wore down. He liked his club, but he had no attachment to it beyond its practicality: he would readily replace it if were damaged. Nonetheless, the idea of personifying a weapon was intriguing if he didn't dismiss it out of hand.
"Ilya, huh?" He said it under his breath...not quite loud enough to disrupt the conversation. "Nah." he spoke up. "The most water I've ever crossed is to get from the mainland to this place; Pine is over some of the water, but from what I've heard, it's not the whole expanse. How far across is it? Might give it a jaunt someday if it ent too far away." He said this easily...he didn't dislike travel, and he'd thought he might want to do it again before he died. After all, as leader of the Pine, he didn't get many opportunities like this one to go abroad. Once he was old and relieved of his duty, he wouldn't mind going to all sorts of places. Maybe even Russia if it was close enough.
"I've traveled a fair bit, but it was always over land. As for boats...eh, I never like having to use them. I feel like waters' just waiting to swallow me. My sisters are fine in a swim, but I'm heavier than both of 'em together. Don't like trusting the water to hold me up." He didn't like boats overmuch, though he knew they could be deceptively buoyant, which did reassure him somewhat. At the end of the day, he'd risk a boat-ride over days and days of unnecessary travel...as long as he didn't have to swim it himself.
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[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;"> Me tooooo. D:
Rurik was a traveler at heart, and he had been seized by the wanderlust once in his youngest years, drawing him from his frigid home in Sobirat'sya to this strange, faraway land. True, his past transgressions here had drawn him back this time, but if he'd never left Sobirat'sya maybe he'd still be with Kiska there with their children. Maybe he'd have a happy, big family, maybe he'd be lining up to inherit his father's boat. The what-ifs and possibilities were endless, and Rurik preferred not to think of them. He was a forward-thinking creature, and he looked forward to reconnecting with his lost children above all things.
Rurik smiled, nodding his head occasionally as the male spoke. "Russia is quite far. You cross the Atlantic—that is this big sea," he said, waving his arm in the general direction of the coast. "And then you have to either sail toward the frozen northern sea, or cross a lot of land," the wolf said with a laugh. The idea that he'd made this journey twice in his life was rather amazing—even looking back on it himself, it seemed nigh impossible.
Grinning broadly, the Russian was tempted to poke fun at the stranger's dislike of water, but he kept it to himself. The wolf was a fair bit larger than the silvery Russian, and Rurik wasn't quite certain of his personality yet—he seemed friendly and easy-going enough, but everyone had a boiling point, and some canines' simply happened to be very low. "Aha. I was raised on the Boleye More, the White Sea. The ocean's in my bones and blood. To each his own, though," the wolf said proudly. His kind had roamed the forests near Arkhangel'sk for as long as time had ticked, but fishing was a recent excursion of the Russo family. Still, he could hardly hold it against anyone for disliking water.
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The foreigner was an enigma. It was impossible to guess at all of the adventures he'd had, though his manner of speech and dress did lend to him the affect of an adventurer, maybe straight out of one of his mother's old stories. He didn't think about those much anymore, but he concluded that it was one reason he already liked this stranger. Everything was exotic or new, and with every enigma, a story might wait in explanation. The Boleye More, the White Sea, was practically a question unto itself, and many other things begged explanation besides. If nothing else, it seemed like he'd found something interesting in the ruins today.
"Bones and blood, eh?" Jantus gave a crooked, uncertain smile to the stranger. "A sailor then. Sort of like the types that brought us up here? I don't suppose you know them, do yeh?" His lone eye lit up for a moment as he thought back to what he'd just heard. "Can't be the sea's actually white, though? I mean, frothy waves and all, but we're still talkin' blue an' gray water?" His lip twitched a bit at the thought of truly white water. Milk was white. Water was bad enough when you could see through it, something about the thought of pale, opaque water churned his stomach.
"Each his own, I'll agree to that. So, you've got a sword that's mostly for show? That's something that I'm a bit interested in. A friend of mine said the sword was the most versatile human weapon: spears and others had a place too, but he seemed to have particular reverence for swords. How'd you come by yours if you're not one to use it? Just luck?" He knew how he'd come by his unnamed, unloved hunk of metal he called a club: he'd been the only one strong enough to pull it out of its rusted trappings. Still, Skoll had once demonstrated its weaknesses to him, and at the very least convinced most other wolves to choose smaller, more manageable arms. It was too heavy for a light swing, and though he was skilled enough with it for two-handed thrusts and other intricacies of in-fighting, its real damage--which came from the fully-devoted blow--left too much of a window for counter-attack. The bronze wolf had painted him with hypothetical wounds using a snapped branch to demonstrate how a 'skilled' opponent would capitalize on the weakness of his weapon. Still, he'd grown a little fond of the thing, and it had served him well enough in the past, the evidence of his missing eye not withstanding.
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Rurik was curious at the mention of other sailors. He cocked his head, thinking immediately of the Syemv crew—was it possible they had come back to this place? Most of them had even less of a connection with this place than he did; they had not remained as long. The only exception to this might have been Empathy, who had children to consider. Was it possible they were still out there, somewhere? Vienna, Sicily, Moscow—Rurik was especially fond of the last one's name. He'd seen the real Moscow enough times in his life, after all.
"Maybe I do—first time I came here, it was with a crew of seven others," he offered, curiosity showing on his frosted gray features. At the stranger's quesiton Rurik grinned broadly, shrugging his shoulders. "Sometimes it looks it, for all the ice on it." During the winter they could not sail it, lest the ice floes dash their ships to pieces. Those were the leaner months, to be sure—but generally the Russos had enough smoked fish, the Ozeros and Chekovs had hunted the forest, and the Romanov family had traded for whatever else they needed in Moscow. "During the summer it is a sea like any other, except maybe colder," the wolf laughed, shrugging a shoulder.
The stranger's interest returned to Ilya, and Rurik listened intently, wondering if maybe this wolf knew anything about using her. Rurik had practiced in his youth, but he had not found a reason to unsheathe her in longer than he could recall. He was almost certainly rusty, though he'd taken care of her and made sure she hadn't. Her blade still gleamed just as bright and shiny as the day he'd gotten it. "Well, mine father gave me Ilya when I was leaving my homeland to see the world. It was sort of a family gift—it had belonged to his father at one point," the Russian said. Rurik often wondered why he of all his siblings had been chosen to receive that precious gift; he was not the oldest or the loudest or anything special, really, not compared to his brothers who had held up the family trade. They might have been more deserving, but not a single one looked to Rurik in jealousy upon his receiving the sword.
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"Huh. Well, if you wanna meet 'em, my group and I won't be here for too much longer; you're free to come with us when we go over there to catch a ride back to the mainland." It would be interesting, he guessed, to play a role in reuniting long divided comrades. He didn't have the slightest inkling of Rurik's past dealings in this area, nor in the relationship he'd had with his crew and the splitting up which had resulted in the pirate captain's love leaving and his traveling alone. It was unlikely that Jantus would ever know of these things. He did not collect histories, nor was his curiosity sufficient for him to turn over the proverbial rocks of life and discover all the secrets beneath.
He nodded to Rurik's explanation of his sword's origins. That made more sense, he supposed: it wasn't like he would let his weapon go to waste once he got too old to use it, or for some other reason no longer needed it. Then again, perhaps because it wasn't a sword, there was no particular relevance to the weapon he did use: it was only an object, and there was no special legacy to it. He supposed that could change if he ever claimed any serious opponents with it. Nonetheless, adding significance to certain opponents and certain artifacts of war was something that a true culture of war might indulge in. It was the kind of thing you heard about in stories, or that Skoll might have appreciated. To Jantus, most of it was interesting, the lore and the awe and all associated with that kind of mystical thinking, but when he got right down to it, it didn't make a lot of sense to attribute super-real properties to things like people and weapons.
"More interesting than anything I can tell about, I guess. This club's nameless, and I just pulled it out of a human machine." He tapped the top of the half-axle. It would have made an extremely poor weapon for most people, but since it had been a small car and he was an enormous werewolf, he had been able to handle it well enough. "So, Rurik. What are you up to, today? I've just been exploring, so I don't really have anywhere to be other than within earshot of Phoenix Valley."
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[html] http://sleepyglow.net/rp/rurik/erin_ruriktable.jpg); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;"> Woaaargh. Bad Sie. |:
Rurik was still intrigued by the notion that one of his comrades might be among this wolf's friends, though he did not know that any of the Syemv would have had reason to return to this area, save Empathy, who had bred children here. Still, they were hardly still here, at least Rurik didn't think so. Sicily, Moscow, and Vienna were long gone, so far as he could tell. Still, it was a kindly offer, and Rurik smiled at it. "I got enough motivation to swing by now, sure. Thank you for the offer, but I got to stick it out here for a while yet. Family I'm searching for and all," the wolf explained. His lost sons were what had drawn him to the area, and until he overturned every last pebble in his search.
Rurik's grandfather had commissioned the sword from a blacksmith in Moscow through one of the Romanovs. It hadn't been any big deal then, but Ilya held significance to the silvery werewolf. It was somewhat traditional for the Russos to rename items once they changed owners, and though Ilya had been known by two other names, Rurik couldn't recall them. His father and grandfathers' terms for the sword were unimportant; Ilya was her name now. He grinned, and shrugged his shoulder, eyeing the piece of equipment that the stranger called his weapon. It was intimidatingly large; and Rurik nodded appreciatively. "No doubt it does a damn good job, though," the Russian wolf said, noting the size of the weapon.
At the wolf's question, Rurik shrugged his coal-dusted shoulders, rolling them slowly in as nonchalant a gesture as possible. "Much the same, my friend. Roving the world, hunting for mine family a bit," the wolf said, lifting up the rabbits once more. They weren't an impressive kill, no, but it was a good excuse for wandering. "Ain't doing too much at the moment, even," the Russian said, shooting a glance at the larger wolf. Maybe now would be the best time to drop by and meet the rest of the crew, but Rurik didn't want to impose on the Brobdignagian male.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤So...if Jantus finds anything to trade, I somehow see a drinking contest in their future? =P├
The giant nodded. The sailor wouldn't be here if he didn't have business already; visiting the sailors down near the southern shore would have to wait. As for his weapon, it certainly suited him and his style just fine. "Yeah, I s'pose it does. Can't swing it that fast and it's leaves lots of openings, but it breaks whatever it hits, and everyone can tell by lookin' at it. Their fear picks up the slack for its weaknesses." He gave a wide grin, baring his teeth. Nothing like scaring the shit out of the people you'd come to kill. Only thing he didn't like about his presence on the battlefield (largely augmented by the broken body his club left in its wake) was that he usually had trouble getting a clean fight with individuals...he either couldn't find someone willing to fight him, or he found three or four people ready to go for it at once. In fairness, he didn't like fighting that many at the same time, but with his size he was usually comfortable with two.
Suddenly, the focus of his lone eye shifted down to the metallic flask at Rurik's hip, and his expression betrayed his curiosity. He didn't say anything for a few moments, nodding at the pirate's admission of idleness, but eventually he broke down and went for it. "I've seen one of those before," he said, pointing to the flask. "Humans used them to carry drinks...liquor, sometimes. Don't happen to have any of that, do yeh?" He smiled a little stupidly. Liquor was at the top of his 'treasure' list for his expeditions into human cities. Weapons and tattered clothing and other things were more useful, but they were also far more common. Even a wooden beam could suffice as a weapon in a pinch, and when the turnout was favorable there were often blades and other tools besides. Alcohol, however, wasn't something he usually found, especially not in a quantity great enough to satiate him. He doubted there would be enough in a tiny flask like that for him, but where there was some there was often more. A house with one bottle sometimes had a collection, after all!
He remembered his first experience with the stuff was during his travels with Mala and Ranya. They had known better than to drink strange-smelling things found in human houses, but he'd been young and curious, and he'd encountered a wolf earlier in the year who'd been drinking something with the same smell, so he'd assumed it'd be safe. After he'd ascertained that it hadn't poisoned him (he'd been tentative at first), he gave his younger sisters the go ahead and they began on it. The two of them had gotten funny faster than he had, and now that he knew more about it, it was good that none of them had been drinking for fun, as they wouldn't have known when to stop. After their initial experience with it, Mala and Ranya had sworn off of it...they'd drunk enough to have nasty hang-overs the next day, and the stigma of that experience had soured them to it forever. For his part, his massive body had diluted it more effectively, and he still had fun with the stuff on occasion when he could find it.
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Rurik had always wondered what had happened to his old crew, but he hadn't been too concerned with them, not with three lost sons to consider. Such were the perils of the nomadic life; without a clear home to cling to, friends and relatives and acquaintances scattered to the wind. He listened to the other male's speech about his weapon, snorting appreciatively at the man's words and giving the weapon a wary cerulean eye. "Oy, all I can say is I'm glad I ain't on your bad side," the wolf said with a shrug. He didn't like to fight; violence was not a very attractive thing to Rurik. He preferred to make peace with whatever he came across; having fun and making friends was far more fulfilling.
The other man's attention was drawn to the silver werewolf's flask, and it was Rurik's turn to grin. He was a fan of firewater, though he'd gone through some periods of heavy drinking in his life, he had come out on top, and he was in control of his habit. The silver-furred werewolf nodded. "I got a pretty sizable stash back home, yeah. Good stuff. Maybe you are looking for a trade?" he inquired. He was always willing to part with a gift, as was customary to his generous nature, but beyond that he expected something in return, naturally. It was a common thing where he was from, and the Russian wolf was quite comfortable with the question. They weren't terribly far from home, either; Rurik supposed he was comfortable with Jantus knowing the location of his hideaway. It wasn't as if the wolf had shown himself to be anything other than kindly in the short time Rurik had known him.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤Gah, Jantus is too poor ><├
"Erm..." Jantus looked around himself as if looking for some hidden satchel or other accoutrement that he could search for trades goods, but the fact was that even if he'd brought everything with him today that he'd been carrying during his long journey with the Pine wolves, he wouldn't have anything of appreciable value that he was willing to part with. His weapon was too big for Rurik, even if he had some need or interest in possessing a secondary, shoddier weapon beside his well-forged sword.
"Gah! Damn." The giant gave an apologetic, harried smile, and shrugged defeatedly. "You've caught me well away from my pack, which hoards what goods we scavenge in the city or keep after our kills. I've been forced to travel light, or you'd certainly have a trading partner today." He tapped his stomach thoughtfully, looking up at the sky above the abandoned ruins which surrounded them. "Damn fond of the stuff when I can get it, but it doesn't work its magic so far on me as it did my sisters." He laughed loudly at the memory of their first experience with liquor.
"I drank a fair bit of a collection we'd found, and I told 'em it was safe, and they followed. I was feelin' pretty good about the time they wanted to pass out. It was a good time for me, but I'm not sure they ever forgave me for it. Neither of them ever touched the drink again, at any rate." He gave the pirate a questioning look. "Don't suppose you've got any stories of your own? I hear a little bit of drink goes a long way to a good story."
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The silver-furred werewolf grinned at the other man, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. "Ain't no big deal, my friend. A good man's word has got plenty value in trade. We are not too far from my home, I can provide ya with a few bottles, and then later, you can come back or somethin' like that," the werewolf said with a grin. It sounded like a good enough plan to him—Rurik's trusting nature had gotten him in trouble before, naturally, but things did not change too much, at least not where Rurik was concerned. "I don't got much more than this flask on me now, and between the two of us it ain't gonna do too much," the werewolf confessed, smiling at his new companion. The stash was back at home—luckily it was not so very far from their very location.
The other man spoke of his experience with liquor, and the man laughed loudly at this, slapping his free hand against his thigh in appreciation of the tale Jantus had spun. The werewolf considered the story, finding a fair amount of similarity in his early experience with alcohol. "It was much the same when I first started out, my friend. My older brothers drank me under the table during the summers we spent on the islands," he said, punctuating the statement with a laugh. "Once they even set me afloat on a piece of driftwood while I was sleepin', scared the shit outta me," he said, grinning broadly at the other pirate, shrugging his shoulders. Alcohol could certainly lead to fun times.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤So, should we a) take them to Rurik's place and have some sort of drinking game or telling of manly stories, or a fade to black in the next few posts? I just realized I've kept you for 17 posts XD├
Jantus cracked a smile at Rurik's answer. It looked like he was lucky after all, this guy took credit. Not a concept he was terribly familiar with, but good faith trading did occur sometimes. He wasn't sure when he'd get the chance to repay him, but hey, it was a small world sometimes, and he could always send a young pack member out here to draw the Pine's connections with the area closer. He didn't want to spend a lot more time here after he was done, but that didn't mean he had anything against the place. It the location of Skoll's life and his death, so mixed feelings seemed appropriate.
If things kept on going as they had been, Vel might be the best person to deliver a return of goods. He feared that wandering was in her heart...not for a love of travel, but a sense of being out of place. She had never gotten close with any of her sisters, and her relationship with her mother was growing more distant. He wasn't sure if he should go rushing back today or give her time away from her dad to figure everything out. He just wanted her to still be there when he got back.
"Ew." Waking back up to Rurik's story, the giant shuddered. The thought of waking up on the water was harrowing. Jantus would not have liked brothers like the sailor's. "Well, thanks for being free with your liquor. If we drink that much, though, I would be happier if I woke up on the ground. One way to get over a hangover, though, eh? Or maybe just make it worse." He curled one brow in contemplation, an expression which was less telling now that only one side of it was visible. He hadn't had hangover much. He usually didn't have enough alcohol on hand to get too far, as he felt compelled to share the stuff with those he traveled with. They were usually long gone before he had the opportunity to drink himself that far. It was just as well...Mala and Ranya certainly hadn't enjoyed it.
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[html] Either way works by me. XD I don't mind long threads! Rurik would probably rather grab the drink and stake out some burned out building, just in case the kids decided to come home to spoil their fun, but if you wouldn't mind continuing, I'm down. XD Either that or an assumption they traded some liquor and went about their merry way? :o Left it open-ended.
There was something in Rurik that had taken a liking to the other canine, burly and large as he was, he was a friendly sort, and he was rather interesting to engage in conversation. It would seem they were travelers of different sorts, one preferring the sea and the other land, but Rurik took no note of that. Since Jantus had seen much of this continent, Rurik had no doubt that the werewolf would have some great stories to share. The Russian had his own, of course, but he could be an excellent listener at times. Perhaps it was that fact that the other was a worldly creature like himself which led Rurik to be so trusting.
The silver-furred wolf grinned broadly and laughed, nodding his head rather vehemently in agreement. Schast and Thorn had been the ones to perpetrate that particular crime against Rurik, though it was quite common for the Russo brothers to tease each other, even on occasion tease each other to brawls. Only their sisters' cajolement had calmed them down on many occasions when their parents weren't there to put a stop to the brawls. The silver-furred werewolf spoke in his rumbly accent, his eyes still twinkling with his laughter. "It surely was not fun, I assure ya that. Neither was the next morning," he added, remembering that particularly painful headache and the churning stomach that accompanied it.
Experiences such as that were commonplace where liquor was concerned, though they had done little to deter the silver-furred werewolf from indulging in alcoholic delights. He was quite an avid drinker, and the prospect of swapping stories with this stranger over a nice beverage or two sounded like a good way to spend the afternoon. He worried about hanging out at home since his children might return at any time, and Rurik didn't want to be particularly drunk around them too often. "Shall I head home and grab a few bottles for us?" the Russian asked, eager to get the rabbits home as well. Even if he didn't have time to cut them up, he was sure Liliya could manage. The girl had watched him cook, and he'd given her brief instructions. If not, they could always eat it raw. Either way would work, as they were wolves. He wasn't certain how his kids felt about eating raw meat, however.
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[html] http://i950.photobucket.com/albums/ad34 ... bott0m.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:240px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#252237">┤You can powerplay them getting to the house and leaving with the booze =D├
The two seemed to be enjoying each others' company, and why not? It seemed like they had a few things in common, though not being aware that Rurik had been classified as a pirate, nor the old human stereotypes thereof, Jantus missed the irony of his own eyewear. He gave his characteristic broad smile and gestured for Rurik to lead the way.
"Sounds like a plan to me. I don't have anywhere to be today other than within howling range of my group near Phoenix Valley. Even if I can't get there immediately, they should be able to keep themselves out of trouble for a while." He knew that--given how many of them were fighters and how many of them were competent in the more traditional sense--they'd be fine unless something really outrageous happened. For now, he felt it was safe to follow Rurik to his home and take him up on his offer. Even if it wasn't entirely responsible, it had sort of been the point of his venture, and alpha or not, it was a weakness of his.
"So, what's your living situation? I've already met one loner who lives out here, it seems like this old city is a good place to set yourself up, especially if the drinks are coming from here...or did you bring them over?" Jantus didn't know exactly where Anselm lived, though having all of his drugs here and an entire, maintained garage seemed to imply that he lived here just as seriously as he might live anywhere else. He'd had a similar smell to him as the guy who'd attacked Trigger, so he assumed that the other friend he'd made here had connections (if not membership) with Inferni. Still, he seemed a friendly enough sort when you weren't trying to steel his belongings, and the giant didn't see the point in knowing the truth for truth's sake. Maybe if he'd intended to stir up trouble he'd need to now friend from foe, but Skoll wasn't here anymore, and having found no one who remembered him, the alpha had no intention of getting involved. Even the kids hadn't shown much interest in sticking around.
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The drink had followed Rurik through most of his life. He'd grown up sipping and stealing from his elder brothers and even nipping from his grandfather Yulian the red wine he so loved to drink. Rurik had never developed a taste for the vino; he'd always been one for harder liquor. Beer didn't quite strike his fancy, either—not when it was piss warm, anyway. Stick a beer into the snow surrounding Sobirat'sya in the winter and it was as cold as glaciers themselves, and Rurik would have downed those all day, growing warmer with each one and steadily heading toward the point of no return, that point of belligerence when the ground began to sway and the whole world spun around and around all around him. It was a wonderful thing, to be certain. Rurik had used alcohol to dull his pain before, sure, but more memories were attached to the drink as a pleasurable thing, and perhaps that was why alcoholism had not plagued the silver-furred werewolf like it might have anyone else who spent six months drowning their problems in the bottle. Growing up on it had certainly given the silver-furred werewolf rather particular tastes where liquor was concerned. First and foremost, the Russian wolf preferred vodka—it was his homeland's drink and his drink of choice. However, he was extremely picky with vodka, and he would not drink so called "swill water," the cheaply produced crap that the humans had bottled. It was quite a lot weaker than the Chekov-made stuff he had grown up on, and it tasted like rubbing alcohol, to be blunt. If good Russian vodka could not be had, then most any kind of darker rum was a decent substitute for the silver-furred male. Beyond that, one had to delve into whiskeys and scotches, territories Rurik had entered before but did not usually care to try again. Tequila was one particular drink he'd never partake of again.
Since landing on this coast, Rurik had been vaguely contemplating where to take his family to settle down. He wasn't sure how long Silas and Liliya were going to stay with him anyway—they were of that age when the wanderlust generally took hold. Rurik had been about a year when it had gripped him tightly, and fortunately or unfortunately for him, it had never let him go. Perhaps that was why he'd traveled the ocean blue three times between coasts. It was partly due to a love of this world—there was something very beautiful in the most feral of canines here, some wildness that many of the canines on the far continent had seemed to lose with the generations bred inside of city limits and within manmade buildings. The other wolf's speech of Phoenix Valley reminded him that he was still seeking a homeland to call his own, and he turned to the other wolf, curious. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to learn a bit about this Phoenix Valley. You see, I have brought two of my younger children over from Sobirat'sya with me, and while we have settled here nicely, we do seek more permanent residence," the Russian stated. To be perfectly honest, he was not absolutely certain how long they were planning to stay on this side of the world—Rurik surely never settled down anyplace permanently. It was more or less like he had several temporary homes—his first, with his family in Sobirat'sya, would always be his favorite. He did not mind staying with his sister Zharkyj in Amsterdam at all; it had been good to get to know his two nephews. There would be a place for them on this side of the world again now that Syemv and Aremys too were gone.
The larger wolf inquired on the Russian's living situation, and he grinned, beginning to walk toward it. By his count they wouldn't be there in more than five minutes; that was the good thing about living damn near the center of the city. It was a coastal city, so it more or less radiated outward from the docks, which were the central point. It was much easier than the previous city that the werewolf had called home, now nothing more than the burned and charred skeletons of buildings. "Well—we came over in boat, so we picked a place pretty close to the water. Just down the street, actually—you will see from my front lawn," the werewolf crowed, proud of his little home-away-from-home. "This city has many useful things in it, to be sure, but I brought some firewater from mine homeland that is sure to turn you on your ass," the werewolf cracked, his mouth splitting into a pleased grin. This banter had taken up most of the journey, and before long the Russian was in intimately familiar territory, smelling quite a bit like himself, Silas, and Liliya. The silver-furred werewolf was quick to give a little wave to Jantus and duck inside one of the buildings, digging around through their belongings until he had selected two bottles of the Chekov-brewed stuff. Their bottles were Luperci-made glass, chipped and imperfect but of a far more appropriate size for creatures of werewolf size. The long spout was large enough to accommodate most hands, and the bottle part itself might have held close to two and a half gallons. The glass was thick and cloudy with impurities, and Rurik handled it gently, one bottle in each hand. Reappearing into the afternoon, he held one up toward Jantus, figuring they could split the lugging between the two of them. He wasn't sure how much the gray wolf needed to drink, but he figured the one bottle was on the house, and if they dipped into the second, it was for the better. "Don't have to go too far, I just don't want my kids to see their old man all smashed up, in case I can't keep up," the werewolf joked. He knew he was capable of keeping up; no matter how much the other werewolf put away, Rurik had a rather ridiculous tolerance for alcohol, and while it certainly did its job, he was almost never out of control, and he had not blacked out since the time with Laruku. There was something drinking all your life did for you, after all.
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