the days they come but the years they go.

Rurik Russo · 02-12-2010, 07:59 AM

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This is backdated to February 6, pleaseandOK? :3 This is at the Trenches. <3

Winter rarely deterred the silver-furred werewolf from his explorations. He was still a newcomer to these lands; he had arrived at the very end of September, after all, and that was just over four months now. The grizzled werewolf had his hands full often with Liliya and Silas, but now that her other brother was here, Liliya and Anatoliy were nearly inseparable—they spent quite a lot of their time catching up with one another, and the silver-furred werewolf was glad for that. Liliy was growing more sure of herself and less dependent every day; she would end up being a lovely woman someday, he was sure of that. Rurik was especially protective of his daughter, but he didn't believe she ought to be reigned in simply for the fact that she was a woman. Kiska might not have been her mother, but that was a damn good example of a lady who could take care of herself—Rurik had no doubt Liliy would do the same.

The Russian wolf meandered along the landscape, climbing his way along the hills. His four-legged form made this difficult on occasion, but he was able to navigate thanks to many of the derelict pathways among the rocky hillsides, perhaps carved by humans once upon a time. quietus had fallen over them many years ago, however, and the silver-furred werewolf could just barely make out the remnants of their pathways. Before long, one of these took him to a tiny fishing village—in reality, it was little more than three shacks huddled together. The remnants of the shacks were in poor condition at best; two had not survived at all, and could be accurately described as "piles of timber" rather than shacks. The third was still standing, however. Some human had the foresight to board up the windows, and its construction seemed slightly more permanent than the other two ruins.

The cold did not drive Rurik inside, but curiosity did, and he jiggled open the door after a moment. The locking mechanism had failed years ago, though it had done its job as far as keeping the door in place. The air inside was musty, and Rurik left the door open behind him, peering about the dark innards of the apparently deserted cabin. It was a single room, barren of any sort of decor. There was a small cot in the corner, the softer materials of it already destroyed by some kind of parasite. The fishing rods hung near the door might be usable, but as Rurik disliked the taste of fish, he personally could not find them useful. Prying open the single cupboard did nothing but assault his nose with the stale odor of food that had gone rancid years earlier, and he quickly shut it. Rurik began to doubt he'd find anything of use here, until a familiar thing caught his eye—a cellar door handle.

He knew what humans sometimes stashed in cellars, and he fearlessly pried the door open, leaning on the floor to peer around inside, giving a shout of joy when he saw it was well-stocked with several sorts of alcoholic beverages. Most seemed intact and unopened, though Rurik did not doubt some might have been damaged in some way over the course of time. It was rare to find a stockpile that wasn't. Still, this was an awesome find—except he had no way to get all of this home at once, and it was a very, very long trip back home. Glancing from left to right almost comically, the silvery werewolf reached down to grab a bottle of what appeared to be rum—confirmed by a quick sniff—and got to work, figuring there was no harm in having a sample now. It splashed down his throat hot, and sent his tail thumping mechanically against the floor, quite happy with his good fortune.

Kansas Sadira · 03-22-2010, 04:55 AM

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300+

Kansas wasn't often in the mood to leave Crimson Dreams. It was a repeated excuse, one he realized he had used many times before, almost an annoyance to himself. There were lulls in his preference to be alone and in one place (usually his room with some books), but he was currently not in one of them. Sometimes he questioned whether he was a moody individual, and whether others noticed. The last thing he wanted to appear was insecure, and so often he did. How he would obsess about himself.

Today he thought he would try to get out for a bit, perhaps to continue obsessing about himself without distractions to his conscience, pulling him away for a wonderful, short time. He had a half-formed plan, and that was to search for firewood. He enjoyed building fires in the mansion for the pack to enjoy; starting fires and watching the flames grow never failed to please him, either. He was looking for firewood for the pack, he told himself (when he knew it was also partially for him as well). In previous, rambling explorations of the area around Crimson Dreams he'd come across a small area of human buildings, most of them decrepit or just in piles. This wood would by dry through, and easy to rid of water from the outside. His footsteps took him into just this area, at whose rim he paused to look in. He'd brought nothing with him that would hinder him from carting back a load, but he stood on two legs to aid his search. Surprise took him when he noticed that one of the buildings stood.

The pale werewolf remembered this when he thought about it, that there was at least one that stood tall. He wished now that he had brought his satchel, in case he found anything interesting and more useful than firewood inside. Sighing, he chose to look around, and made his way to the door with his arms crossed to keep himself warm. The door creaked as he opened it, and he shoved it within and stepped inside. The colorless room was still and dusty, and it seemed he couldn't see through the grays of the shadows anything in particular. What kept him from looking was the unmistakable pull of the ajar cellar door, emanating the sounds of someone below.

Kansas crept down the stairs, a little fearful of who he would find. This was a time of vicious canines, and he was now among coyotes and wolves thirsting for blood. The snowy-furred man looked into the shadowy room to see an equally shadowy figure, his fur a palette of grays and silvers. He held a bottle of alcohol to his lips, Kansas didn't know which kind. The boy cleared his throat to warn the man politely of his presence, with a hesitant, "H-hello," to the unknown beast.

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Rurik Russo · 03-22-2010, 07:21 AM

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My post is weiiiiird.

Of course, Rurik much preferred vodka—and it had to be the homebrewed kind, the firewater that the Chezov family had made for so many years now. They had perfected the recipies and techniques of the humans quickly and taken their place in vodka production; now they had made the recipe even stronger, creating swill that burned the bellies of the crustiest drinkers. Rurik ought to know—he was one of them. In fact, he was used to much rougher liquors than what he was presently sipping on; the Russian werewolf wasn't planning on getting drunk here, he still had to meander all the way home, and excessive drunkenness on such ventures was ill-advised, to say the least.

The cacophony of creaking within the old structure told Rurik someone else was on their way in; this was a curious thing. He knew there was a pack nearby—he'd seen their borders once, and he'd actually met two members of the pack prior, Cambria and Savina, and he considered himself friendly with the bunch. As they were the nearest pack, it only made sense that one of their members would be here, but Rurik made no assumptions—on these unclaimed lands, anyone was free to wander, and that was the way Rurik liked it. The smokey-furred man leaned back toward the entrance to the crawlspace, his bright blue eyes looking on similarly shaded ones, though the stranger's held an almost turquoise hue that Rurik had not seen before.

A friendly smile spread across the Russian wolf's strong features. “Allo. The rum's fine, come on in,” Rurik said, punctuating the statement with a laugh and tilting the bottle toward the other man.

Kansas Sadira · 03-22-2010, 07:38 PM

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Not weird at all! Oh gosh, I wrote "palate" when I meant "palette" in my last reply. 300+

Kansas didn't recognize the smell of the alcohol; he exclusively knew that it was alcohol. He'd only ever drank wine, whose smell was fruity, strong and unmistakable for what it was. He did not enjoy the taste of wine, only the burning feeling as it coated his mouth and ran down his throat, into his belly. He liked the simplicity of his thoughts afterward, the relaxed comfort he felt. After drinking with Savina and enjoying the time he'd spent slightly tipsy, the smell of the stranger's beverage in this cellar had him curious and perhaps a bit hopeful that he could partake.

The older man was not surprised when his pale blue eyes saw Kansas, and the boy hadn't expected him to be, as he purposefully hadn't made his entrance silent. Relief calmed him when he saw that the gray werewolf was smiling in a kind manner, tipping the bottle of rum (that was its name, then) in his direction. The boy hesitated, thinking of his promise, a promise he didn't wish to break. But he took the bottle awkwardly in his hand, where it hung in his uncertain grip. "Oh," he said quietly. Would it be reckless? Immature? Disloyal? He was aware now that his mate had smoked marijuana with a man he did not know; perhaps taking a few swigs of this rum wouldn't harm anything. "Thank you." He put the bottle to his lips and drank, relishing the warming feeling of the alcohol. He was always more open when he had a substance in him, be it pot or booze. Maybe he could gain a friend today, which would be more valuable to him than firewood or any scavenged thing in the house. "My name is Kansas... Do you, uh, live here?" he drank again and handed the bottle back to the older wolf, wiping his mouth against his other arm.

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Rurik Russo · 03-22-2010, 08:34 PM

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Hurrdurr, I can't remember which of those is correct or how to spell them. ;P Some double-letter words give me problems for some reason, IDK! ((518))

The silver-furred Russian was always welcoming toward company; he invariably enjoyed such interruptions. It simply didn't occur to Rurik that perhaps someday someone would stumble across him who wasn't quite so happy to interact, and as friendly as Rurik was, he would probably walk right up to the vicious bastard and get a nice scar across his nose. For his muscles and his bravado, Rurik was not a fighter; he was something of a pacifist, even, though he didn't preach such ideals and he did not know the English word for it, even. Even so, the cloudy-furred male did not subscribe to absolute pacifism; he was bound by blood to his children, and he would protect them at any cost. He was now duty-bound to fight for Cour des Miracles, should his King command it. This was a notion that did not particularly sit well with him; in the days since he had joined the Miracles pack he had heard whispers of wartime, things that were disturbing and upsetting—many things that told him he had to visit Inferni as soon as he could.

The ghostly-furred man was exceptionally quiet; he seemed almost withdrawn at first. This didn't put Rurik off any; Gabe was one of his better friends in these lands, and if nothing else, the Infernian Aquila was stoic and withdrawn the vast majority of the time. Even so, as he clambered into the crawlspace, the pale-furred wolf reached out for the bottle, which Rurik gave willingly, of course. He had offered, after all. “Of course! It is nothing, my friend. Plenty to share here. I would be quite the zasranec if I did not share,” he said grinning and waving his hand. Though the word zasranec was more than likely foreign to this man, the unmistakable pejorative tone added clues to its meaning, of course. Human alcohol caverns like this were exceedingly rare on his side of the world; Luperci had already raided those places for everything they were worth years before Rurik was even born. The turquoise-eyed wolf drank, and Rurik grinned. Nothing spurred a friendship faster than a good bottle shared.

An introduction passed the other wolf's lips; Rurik gave a polite nod of his head and smiled still (though, really—when was Rurik not smiling?). “No, no. I vas just taking a long walk today, and I end up here. Good thing, though,” he said, reaching for the bottle and tilting it upwards to indicate that it was indeed a good find. “I am Rurik Russo of Cour des Miracles. Good to meet you,” the pepper-furred man added. Of course, from his accent, it was fairly obvious he wasn't from Cour des Miracles, but as the Miracles pack was his present home and a hell of a lot closer than Sobirat'sya, and therefore, of course more relevant. He was speaking a fair bit, but he generally did this anyway—Rurik was prone to rambling, and especially prone to drunken rambles. Of course, he had grown up with half-hour-long toasts in Arkhangel'sk from his relatives, so perhaps verbosity was simply in the blood.

Kansas Sadira · 03-27-2010, 05:46 AM

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Pfft, grammar. 300+

In situations that required socially admired behavior, Kansas knew it as truth that he felt more comfortable when slightly buzzed, if it was appropriate. He knew that having a clear mind the majority of the time was the right thing, as he could only read this way, and, related somewhat, he comprehended reality best when he was sober. But being in this little space with a stranger would not have been quite so enjoyable without the drink. Kansas could see his uneasy feeling upon entering the house growing into a monster, dragging him into a pit of anxiety, should Rurik say something that sent his mind reeling through the decision of what he was doing wrong. How he was perceived by the strange man, in general. He wasn't thinking quite so hard now with a few gulps of rum in his belly.

The silver man was not overbearing in any way, on either side of the spectrum; he was not too friendly and talkative, and definitely not volatile as Kansas had feared. So perhaps he would not have needed the alcohol. Rurik spoke to him in a kind way, his pleasantly accented voice full of reassuring niceties that Kansas enjoyed. He needn't have worried so much. A bit more calm, Kansas glanced behind him at the steps and sat down, clasping his milky hands between his knees. "Good to meet you, too. I'm Kansas Sadira, of Crimson Dreams," he returned, grinning slightly at long last. He liked introducing himself more elaborately now that he was a loyal Dreamer. He wished he could add a notably high rank to his name and pack, as a way to impress Rurik, but he was below the leadership ranks. It saddened him to know that he'd never gain any more status within his pack, but he accepted it, also. He'd come to know himself as an introverted being, and the time he spent alone had its exchanges. "I don't recognize your accent... Wh-where are you from?" Rurik interested him. The chance to know more about someone so intriguing was precious to Kansas, as he enjoyed expanding his knowledge in any way he could.

He wondered if his companion would pass the booze his way again, but in a fleeting moment had the realization that he didn't care too much, not anymore. Rurik was surprisingly easy to be around; Kansas's feelings about the alcohol upon his arrival were therefore challenged.

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Rurik Russo · 04-04-2010, 05:13 AM

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Slowsie is slowsie. :[ 308

There was no better social lubricant than alcohol, and the silver-furred werewolf was intimately aware of this. He liked being drunk and getting there; it was not only family tradition with his brothers (and later the rest of his family, as he grew older and it was more appropriate for him to drink) but the lifestyle in some places over in Europe. These practices were not limited to Russia alone, of course—there were just as many, if not more, bars and clubs in London, and they were crammed into a far tighter space. The old adages and prejudices when it came to Russians and drinking could be easily applied anywhere else in the world, and so Rurik did not take much offense to them.

“Aye? So we are neighbors,” the man said, his tail thumping against the dirt floor of the hidey-hole. He liked having friends around, that was for sure. The cloud-colored man thrived off of interaction. The pale-furred man's question was not unexpected; Rurik was used to discussing his origins and he rather enjoyed doing so, considering it a privilege to represent his country. He was certain he did a good job of it, anyway—not many people walked away muttering contrary or nasty things about him (or so he hoped). “I come from Sobirat'sya, Russia. Is a long way away, over the ocean and everything,” he explained, grinning. “Liquor flows free, the veemen are strong, and the nights are cold,” he said, succinctly summing his country up in three sentences or less. “To mine motherland,” he said, grinning once more and tilting his head back for another swig. “You are from here?” he questioned, curious as to the other wolf's origins. Even as he asked, the man passed back the liquor, of course intent on sharing until his companion requested no more be shared.

Kansas Sadira · 04-09-2010, 07:34 PM

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wc 318
no, I love sie! Smile

Kansas had never met anyone who drank with such an innocent composure. Well, he hadn't been in the presence of many drinking wolves at all. So he had little to base a judgment upon. But from the little experience he had managed to obtain in his short life, he always thought of sex and violence when he thought of alcohol. Yet Rurik brought neither of these things to mind as he put the bottle to his lips. His voice as well as every other aspect of his demeanor spoke of cheer and friendly generosity. Kansas felt nothing else. It was just wonderful.

"We are," Kansas conceded, grinning in the most genuine way since he'd entered the little nook. He liked how the other considered them neighbors in such a light manner. The younger wolf folded his snowy arms across his chest in preparation to hear something most interesting, his chin poised to one side as he listened to the answer of his question. Turquoise eyes widened in wonder as the man described the Motherland, a phrase Kansas recognized from its mention in a book he had read at some point; he didn't take the time to think over which. "Sounds... exciting," he said, smiling, obviously trying to appease. Free-flowing liquor and strong women were not things Kansas had ever valued, and he knew nothing about them. But the difference of origin interested the bookworm very, very much indeed, and he fully enjoyed the information his companion shared. Taking the bottle and drinking once more, Kansas noticed that the disgusting taste of the alcohol was not bothering him so much as he got tipsier. "Yeah, I'm from around here. I was part of a pack called Storm — it no longer exists, though. It wasn't far from here." He hadn't needed to speak of his birthplace for so long. It was nice, to reminisce. "Russia seems so exotic to me."

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Rurik Russo · 04-15-2010, 06:06 AM

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406

There were mean drunks in every part of the world, and Rurik had known a few of them—some of them even within his family, though they were much older and long dead. But one of his father's grand uncles or his mother's second cousins, some distant relative like that, had been an alcoholic, and a very mean drunk, and the stories and warnings that had flowed down through the ages... well, they had made Rurik respect alcohol from a very young age. Perhaps it was also exposure that helped; from a small boy he was allowed to sip a very small glass of wine at dinner one a week, and that had made him very well aquainted with the liquor. The silver-furred Russian had certainly never intended to turn out like anyone those stories had warned against, whether they were myth or wives' tales or truth, and he had never gotten to that point, though he had overused the alcohol in the past and he had blacked out before. There was no meanness in his usual drinking, however.

The pale-furred man was rather quiet, making a few short remarks here and there, and Rurik was content to take another slow sip from the bottle. He set it down between them for the moment, content himself but open to having his neighbor drink more—after all, they were surrounded by a very lovely stockpile, and the silver-furred werewolf was not so greedy as to keep more than he needed. The other man's quietness did not bother the Russian in the least; he could talk anyone's ear off, and it didn't matter if they found it interesting or not, really—once Rurik got going, he didn't often slow down. The other man's mention of storm made the Russian's ears perk up, and he cocked his head, laughing. “Oh yeah? Vhen were you born? Maybe we were neighbors then, too! I vas living in place called Aremys for short while, and zhis place, it vas right next to Storm then,” the Russian declared, laughing at the thought—it was fanciful thought, maybe, but funny to think they had been neighbors before.

“Russia es deeferent, though. All places are deeferent. There is some good in all of them, though,” he said, stating one of his closer beliefs—the silver-furred werewolf honestly believed this; no matter how bleak or dreary a place seemed, there had be something worthwhile within it.

Kansas Sadira · 05-09-2010, 01:26 PM

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300+

He'd been raised in a manner that tended toward "feral" more than sophisticated. He'd been taught the ways of the wolf more so than those of humans, never speaking of drugs and alcohol until the very night he'd gotten drunk for the first time. The humans' strange substances were a dark mystery to Kansas. He didn't understand why there was such a plethora when they seemed to cause so many problems; there was plenty of evidence in the stories he'd read, as in his own life. Still, the pale Sadira didn't know how to regulate his drinking, being underexposed as he was. Twice the times he'd had alcohol available he'd drunk himself silly, turning into a rather horny beast with no mental filter.

Thus he sipped the rum slowly. He didn't believe there was any danger of his becoming any sort of monster in the presence of this wise werewolf, but he still wished to practice watching himself. When the bottle rested between them, Kansas took it and sipped from its mouth almost shyly, his posture meek until he set the rum on the floor again. He was very glad that Rurik had plenty to say — it was better, as Kansas preferred to listen. He brightened significantly at the idea of their being unknowing neighbors. "I was born two years ago; were you around there then? I've heard of Aremys." It had been so long that he couldn't recall whether the pack had been in place during his life or if it was a whisper of the past. "I've ...always wanted to go elsewhere. Like Italy, or England, or... Russia. Somewhere across the ocean, just to see what it's like." He envied Rurik's worldliness, but not so much as he respected it. Perhaps someday, he and Savina would go across the ocean together. How wonderful that would be. "How's sailing?"

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Rurik Russo · 05-11-2010, 04:51 AM

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The silver-furred werewolf enjoyed reflecting on the past, though he did not dwell on it too harshly. Most of what had gone on during the course of his life was quickly forgotten, lost in the haze of alcohol and new memories. Some things stuck with him harder than others, however, and the cloud-colored male could not possibly forget. Kiska was one of those very rare things, and with her was the burden of not taking his children home to meet their family. Zinoviya might never forgive him for that one.

He contemplated the pallid wolf's question, tilting his head to the side and playing with the dark tuft of fur on his chin, as was habitual when Rurik thought of these things. “Ohh... I zhink so,” he said, taking the notion rather serious. “I arrive... sheeeet,” he said, laughing as he realized just how long ago it was. “In winter, six years ago. I come and go, but I zhink in the spring of that year, I was here in Aremys,” he said. “Maybe. It is hard to remember exact time,” he said, tapping his head. Tilting the bottle up to his lips, the man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Too much of zhis, maybe.”

“But for sailing... ah,” the werewolf said. A different smile crossed his face, enveloping less of his sharply featured face. He was reminiscing about the open ocean—it wasn't calling him back yet, true, but he could always think of her fondly. “Not'eeng but open ocean around you, the sky and vater. You vant to see the vorld, I take you,” the werewolf said. “I go home to Sobirat'sya eventually. You vant see other side of vorld, come along,” the man offered. It was a sincere offer—the boat he had come over here with was still stowed safely away, and though it was a small vessel, they could accomodate at least four more crew with Rurik, Liliya, Silas, and Anatoliy. Perhaps they wouldn't come home, though—that had entered Rurik's mind a few times before, and he had decided it was alright. His children were old enough to make their own way in the world, and eventually home would come calling to them again.

Kansas Sadira · 05-23-2010, 01:40 PM

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300+ What a kickass avatar you have.

The Dreamer rarely wasted moments dwelling on his own past anymore. Some time ago, when he lacked maturity, Kansas had anguished over the "pain" of his earlier days, wondering why he had been dealt such a harsh hand. All of a sudden, it seemed, he realized that his history was no more horrible than the next man's. In fact, it was tame. He had no reason to hate the things that had happened to him — on the contrary, they were precious. They'd shaped him into who he was now.

The snowy werewolf let his eyes affix to the floor, their turquoise depths glazing with the effects of the alcohol. His eyes barely shifted, but a smile brightened his features as the stormy-furred wolf spoke of Aremys and the coinciding failure of his memory. Nah, Kansas added softly with a shrug of his own lean shoulders, We weren't there at the same time. He was not even three years old. The slender male shook his head, thinking of how old he felt, and of how he wondered if his soul was older than his physical form.

He let Rurik's accented voice soothe him, seeing pictures in his mind of what the older brute described. The Russian obviously adored the open sea. Kansas imagined wind smoothing his fur back, laden with the scent of salt and damp. His stare finally shifted, landing on the cheerful face of his new acquaintance. The pale Were picked up on the sincerity of Rurik's offer, and could not help but smile. Huh, he said through smiling lips, I would love that. Let's go. When you're ready to return, let's do it. He would take Savina, and whichever children wished to join them. I... I like you, Rurik. His bashful tone returned as it usually did when he spoke his true feelings. Attempting eye contact with his friend, the Sadira held out a hand for the bottle, whose contents had already dwindled significantly. At this point, Kansas felt safe enough to take more; he felt light as a feather and it was wonderful.

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Rurik Russo · 05-26-2010, 10:52 AM

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315 <333! Alta made it! XD

The werewolf rolled his shoulder in a shrug at the other man's words. He did not know for certain either way; the past was confused and jumbled to him in many places. Rurik lacked the sharp memory some other canines boasted, for he could hardly remember his own name at times, and surely this did some damage to his very brain, though perhaps he had never been particularly bright to begin with. He was not book-smart—the werewolf could read and write fluently in Russian, but this skill was rarely, if ever, useful on this continent. Reading in English was difficult but doable with some effort, though writing in this land's native tongue was impossible for him.

“Maybe. Eet is nice someone remembers old things, though,” the werewolf said honestly. Aremys was not Syemv, true, but it contained some of Syemv's legacy nonetheless, and he was happy that someone at least recalled the name. The ghostly white canine reacted rather positively to the man's offer, and Rurik grinned broadly at this, the blackened tip of his tail thumping against the floor of their little hideout. “I vill come and let you know in Crimson Dreams before I go,” the man said, and he meant this. He would also have to go to Dahlia de Mai and let Lolita know—this was no problem for Rurik, though he knew he would not wait forever for them. If they were not ready to depart within a few weeks, he would have to go on alone; the wild world would not wait so long.

The other man's words drew his attention and a smile graced his ash-colored face, lighting up his saphire gaze. “Aye, and I like you,” Rurik declared confidently. More than anything, he enjoyed being social and making new friends—and what better way was there to bond than over a bottle and some stories shared?

Kansas Sadira · 06-12-2010, 12:24 PM

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300+ i suck

Through a grin, Kansas nodded, taking a moment to reflect upon what Rurik had said. He owed his knowledge of the area's history to his father — Phoenix had always been full to the brim with stories and teachings that Kansas was eager to absorb. In his confusion about his feelings toward his father, Kansas had shut away the memories of the former Storm leader, choosing not to bother opening them up to himself again. In truth, he would not be who he was without the care and love of his father. He wondered for a split second if Rurik had ever known Phoenix. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

Thank you, was all he could think to say. The slim wolf could only guess when Rurik planned to stop by, but it didn't matter to him at the moment. He cared only to enjoy the easy flow of conversation between them. Accomplishment brightened his smile as the gray-furred male returned the favor of flattery. He didn't pause to question whether Rurik spoke the truth (perhaps with the assistance of the drink), but merely accepted it as he accepted the bottle back into his hands. He drank, sloshing some of the rum down his chin and snorting a comical laugh. Wiping his jaw with the back of the hand, he set the bottle down in front of him, vaguely aware that he was through drinking for the day. I've never been anywhere, he began,sitting upright again. I mean, never far from here. My longest journey was from Storm to this place after that, eh, wildfire. Surely the seasoned Russian knew about this event. Kansas couldn't recall the details of his personal trek at the moment, and didn't care to — it had been an unpleasant time. The boy had been completely miserable. But I've always wanted to see what's out there, eh? I read about many places and... gosh, they sound wonderful. He sighed, shrugging as he did so. There was so much to do in this world, and so little time.

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Rurik Russo · 06-15-2010, 08:49 AM

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I respectfully disagree with the opinion that you suck and request you shove it up your butt and keep it there!!!!11 :| ILU <3 ALSO this post is short D;

Syemv and Chimera had quite a close relationship, and of course that had eventually led to the creation of Aremys—the silver-shaded werewolf hadn't been around for the official creation of the pack, but he'd returned just in time to find that the once coastal Syemv pack had moved to the Moaning Woods, as landlocked as could be. Perhaps that was the reason he'd never truly settled in there—without the ocean, Rurik was positively lost. He listened to Kansas and tilted his head, marveling at the man. “But zhat is impressive,” Rurik said, protesting. “I could not do such a zheeng—stay in same place almost for so long. Zhis is home to you,” the werewolf said, waving his hand about. “Zhe vide vorld, eet is beautiful, yes—but maybe, maybe I vould be better eef I just stay home with family,” he said, shaking his head. “I see zhe vorld, but I meess some zhings—nieces and nephews, mine grandmothers and grandfazhers...” he added, trailing off. The eldest generation of Russo was rather old, and they would die sooner or later—Luperci were hardly eternal or immortal. Rurik might be halfway around the world when they were buried, and he might not learn of their deaths until months after the fact.

Kansas Sadira · 06-15-2010, 08:31 PM

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ilu! short here too.

When he first heard Rurik's words, he didn't know what to think. He wondered how remaining in one place for his entire life could be considered impressive. Kansas caught on to what the elder Were had said on his own, but he understood it fully only when his companion had finished, with his words about missing his family.

Their perspectives were different, opposite almost: The Sadira boy thought he could better himself through seeing more of the world, while Rurik wondered whether he should stay in one place among family. Kansas had never been unhappy with his home, if he was being honest with himself. There was plenty to see around here, many beautiful and interesting places that he could enjoy, all the while remaining available to his family. Perhaps there would be time for something else later.

Do you have any family around here? the slender male asked curiously. Are they in Russia? Maybe Rurik had brought some of his kin to Canada with him. Kansas didn't know if it was possible to sail the sea by oneself.

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Rurik Russo · 06-29-2010, 05:12 AM

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313~

The werewolf knew that living his life as Kansas had would have been impossible; by the time Rurik was two years old, he was already living in London, waiting for his ship to be built so he might sail around the world. He had gotten the traveling itch even younger than that, and maybe he'd even had it all his life. Though he would never have traded his experiences with the world, he did wonder how different his life would be if he had just stayed at home. Maybe he'd still have Kiska and his sons; maybe Anatman and Barskii would have even been alive. The silver-shaded werewolf could not say for sure, and he smiled. “Most of mine family still leeves in Russia. Mine parents, siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews... beeg family,” the werewolf said, clearly taking pride in his blood.

“But here I have mine children Liliya and Anatoliy with me in Cour des Miracles. Silas live in Inferni,” the werewolf explained. Now he leaned back, taking a long swig of the bottle. He lit a cigarette afterward, and sighed his smoky breath outward. “Mine oldest sons, zhey were born in Syemv. But... I vas not good father. I did not even zhink zhey were mine children at first,” he said, shaking his head. He struck the ground with a fist suddenly; for once in his life, anger showed through in Rurik. “Stupid! So stupid,” the man said, sighing heavily. The anger had evaporated and gone as quickly as it had come, and he dragged his cigarette again. “I search for zhem, but I do not find them.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, and looked away. This was his darkest secret, though it certainly was not secret—the silver-shaded werewolf would publicize his search for Zorish, Zaets, and Vladimir wherever he could in the hopes that it would help him.

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