Space Dementia-Journey to the bottom of the bottle

POSTED: Thu Aug 26, 2010 3:45 am

Figure we will let rurik and Saluce get things goin?

For once since coming to Dahlia Saluce had slipped outside of her borders to explore more to the south. So far he hadn’t been this way. When he had arrived here he had headed due west from Halifax and then he fell and well things changed. Blue orbs looked up at the sky with interest, for much of the journey to the south he hadn’t paid much mind to the time of day, but as the fading sun in the west hinted, soon night would fall and he was almost glad he had brought along his twin blades. As if an abomination is such pristine lands the behemoth continued walking along preferring to explore on two legs as opposed to two. Stopping to rest a moment he took out a long cylinder shape that he had kept since finding at his shop. This time water didn’t fill the container, no he grinned quietly as he let himself take a drink of some of the wine he had found at the vineyard back home. Today was a good day to him, and since he rarely if often drank he figured he would bring a long a little liquid courage even though he adamantly refused such things. Maybe though it was the thought that someone back home would be worried that he had left for a bit, with a grin he knew he would catch it from her even if they weren’t truly mates yet.

No Saluce for the first time in a long time wasn’t sullen, or in a stupid shitty mood, he was actually happy for once which was a rarity in his life. So as soon as he noticed he was approaching different packs he let caution go to the wind as he trekked farther south seemingly surrounded by two different packs. Inevitably his little journey could lead to meeting new people. What new people he would meet, friend or foe, or maybe drinking buddies he was unsure of. But since Connor never seemed like the drinking type and most others in his pack never really acted in such ways… he would just have to get out and find one.

POSTED: Fri Aug 27, 2010 8:28 am

Word Count :: 441

Though one would never guess from looking at him, Rurik, too, had suffered in life. He had lost damn near everything once upon a time, and he had headed back to Russia with nothing in his pockets. His ship had sank, his mate and his sons were gone, and everything he had come here to do had ended up as an utter catastrophe, failing in an epic burst of flame and smoke. Not even Syemv could be salvaged from the wreckage five years ago. Even so, Rurik was not the type to become depressed or outwardly show dissatisfaction. He had been broken up over it for a long time afterward, but he refused to let his past and its mistakes huant him. Such was not a way to be at all. Rurik valued happiness and contentedness, and though he was neither with the thoughts of what he'd lost on his mind, he had to act otherwise.

He was unwavering in cheerful optimism, finding at least a polished spot to every aspect ofhis own life and others' lives. Surely such a thing could irritate his companions on occasion, but the staggering majority of Rurik's friends and acquaintences found his bright and positive attitude rather uplifting. The silver-shaded werewolf seemed born to spread cheer, and that was just what he planned on doing today. He still hadn't met many members of the other packs, and he was afraid of becoming a shut-in. One of the things he was great at was interacting with others; he could easily work to improve Cour des Miracles' ties with the other packs. The silver-shaded wolf smiled broadly at these thoughts, and wandered forward.

Slung over his back was a small pack with a few bottles. His stash was running low, but he had replenished it before, and he would replenish it again. Worse came to worse, he could always make his own moonshine—he needed to share these ideas and abilities. Others would make use of them, for sure. He headed out from the Miracles territory, intending to wander until he found a neighboring pack—he already knew where Aniwaya and Cour des Miracles were, but he hadn't yet visited Dahlia de Mai. He remembered Lolita quite well, and he wondered if she still lived amongst that group.

As he continued, a scent drifted over to him, the unmistakable sound of footfalls catching his attention. It would seem he didn't have to head far to entertain visitors today, for one seemed headed for his homeland. Eagerly, the silver-shaded wolf turned, altering his path to head toward the stranger. “Allo,” he said, waving his had around in greeting.

POSTED: Sun Sep 05, 2010 10:20 am

Quietly the wolf took another drink, the wine helped along his pleasant feeling thus far. True he had just committed himself to one woman, and that thought alone horrified and elated him. A conflict of two emotions coursing through his mind, fighting for supremacy left him exhausted at times. But for now the behemoth was content to let it all play out with the help of Alcohol. Saluce let a long breathe leave his lips in a yawn, suddenly he wondered if he should just head back. The hell he’d catch for coming back slightly sloshed though seemed like an impossible option. Especially since he didn’t want this to become habit, and he didn’t want her to see him like this anyways. No he’d wait, come back with a hangover in the morning and hope he didn’t do something stupid. Which also meant he was again leaving his fate up to his frazzled alcohol infused brain something that surely wouldn’t lead to anything good possibly happening.

Lost in his own thoughts of doubt and joy he didn’t notice the approaching stranger coming in his direction. Eyes quickly looked around and found the body to the voice of the male who had greeted him. Suspicious to a fault the wolf eyed him, sized him up, and in a robotic fashion derived how dangerous he may or may not be. The behemoth’s swords hanged lazily at his sides and no hand left to grab ahold of either of the hilts, those hands though rested on his hips as his head cocked to the side. From what he could tell the fellow looked interesting and light hearted enough, maybe enough that he wouldn’t mind a stranger so close to these two pack lands.

“Bonjour” he greeted the male, normally he’d greet in English but lately he had increasingly gotten into the routine of using his native language. French was a lot softer, and more inviting language to greet with. English had its uses, and other languages had a harshness that never seemed inviting but French always had an air of cheery happiness to it that he found himself liking more and more. Approaching the stranger he kept himself more natural, more in an easy stance. Since the stranger hadn’t approached in a threatening fashion he felt it only natural to return his trust with his own. “Interesting land here” he said in an attempt at idle conversation.

POSTED: Sun Oct 03, 2010 4:55 am


Kansas set off into the bright afternoon, leaving the lands of Crimson Dreams and heading west. Today he had finished all his tasks early in the day, an almost impossible feat for the laid-back wolf. Usually, he procrastinated tremendously, seeking hours to spend either alone, thinking, or idling blissfully with his family. Laziness was a fault he brooded over more than he tried to change. Early this morning, he awoke in a swamp of guilt for leaving his duties to fester, so he manically completed them all, leaving the entire afternoon to do as he pleased.

He still had some energy to burn. Anxiety coursed through him like electricity, urging his body into motion. If he didn't relax soon, he was going to be running into the night. Kansas allowed himself a smile as he approached a grotesquely upturned root, fancying it a perfect bench. He wondered if it had appeared there decades ago, intended to come to his use now. The frosted cherub lowered himself to the root chair and unwound himself from his satchel. From it he removed a small baggy, and immediately the strong scent entered his nostrils and he began to salivate. He loaded the pungent bud into the bowl of his metal pipe, put it to his lips and lit it with the lighter in his other hand. Inhaling deeply, the werewolf felt the smoke enter his lungs. His entire body seemed to heat and lift from the earth as he exhaled a plume of silver white smoke.

After finishing two additional stout hits, the Sadira male coughed away another cloud of smoke. While he hacked away, sudden voices sounded. His ears perked, baby blues simultaneously opening wide. He felt his entire body jerk alive, and he was on his feet in a second. He searched around him, ever-cautious of strange beasts in the forest. The chance of danger frightened him without limit. Finally, he spied two gray shapes in the distance, appearing to greet one another (though he couldn't see too clearly, the sun beaming straight to his brain). He heaved an audible sigh of relief, with it noticing that one of the wolves' scents was familiar. The smell reminded him of Rurik, the Russian man he had shared a few drinks with some months ago. Strange that they should cross paths again, thought the Dreamer. The second wolf was essentially a stranger to him, though he distinctly smelled of Dahlia de Mai.

Because of Rurik's presence, Kansas lost his fear, remembering the pleasant few hours they had spent together. Something about the elder had cheered and calmed Kansas. Now that he was actually eager to greet the pair, he cupped his smoking materials in the palm of his large pale hand and gathered his satchel strap over his shoulder. He approached them with a pleased smile on his lips, enjoying the head rush he experienced on the way. Hey, he spoke softly, his snowy tail beginning to wag. There was the smell of wine, undoubtedly from the bottle that the stranger held. Kansas let his eyes drift away from it.

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