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03-18-2014, 10:42 PM
Damaris yips at the fox and gives chase, running after the white furball into the blood red waters, paying no heed at all to the fact that the waters were, oh, blood red. She splashes in the water, soaking her coat. Some part of my brain is paying attention to her, and notes that we'll have to find some way to warm her up and dry her off to prevent her from taking a chill in this frigid weather. She sends splashes toward Ouija and yips, ready to play tackle the canine. Of course, my attention is not on the playful youth in the water. Instead, I have a naughty smile playing upon my lips as I duck my head and shake the strap off of my shoulders, letting the drinking pouch fall to the ground softly, cushioned by the snow. I uncork it and pick it up by the strap, offering it to the dark stallion in front of me. "It's something I doubt you've ever tried before. But delicious." The smirk is in full effect now. "Called vodka. I brought it from my home, but was gifted with this enchanted pouch here. The Gods smiled on me, my friend." My grin has turned silly with the pleasure I feel - and felt - when I received the pouch for my own. I am still getting used to the idea of anything enchanted, especially something so precious to wear around my neck. "Drink up, Comrade. It'll make your world just a little prettier." By which I mean blurrier and him more dazed. And stumbly. And giggly. And all sorts of wonderful things. Unless he's an angry drunk, or a sad drunk. Or a drunk drunk. I hope he's not one of those. I'm not good at catering to the emotions of the angry slash sad slash drunk drunk. Only the happy and/or stoic ones. Like me! Text text text. "Words words words." |
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*You may do anything you wish with Rostislav excluding dismemberment and death.
