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Rostislav My peace is interrupted by the approach of another. I hear the hoofbeats behind me, smell her scent. She calls out to me, not wanting to surprise me. Wise, padowan learner. Damaris continues to romp in the field, not sensing any unease from me. I look over my shoulder, then finally turn my body around to face the newcomer. I stay quiet for a moment, and look her up and down. A unicorn, pale, with a golden horn. She seems a little unnerved. I'm surprised I'm not more unnerved myself. I credit the vodka for that, and as the thought comes to mind, I reach down and grab my drinking pouch, pulling it up to my lips for a few swigs. I let it drop to my chest again and look at the mare again. Did she get prettier? "Zdravstvuyte tovarishch." She speaks French. I do not speak French. Stupid French. So I give her a little Russian in return. I have no fuckin' clue where we are. Do you? I cock an ear to the side, listening for Damaris, but staying keenly focused on the lady in front of me. Never trust the French, even the pretty, semi-blurry ones. I take a few steps toward her again and look around us. Trees, a field, these weird camp-like things. I'm not sure what to make of it all. Waterfalls falling over the edge of this island in the sky. As I look back into the middle, I think I see another figure, and in my mind I express concern for Damaris, wanting her to return to me. She does, and stops near me, eyeing the French one up and down as well. We Russians don't trust the French, can you tell? I take another swig from my pouch. Vodka always makes it better, if you ask me. You didn't ask me? Oh. Well fuck you. Walk. Talk. @[Sheba] LOL Top Shelf Sexy Badass |
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*You may do anything you wish with Rostislav excluding dismemberment and death.
