Champagne Cocaine Gasoline

He gave a small grunt in response and yawned. “True.” He said gruffly. If Chaos made a bad impression Ruthgar was worse, between his marred appearance and a disinclination to speak due to his accent it was easy to assume Ruthgar was generally apathetic if not completely cold to those around him. He wanted to believe that his actions would speak louder than his words, but the only positive action he had was his first Coup, and while it was the first Coup in what he hoped would be a long history in Crew it hadn’t entirely gone well. His participation in the pack hunt had been minimal and in his mind he just counted himself lucky that he hadn’t fucked the whole thing up. His participation in the festival was fuzzy after he had told the story of The Great Brown Bastard at the rapids, although he supposed crowing in the first place counted for something.

He looked at Chaos as he reclined on the rock and looked away, his mind elsewhere. He wasn’t sure he was ready to let go of all that he had gone through, between his life in the pack Cerise or his betaship under Orsus, or his relationship with Isis and how it ultimately ended. He wanted to believe that someday he would be able to move past it, but the wounds felt far too fresh for him to even consider moving on now.

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