Rude Awakenings [Sergey]

It had been a few days since Sergey had arrived in the Dreamscape, though he was clueless to his surroundings and how he might have arrived here. All he knew was that he woke up in a forest, presumably after a wild drunken night.

He assumed he was still in the heart of France, however. Maybe Forêt de Paimpont? He was last in Rennes on 'business'. However that didn't make much sense, because the trees in these woods were dissimilar to the ones in the supposed Brocéliande. Sure there were oaks and beeches, and even pine trees, but they did not make up the majority of the trees here. No one type of tree seemed to trump any number of others. There were broadleaf trees and needley conifers, and trees he never seen before even in his journeys all across Europe. He found a tree, the leaves of which stung like intoxicating rosemary when crush, and used it as a landmark.

That way, he knew he was walking in circles.

For a forest as distinct as this, it was certainly vast. He was no stranger to navigating the wilds. He couldn't be with a career like his. Yet he kept losing himself in this strange place. Thunderstorms began rolling in; he had no time to contemplate. He needed shelter.

Sergey built something of a lean-to for the time being. He was a tough guy, but he rather not weather the oncoming storm on his own. It was built more like a shack than a simple single-pitch roof with no walls. His carpentry skills came in handy sometimes.

As the sky turned purple and rumbled with discontent, Sergey was quite pleased with himself. He'd survive it no problem. He slept through more uncomfortable situations. He had a small fire going and he was feeling alright. Relatively. He removed his frilly frock coat and even frillier shirt and laid them beneath his head. He could sleep it out. He just wish he a bottle of bourbon or something to ease him into unconsciousness.

But he had something else working against that anyways.

He could hear something speak in the distance. His hearing was very acute, and could determine it was young and female and it was cursing. She sounded upset. He leaned out to listen for the exact direction it was coming from and the type of movement she carried herself with. It didn't sound like running. On the contrary, it was more like skulking-- difficult to pick up past the din of raindrops and the bellow of thunder.

Well, he had to go investigate, as stupid as that was. He couldn't let someone wander around the dark forest with no protection.

First he covered his head with his coat before he walked out. He drew a makeshift torch through the fire to light it, then carried it with him through the dark. It was a good thing his hung-over was worn out by now. When he wasn't pissdrunk, Sergey moved with surprising grace for his size, and more importantly, silence. Even when wearing heavy cavalry boots, it was very difficult to hear him approach.

Past the smoke, he sniffed at the breeze and flicked his proboscis like it was the tongue of a serpent. He could detect carbon dioxide on the breath of the living, but he was more concerned by the scent of wolf in the air. It was probably just a wolf, but being a monster hunter, he learned that even 'if you hear hoof beats, it might actually be a zebra'.

Whatever it was, they could pose a danger, even if wolves were usually frightened by humanity.

He couldn't make out any shapes-- everything looked like a tree or a sapling or a bush at this point, just shadowy forms against the stark flash of lightening; but he could smell them-- her. It was probably a her.

While likewise, he could not be seen, his torch might be. It was a glowing beacon of warmth on this stormy night. He didn't even smell like booze or a corpse anymore. Just rain, and maybe smoke. Sergey didn't realize it -- and if he did he would have met her from the front -- but instead he was faced with her back.

Drifting past the trees, he reached out and grabbed at her... well, it seemed to be her shoulder now that he could see it.

“Good evening, ma'am,” he greeted in poorly spoken French*, completely unaware of how ominous this might be in the first place.

<sub>((*I don't know if it matters, but I assume that despite the universal translator, if you speak in a language that isn't your native tongue, and you have an accent, it'll carry over to the listener's translation.

So even if it is translated to whatever language Fenrei speaks, he still have a thick Russian accent. He's just assuming he's still in France right now.))</sub>

The next thing Sergey knew there was a throbbing pain and a small girl barking demands at him. Normally, he would have been able to catch the branch, but his reflexes were still suffering some alcohol-induced grogginess it seemed.

“Oh,” was all he said in response. Very perfunctorily. He could hear the pieces crack and fall past him, but he didn't move. He didn't even budge upon impact. The other half remained in the girl's hand as she brandished it like a bayonet. His eyes drifted from the makeshift weapon back to the face of the girl. She was scared, aw, but she was a headstrong sort. He was impressed by her ability to keep her voice from shaking as she ordered answers from him. He wouldn't be surprised if she had found herself on the defensive side of the situation many times before, and probably warranted.

He raised his hands in surrender. While he could just as easily snatch the broken branch pointed at his gut, he was more concerned about her sense of security than his own. He wasn't in the business of kidnapping small ladies under his arm and forcing them under his arm unless he very well had to.

If she felt in control of the situation, he could just coax her into safety.

“Tsokay,” he cooed. “You have the advantage, though I have no intentions of hurting you, see? Unarmed.”

That wasn't entirely true. He twirled around, shifting his weight on one foot and making a display of his weaponless condition. He was shirtless, wearing only his breeches, boots and the frock coat over his head. Actually, he also had a small silver crucifix-shaped stiletto dagger tucked away in the side of his boot and a vial of wolfsbane hidden in the other, but it didn't make much a difference in his opinion. Besides, his fists made a much more effective weapon.

Though, she did smell like the werewolf now that he had a close up whiff of her, and she appeared to have a wolf-ish tail, and a set of wolf-ish ears upon her head. He still had no plans on using either on her though.

Sergey stood before her, cocked his hip to the side and shrugged.

“Good, huh?” He smiled. It was a cat-like grin, the way it curled up at the corners playfully. It looked hardly appropriate on a hulking tank of a man. He kept one eyes on her as the rest of his body took a dip.

“I am Sergey the Fatherless, but you can just call me Seryozha if you like.”

He had spent enough time in Western aristocracy to understand the practice of 'bowing' before a lady, and his most recent trips to French courts, he also learned to execute it correctly and full of grace. However, he knew better than to reach for her hand and kiss it. That was just asking for a face full of splinters.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to come back with me. I have temporary shelter from the storm.”

He thought it was strange though, how she seemed to be fluent in Russian, and while he appreciated it and had replied in the same, he wondered why she would be all the way out here in the Brittany wilderness.

He pitied the girl, understanding just how frightened she must be. This was no place for anyone to be alone, not even him, but he could tolerate it. He was glad he wasn't alone now though. Sergey always enjoyed company, even if that company was shivering with fear and threatening him with a sharp, pointy object.

He supposed it wouldn't be the first time, or the last.

“What a night!” he exclaimed, waving the torch in the air as he turned back around in the direction of shelter. He thought it was a surprisingly long night, at least. Sergey had a good sense of these things. When you spend all night under the full moon for the last 60 or more (and then spent all night, for several nights, under other phases too), you got good at gauging the time after awhile. It wasn't the anxiety of the storm that prolonged it either. The storm didn't bother him at all, really. It just felt chronologically longer than it usually was.

Maybe the dark clouds were just obscuring the dawn's rising sun. The way the winds howled and the lightening shook the earth meant this was more than just another April shower.

“Are you cold? Would you like to have the coat?” He swiped the frock coat off his head and shoulders and held it out to the lupine girl. It smelt like French whiskey and wine (because Sergey was the only man on Earth who thought combining the two was a good idea) and alarmingly enough, blood. It stunk of a terrible time indeed, but he thought it would get the job done. He never stopped to think about her reaction to the pungent odor, only that it was certainly warmer and would protect her against the rain and cold better than what she had now.

“I never got your name, miss,” he remarked quietly.

“Ah, nice to meet you Miss Garmr,” he replied as casually as someone could through a thunderstorm. He held out his hand, in case she wanted to take it. It was a stormy night, after all, and she would be guided by nothing but the light of the flame. It wasn't very easy to see through all the darkness and rain.
Of course, she didn't want to scare her either. He was still a stranger, and Sergey realized at this point that he could be pretty intimidating to most folks.

“I'm afraid there is no settlement nearby. I have scouted the area the about a day or two ago-- covered a lot of land, too. I marked the area already. Not man-made landmark in sight. I would have ventured further, but with the oncoming storm...”

He need not say anymore, with its effects on full display. Howling wind and biting torrents and every now and then a bolt of lightning and a quaking of the very earth beneath their soles.

“However, I did see a river north of the laurel that stinks like camphor. So we could always just follow it? When the weather dies down, of course.”

She definitely sounded like a traveler, or at least, she sounded like someone who was very, very lost. Maybe she wound up here just as confused as he was; waking up cold and alone in the middle of nowhere.

“What are you doing all the way in France anyways, sestrenka?”

Sergey laughed. It was the sort of laugh that could compete with the bellowing thunder that occasionally shook their surroundings.

“It's okay. I didn't know what France was either until we had to fight with them!” He hummed to himself between sentences. “So where are you from then?”

He still assumed they were in France, but obviously, she wasn't from France and didn't even know where it was. Maybe she was Swiss or Italian-- the Alpine mountain range were right there. Perhaps she was Spanish, living on the Iberian side of the Pyrenees.

He continued to hum until she said she just woke up there.

“Ah. That's how I ended up here as well.” He laughed heartily again, swishing around the torch. “And I just thought it was the aftermath of a wild, drunken evening. I don't imagine that's what happened to you though, hmm?”