Neutral, as a word, could be greatly exaggerated. And, in Leroy’s view, he felt that was the case for him. Tanglewood was not a war-hungry clan, nor was Leroy, and he quite liked being in the middle, thank you very much. Yet, his actions may say the contrary.

Deliberately leaving his turf to forcefully heist an innocents’ limb? That was downright evil. But, once you took into account that it was not out of his own interest, as the mongrel committed the deed under Aya’s influence, one would find that the leg-snatching mutt was no longer the evil one - his employer was. Thus, the whole “neutral” term begins to get tossed around, and yadda yadda, everybody moves on. Starkweather was not a good person, yet he was not bad either. He was in the centre. The medium. The halfway.

Essentially, in a yin-yang, he was the border that separated black from white.

Most of Tanglewood’s inhabitants were like this as well, not wanting to be the light or dark, though there were indeed a some folk here that had yet to get their head straight. Mainly, this was referring to Delilah, who must have not harmed another being before, and Ophelia, his friend whom fell underneath the same category. Even if their presences were welcomed by all, their actions, by default, labeled them as outlanders, regardless if others could accept the fact. Those two weren’t “neutral” - they were good. And, the thing was, due to his friendly relationship with talkative Ophelia, Leroy wanted to be good, too. Disregarding that it would never be so, her ways inspired him to view situations from the positive side, and motivating him to many other mannerisms that he had never thought he’d do six months ago.

Overall, this one scenario was a minor addition to the crisis he was already going through heeding where his loyalty was and his current alignment, and it was really getting to him. A few nights ago, he got loaded drunk, unfortunately to the viewing pleasure of a handful of others, just to harden his mind. Evidently, waking up to an incredibly messy home and an upset stomach the morning after, it only made things worse. What he truly needed was someone to talk to, a someone that could see the good in him, all while pointing out his flaws. In other words, he needed an honest friend, those of which weren’t in a vast supply anymore, though luckily for him, Leroy could always count on one. Ophelia.

God, he hoped she was faring well with her injuries. His eyes hadn’t caught sight of her since the calamity between her and some assailant wannabe until recently, which was entirely his fault. After Axle carried her back (the feat Leroy still believed he should have done), immediately going to see her should have been his top priority, instead of pursuing giblets for the boss; but alas, he was a bad friend.

Would she even care to see him after all this time? Would she be happy? He didn’t know.

He did understand, though, that a visit could work well for the both of them. Initially he’d begin at her home, rattling on the door’s exterior to garner the winged feline’s attention. If that did not work, he’d continue to the library, where the deuce first met, subsequently to the forest onwards. It all depended on her current location, the one in question he’d find before the sun truly went down. Only a few hours remained before that happened.

// [member=1933]ophelia.[/member] really had no idea how to write this + literally lost all muse rip

Solely hearkening an exclamation in response was enough to lighten him up a bit, and laying his eyes upon her mug was on a whole other level. It was the same warmth he experienced from when they had to collaberate on that bonfire, not attained by the fire itself, but from a fervour that overhauled his mind when being in proximity to this dame. This certain enthusiasm the mutt was submitted to had a different effect than both friendly and romantic attraction. It was like nostalgia, though he could never recall memories of a friendship before. Another thought it tugged at was the suggestion that he’d met her in another lifetime, another existence - yet that countered his superstitions surrounding reincarnation and whatnot. Or, possibly he found his way to some whiskey again and didn’t remember so, allowing emotions he didn’t even know he had flow through his veins. Oh, what was he thinking? You’re Leroy Starkweather, bluntest of the emotionless, you’re supposed to wear that as a badge for Christ’s sake.

The blue optics that were Ophelia’s own seemed to snap him out of it. Good. Fumes emanating from whatever the hell she was cooking entered his nostrils, and it smelled good. It had been such a long time following when he had last had a warm, tender meal. Surviving on raw meat, though the natural diet of his species, was a new feat for him, and due to a lack of cooking knowledge, that’s the best it got.

When she asked, nay, demanded him to come in, the guardsman happily obliged. Who could say no to the offer of even more warmth, especially when it’s getting to the time of year when the weather turns to shit and goes ape. To Ophelia’s offer of chow, though, Leroy had a different reaction. "Don’ trouble yourself, I’d eat the whole thing," he’d disclose, acknowledging the bird’s size, despite craving a nice meal himself at this present time. This was her place, her own little haven of knowledge and order, he could fetch himself a snack back at his behind-the-times hut. ”Water would be grand, though”.

This place’s interior was... eugh. That’s not saying that it is bad, god no, the house had a brilliant touch to it - for someone else’s taste. Maybe it was how balanced everything was? It was probably that, nodding to the fact that Leroy preferred freedom, spontaneity, and liberty over order, equilibrium, and stability, making for a dramatic difference in taste between the two mammals.

He’d remain standing until directed otherwise. Disregarding his preferences in reference to the building, Leroy still had respect for its owner, and would not slump down into a tired mass of fur unless Ophelia gave the call.

”Really happy ta see you’re holding up fine, with your injuries and all. You’re fine, right?”. It was best to start out with light conversation before delving deep with what he wanted to say. Being too straightforward was a trait of his, one that needed tweaking.

Roots of a grin vegetated in the corners of his vexed jaws, the hound nearly smiling as Ophelia briskly fetched him a dish of water, offering him the bird she had cooked for her eating pleasure, insisting that there was other morsels about. It would be rude to turn the feline’s gesture down, as Leroy had now seated himself under her roof, and it was her hospitality that she was willing to share. Quick with a shrug, "If ya really don’t want any, I guess I could have some... I’m hankerin’ for some grub," he’d state, without any reserve. It was possible for a “please”, or “thank you” to pop up in his sentence, yet Leroy saw that it would start off their interaction too ardently. Lowering his large head to lap up a few gulps of water that she had kindly supplied him with, the mutt nodded his noggin in acknowledgment, and even lightly winked in Ophelia’s direction as his method of showing appreciation. The furball desired for him to be comfortable, an action that friends would do for one another. If only he knew how to return the favour, as this was the closest he had ever gotten to somebody before, regardless of their mediocre roles as ‘buddies’. Perhaps that rendered him as awkward? If anybody knew, it was Ophelia, and she did a good job of not recognizing his lack of skill; or possibly she was, and it was him who was not comprehending things.

Truth be told, the usually-emotionless guardsman was quite glad to have someone like her. Very much so. Their interactions only spanned the time of one month, though during that time, the two worked together on multiple occasions, and both were present when one was suffering a serious injury. Ophelia still bore the marks of her wounds, which could be seen as recent, and he saw to it that her day was enlightened by his presence. He knew from experience that long days of being useless in a certain field, in his situation, physical labour, it can get gloomy. That’s what drove him to drinking. He didn’t want the same blues overwhelming his friend - yet the topic of the conversation he wished to have may contradict that.

”You’re right about the last tidbit, ‘bout my heart and sh-stuff,” Leroy began hazily, correcting himself from swearing as he did not know how fond the dusky feline was of foul language. ”Don’ know if ya heard, but a while back, like a week ago, I kinda drank till I got drunk. I mean ya’d think that’d be typical of me to do so, but it ain’t. Delilah and Arrow unfortunately saw everythin’.” The mongrel paused, only to inhale. These next paragraphs were carefully rehearsed, in such a manner that stutters and ‘uh’s were as limited as possible, and as well as hoping Ophelia would not find his story offensive. Wow, for a tight-knit duo they were, their interests were relatively unknown to each other. Could that change tonight, one may theorize. Anyhow. ”I didn’t hurt myself, don’t worry,” he’d reassure, ”in fact, I benefited from it. I did make a mess of my home, but I found tha’ I have a last name, Starkweather, and ‘m proud ta say that I wanna keep that name alive.”

”But it got me thinkin’. And it gets dangerous when I think. It’s kinda hazy now, but I went on about what’s good and what’s bad; and I kinda wanted to know where I fell, you know? Is Leroy Starkweather good or bad? Or in the middle?”.

He was glad that it was as late as it was, the canine certainly did not need anybody to hear him speak his mind - it could be used against him. Ophelia heard him do this, so hopefully she understood that this was confided to her, and to her alone. Strongly exhaling, he’d lower his neck once more to get another drink. Damn, it was nice to have something you knew wasn’t irradiated. It wasn’t, right? 

Leroy allowed himself to smile once Ophelia first spoke, the winged cat’s concern and comfort enrapturing him as her abundance of sentences often did. It was sweet of her to quip in debate to his story about drinking, denying what he had said out of care, and carrying on to state that everyone had their bad days. That warmed him. Howbeit a chatterbox, Ophelia was simply a joy to have a conversation with. The feline quick to react with minutes’ worth of dialogue in response to a mere statement, and the mutt shared a common opinion on subjects with her most times.

Most times.

The large head of Leroy had dipped in a nod of agreement while Ophelia mentioned black, white, and the many different stances one could be in the middle. It was a thought that got flung around his imagination, how it was up to him to choose a side rather than have someone else pick one for you. Still and all, he wished to remain in the exact middle, though his actions could disaffirm that. How could one claim their place as nonparticipating after maiming an unknown figure to the benefit of someone else? What about the original plans for domination he had when initially arriving at Tanglewood? One may change their ways, but past actions can, and will, evermore return to haunt you. At least for now he was safe from his deeds’ wrath.

More water entered his system before whatever liquid that remained in the dish consisted of a few droplets, and the refreshed hound dotingly exhaled. The clean drink inspirited the canine, further increasing the bliss he felt for Ophelia’s companionship at this moment. Then, she spoke, and his perked ears noticeably declined. As a friend, the most he could do was acquiesce with her declaration, stating that she wanted to be viewed as good, as well as act good herself.

"I think it mattas with whom ya ally yourself with, yeah?" Leroy rehashed, concerning what both he and Ophelia had touched upon amidst their observations. ”Like, who you’re loyal to. One kind thing ya do for someone coul’ be seen as bad to anotha party.” That wouldn’t cut it, his comment was a tad foggy. He’d shake his head, as if to tell himself no, you didn’t say it right. ”For example, I consider myself loyal t’ Tanglewood, an’ t’ my friends - especially you. Tha’s where my troubles’ is comin’ from.”

He’d sigh daintily once more, this was going to be tough. The canine parades that tough motif of his around the territory, so he was worried about how his next few words would affect Ophelia. Could she take him seriously, or would she not believe what nonsense she was hearing? Gazing gloomily towards the floor, he’d speak. ”I- I wan’ ta be in th’ middle, doin’ good stuff for Tanglewood, and bad stuff ta those fatheads goin’ ‘round messin’ up stuff like our docks. I think that I’m more bad than anythin’ else... an’ I need help.”. Finished, his eyes rose from the cool floor directly to her peepers, the amber hues speaking their own words: I need you. Out of everybody in the swamp, she was the person who understood him best, hence if there was one person who could aid him, it was her.

Was it too much to ask? Perhaps.

Did he desire assistance? Yes.

//i envy people on computer so much

Leroy’s yellow bulbs persisted to latch onto Ophelia’s, each and every high-minded utterance delivered from her crop sinking into his brain. From what she said, he was seen as an in-between, a mezzo point in this wacky world of murderers and saviours. Each synonym vocalized by the feline crafted the canine’s breaths into shakier and shakier ones, as pure gratefulness exhaled from the worn lungs of his. Never had he ever experienced a coziness comparable to now, and he had Ophelia to thank for it. The urge to pull her into an embrace grew large in his throat, the fire to do so only drenched by the fact that he’d likely crush her under his weight; and her injuries would not benefit from that at all. But, he needed to do something, anything to display appreciation for her behaviour.

”’M sorry ya had ta see me like this," Leroy apologized meekly, stretching his fatigued spine, ” I wan’ ta be remembered as the fun guy, not the bellyacher.” His voice was nigh breaking, his planate, low tone certainly a smidge taller than it commonly was. ”Ya need me ta be honest, I’ll be honest witcha, all the way. Wha’ I need from you is union, someone ta lean on. I haven’ gotten vibes like this before - I think ‘s special, wha’ we’ve got goin’-“

”Sorry” he’d immediately chirp, stifling snickers as he did so, ”I can’ stop thinkin’ that I sound like an active duty from a cheesy romance flick.” Respiring yet again, Leroy spoke once more before finishing. ”I’d like someone ta lean on, and I’d love fo’ that someone ta be you - actually, now that I think of it, you’d have to lean on me... whatever. You get my point? I care for ya, an’ I know ‘s only been about a month an’ a half since we first spoke, but I think I like ya more than I like anythin’ else.”

//reeee sorry i had to rush towards the end