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SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - toboggan - 10-23-2019
//long post! tl;dr at the bottom, but i encourage people to read the thread oop
"How do you just fuck up a perfectly good pie like that? If Gordon Ramsay knew what abomination you had birthed here today, he'd would kick your ass in a fraction of a second."
Grungy dollops of cold pie whizzed through the air, having been shot out of Stocking’s mouth in a projectile-like fashion. Her lustful taste buds clearly preferred cuisine which had at least some effort put into the cooking process, judging by the feline’s nauseated gasps and pants. Assuming that her intense glare - burning with pure, total, unrelenting hatred - wasn’t enough of a giveaway already, Leroy could make an educated guess that Stocking did not enjoy his cooking. Not one bit, not at all. In fact, the cur could’ve sworn that at this exact moment, her baby blues metamorphosed into the eyes of Satan himself. If Delilah, Malphas, Aya, and Morgan were elsewhere instead of the active heart of town, a life may have met an untimely end that day. And the life in question wasn’t Stocking’s.
The fallen angel’s embittered retort was not the sole event of its kind. Every empty-bellied Tangler who gathered around the appeased chef would leave as sick as a dog (save Morgan, who was ironically the only other dog present), and got rather uppity about it afterwards (save Morgan, again, who was cool as a cucumber as always). Their resentment had no negative effect on his mind. After all, it was what he aimed for. It was scarcely a week (plus a few days into his stay in the swamp, and the majority of Tanglewood’s populace already hated his guts. Wherever the mongrel went, he brought a nasty attitude, as well as ill intentions. He did not do so unknowingly, either. And no attempt was made to better his ways. One might wonder why someone such as the male, who’d been offered a second chance at life after losing it all in the previous one, basked in the public’s hostility towards him. Why relish in people’s antipathy? What was there to gain?
In truth, the mutt’s rude tude was simply an effort to build up a name for himself. In the end, he came off more as a callous jerk than a bad boy, hence the effort was one in vain.
Forevermore did the tag of ‘jerk’ stick. No matter the trials and tribulations he experienced in the pursuit of altering it, he was a jerk. No matter the amount of heroic deeds to his name, he was a jerk. No matter the hefty supply of instances where he proved a heart did indeed beat inside his ribcage, Leroy Starkweather was a heartless, mannerless, emotionless jerk.
August 11th, 2018. The date of the grand chicken pot pie feast, which ended in enough gut-wrenching Tanglers to rival flu season. A year ago, give or take a few months.
Ofttimes, the now-Proxy’s train of thought summoned memories pertaining to that day. The backlash to his offensive dish piqued the canine all those months ago. Oh, how his peers gagged, insulted, and fretted in response, tickling his ego whilst their complaints drowned out the atmosphere’s ambient noises.
Looking back on it automatically equipped his maw with an irked snarl. He’d changed so much since then. But despite the adjustments he made to his behaviour, those who surrounded him, even those he deemed as close allies, looked down their snouts at him, as if he were nothing more than a dying slug in the mud.
That’s how he saw it, anyways.
The wall looked the same as ever. Unchanged since the first time his eyes cast their inadequate gaze upon it. Seldom he found entertainment inside the Roux family household - Selby’s swamped schedule rarely conceded enough free time for the medic to make visits throughout the day, and Crow more often than not had leader beeswax in need of attending. Only come nightfall, when the father and son duo commonly returned home, did Leroy’s day, consisting of haphazardly lounging about on the hut’s cool floor, become marginally compelling. Until nightfall, though, was about twelve hours of lonely nothingness.
October 11th, 2019. The fourth consecutive day since his debilitated limbs carried him through the doorway that connected the outside world and Crow and Selby’s abode. Five days since fresh air, interaction, proper food…
Proper food.
The male, previously sprawled across the building’s flooring in an unnatural manner, shot upwards into a seated position.
“You know what?” he murmurs to himself eagerly, “I should learn how to cook.”
-
Every footfall atop the library’s oaken floor was accompanied by a shrill creak. The building’s antiquated walls barely stood on its foundation, making the construction’s age very evident. Another element of the joint that indubitably showcased its age was the books that decked the withered shelves. Those paperbacks and bestsellers were way past their hayday. Pages stained by water, fire, and hell, even blood weren’t that hard to spot. Some books had handfuls of pages torn out in a delirious fashion, others contained text incomprehensible thanks to the passing of time. Yet, the factor that demonstrated the book repository’s desertedness the most was just how dated the publications happened to be. Of course, Leroy couldn’t understand any of it due to him being illiterate and all, but the images of what the world might look like in the future in that one book always mustered a hearty guffaw out of his system. Additionally, there were wartime propaganda booklets, faux studies that proved the planet’s flatness and assured the safety of using DDT, and instruction manuals for 50’s automobiles. An upgrade to the building's contents wouldn’t be that bad of an investment.
Luckily for the Proxy, recipe books had existed at the time of the island’s forsaking. Meaning that more than a few lay dormant amongst the library's shelves. But due to the discourteous reality of him lacking the capacity to read, the task of determining a cookbook from a random novelette presented itself as an arduous challenge.
A chance happening. With his gaze glued to the bookshelves that stuck to the walls, he couldn’t catch sight of the book on the ground in front of him. As a forelimb extends itself to take a step forward, it fortuitously launches the book through the air. By the time his focus shifts to the book that he'd kicked, it had just finished tumbling a good few metres away. Just narrowly could his Amber peepers see the publication’s cover - illustrations of different foods. Milkshakes. Roasts. Soups. Wild excitement began pulsing through his bloodstream. The male failed to contain his excitement, as a zealous chortle escaped his throat while his legs scrambled over.
The ingredients wouldn’t be that hard to come by. The farm had poultry, eggs, and lots of other stuff. This was going to be a fucking blast.
A lanky paw turns the cover, allowing his vision to fall upon the first page. More images of vintage cuisine, along with text he couldn’t quite read. The next page was relatively the same, except the images seemed to be a bit blurrier. It didn’t concern him too much - he’d seen pages in much worse condition, anyways.
But, something wasn’t right.
Something REALLY wasn’t right.
The corners of the page became fuzzier, and when his vision drifted in the direction of his paws, they were fuzzy, too. And with the force of a locomotive, Tanglewood’s Proxy was thrown off all fours, barreling into the floorboards causing a thunderous clamour. His noggin collided against a sturdy bench as he fell, dispatching waves of atrocious pain throughout his body.
His limbs felt about as structurally secure as marmalade, and half as functional.
He wanted to cry out.
He couldn’t.
His vocal chords refused.
He wanted to run away.
He couldn’t.
His limbs refused.
A low whine was the most he managed to muster. And it was the saddest excuse for a whine he’d ever heard. If his brain operated properly, he’d likely make fun of himself for it. Strength exuded its way back into his body, yet only a meager amount of it. Just enough for Leroy to maneuver his neck into an upright position without feeling too much discomfort.
For starters, his entire face was numb. The muscles inside the hound’s mug went all droopy, as did his facial extremities. The world was nothing but distorted outlines. Breathing devolved from a steady, consistent pace to intermittent, choppy bouts of it. His heart rate went from a pitter-patter to a series of heavy thumps.
Fear.
A similar event had transpired last December. Beck had informed him it was a stroke. A blood clot. Something potentially fatal.
Fear.
He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. Not now. He had people to look out for. He had Crow to look out for.
Nothing left to do but give up. Very slim was the chance an outside source overheard the pandemonium that was his collapse - he couldn’t remember if anyone was inside the library by the time he’d arrived a half-hour ago. A final groan ushers out of his throat before the cur’s noggin slowly fell back to the floor.
And he began to cry. The unkempt hair that cloaked his cheeks became marinated with salty moisture as gloppy tears fell from his eyes.
All he’d hankered for was to cook up a dish to sate everyone's appetite; furthermore, to demonstrate that compassion and clemency still prevailed within him, in spite of his hurtful words and apathetic ways; Leroy still cared. Now, the only taste he registered was the bitter taste of hopelessness. It was all but sweet or savoury, certainly not anything to tickle his palette. He couldn’t imagine death tasting any better, though.
Oh, by all things holy he did not want to die.
"How do you just fuck up a perfectly good pie like that? If Gordon Ramsay knew what abomination you had birthed here today, he'd would kick your ass in a fraction of a second."
Grungy dollops of cold pie whizzed through the air, having been shot out of Stocking’s mouth in a projectile-like fashion. Her lustful taste buds clearly preferred cuisine which had at least some effort put into the cooking process, judging by the feline’s nauseated gasps and pants. Assuming that her intense glare - burning with pure, total, unrelenting hatred - wasn’t enough of a giveaway already, Leroy could make an educated guess that Stocking did not enjoy his cooking. Not one bit, not at all. In fact, the cur could’ve sworn that at this exact moment, her baby blues metamorphosed into the eyes of Satan himself. If Delilah, Malphas, Aya, and Morgan were elsewhere instead of the active heart of town, a life may have met an untimely end that day. And the life in question wasn’t Stocking’s.
The fallen angel’s embittered retort was not the sole event of its kind. Every empty-bellied Tangler who gathered around the appeased chef would leave as sick as a dog (save Morgan, who was ironically the only other dog present), and got rather uppity about it afterwards (save Morgan, again, who was cool as a cucumber as always). Their resentment had no negative effect on his mind. After all, it was what he aimed for. It was scarcely a week (plus a few days into his stay in the swamp, and the majority of Tanglewood’s populace already hated his guts. Wherever the mongrel went, he brought a nasty attitude, as well as ill intentions. He did not do so unknowingly, either. And no attempt was made to better his ways. One might wonder why someone such as the male, who’d been offered a second chance at life after losing it all in the previous one, basked in the public’s hostility towards him. Why relish in people’s antipathy? What was there to gain?
In truth, the mutt’s rude tude was simply an effort to build up a name for himself. In the end, he came off more as a callous jerk than a bad boy, hence the effort was one in vain.
Forevermore did the tag of ‘jerk’ stick. No matter the trials and tribulations he experienced in the pursuit of altering it, he was a jerk. No matter the amount of heroic deeds to his name, he was a jerk. No matter the hefty supply of instances where he proved a heart did indeed beat inside his ribcage, Leroy Starkweather was a heartless, mannerless, emotionless jerk.
August 11th, 2018. The date of the grand chicken pot pie feast, which ended in enough gut-wrenching Tanglers to rival flu season. A year ago, give or take a few months.
Ofttimes, the now-Proxy’s train of thought summoned memories pertaining to that day. The backlash to his offensive dish piqued the canine all those months ago. Oh, how his peers gagged, insulted, and fretted in response, tickling his ego whilst their complaints drowned out the atmosphere’s ambient noises.
Looking back on it automatically equipped his maw with an irked snarl. He’d changed so much since then. But despite the adjustments he made to his behaviour, those who surrounded him, even those he deemed as close allies, looked down their snouts at him, as if he were nothing more than a dying slug in the mud.
That’s how he saw it, anyways.
The wall looked the same as ever. Unchanged since the first time his eyes cast their inadequate gaze upon it. Seldom he found entertainment inside the Roux family household - Selby’s swamped schedule rarely conceded enough free time for the medic to make visits throughout the day, and Crow more often than not had leader beeswax in need of attending. Only come nightfall, when the father and son duo commonly returned home, did Leroy’s day, consisting of haphazardly lounging about on the hut’s cool floor, become marginally compelling. Until nightfall, though, was about twelve hours of lonely nothingness.
October 11th, 2019. The fourth consecutive day since his debilitated limbs carried him through the doorway that connected the outside world and Crow and Selby’s abode. Five days since fresh air, interaction, proper food…
Proper food.
The male, previously sprawled across the building’s flooring in an unnatural manner, shot upwards into a seated position.
“You know what?” he murmurs to himself eagerly, “I should learn how to cook.”
-
Every footfall atop the library’s oaken floor was accompanied by a shrill creak. The building’s antiquated walls barely stood on its foundation, making the construction’s age very evident. Another element of the joint that indubitably showcased its age was the books that decked the withered shelves. Those paperbacks and bestsellers were way past their hayday. Pages stained by water, fire, and hell, even blood weren’t that hard to spot. Some books had handfuls of pages torn out in a delirious fashion, others contained text incomprehensible thanks to the passing of time. Yet, the factor that demonstrated the book repository’s desertedness the most was just how dated the publications happened to be. Of course, Leroy couldn’t understand any of it due to him being illiterate and all, but the images of what the world might look like in the future in that one book always mustered a hearty guffaw out of his system. Additionally, there were wartime propaganda booklets, faux studies that proved the planet’s flatness and assured the safety of using DDT, and instruction manuals for 50’s automobiles. An upgrade to the building's contents wouldn’t be that bad of an investment.
Luckily for the Proxy, recipe books had existed at the time of the island’s forsaking. Meaning that more than a few lay dormant amongst the library's shelves. But due to the discourteous reality of him lacking the capacity to read, the task of determining a cookbook from a random novelette presented itself as an arduous challenge.
A chance happening. With his gaze glued to the bookshelves that stuck to the walls, he couldn’t catch sight of the book on the ground in front of him. As a forelimb extends itself to take a step forward, it fortuitously launches the book through the air. By the time his focus shifts to the book that he'd kicked, it had just finished tumbling a good few metres away. Just narrowly could his Amber peepers see the publication’s cover - illustrations of different foods. Milkshakes. Roasts. Soups. Wild excitement began pulsing through his bloodstream. The male failed to contain his excitement, as a zealous chortle escaped his throat while his legs scrambled over.
The ingredients wouldn’t be that hard to come by. The farm had poultry, eggs, and lots of other stuff. This was going to be a fucking blast.
A lanky paw turns the cover, allowing his vision to fall upon the first page. More images of vintage cuisine, along with text he couldn’t quite read. The next page was relatively the same, except the images seemed to be a bit blurrier. It didn’t concern him too much - he’d seen pages in much worse condition, anyways.
But, something wasn’t right.
Something REALLY wasn’t right.
The corners of the page became fuzzier, and when his vision drifted in the direction of his paws, they were fuzzy, too. And with the force of a locomotive, Tanglewood’s Proxy was thrown off all fours, barreling into the floorboards causing a thunderous clamour. His noggin collided against a sturdy bench as he fell, dispatching waves of atrocious pain throughout his body.
His limbs felt about as structurally secure as marmalade, and half as functional.
He wanted to cry out.
He couldn’t.
His vocal chords refused.
He wanted to run away.
He couldn’t.
His limbs refused.
A low whine was the most he managed to muster. And it was the saddest excuse for a whine he’d ever heard. If his brain operated properly, he’d likely make fun of himself for it. Strength exuded its way back into his body, yet only a meager amount of it. Just enough for Leroy to maneuver his neck into an upright position without feeling too much discomfort.
For starters, his entire face was numb. The muscles inside the hound’s mug went all droopy, as did his facial extremities. The world was nothing but distorted outlines. Breathing devolved from a steady, consistent pace to intermittent, choppy bouts of it. His heart rate went from a pitter-patter to a series of heavy thumps.
Fear.
A similar event had transpired last December. Beck had informed him it was a stroke. A blood clot. Something potentially fatal.
Fear.
He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. Not now. He had people to look out for. He had Crow to look out for.
Nothing left to do but give up. Very slim was the chance an outside source overheard the pandemonium that was his collapse - he couldn’t remember if anyone was inside the library by the time he’d arrived a half-hour ago. A final groan ushers out of his throat before the cur’s noggin slowly fell back to the floor.
And he began to cry. The unkempt hair that cloaked his cheeks became marinated with salty moisture as gloppy tears fell from his eyes.
All he’d hankered for was to cook up a dish to sate everyone's appetite; furthermore, to demonstrate that compassion and clemency still prevailed within him, in spite of his hurtful words and apathetic ways; Leroy still cared. Now, the only taste he registered was the bitter taste of hopelessness. It was all but sweet or savoury, certainly not anything to tickle his palette. He couldn’t imagine death tasting any better, though.
Oh, by all things holy he did not want to die.
tl;dr:
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + COOKING - selby roux ! - 10-23-2019
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Leroy was a strange topic in Selby’s mind as of late, and an incredibly large portion of this strangeness could be attributed to his inevitable and impending death. Of course, his relationship with him as a doctor was a significant factor. It was odd to think that there was a dying man right under his nose he could do very little for. Though he’d always known that Leroy would be beyond help, there was a queer little inkling of guilt that settled in his bones whenever the two met. Selby supposed that this feeling was unavoidable but not one to dwell on.
A much bigger factor in this awkwardness Selby felt towards the dog was his relationship with Crow. Whenever he saw the two interact, a voice whispered (perhaps a bit harshly) This will destroy him. He was not mistrustful of his father’s personal decisions, and he knew that Crow knew what he was getting into. Still, it was hard not to feel weird about the situation. Pastel’s death was not helpful, and though she was not discussed, the issue weighed heavily on him when he was alone with his father.
Despite all these strange feelings, Selby made a point to be polite to Leroy. Granted, he was polite to everyone, but he always made sure to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ as he came and went and exchange other similar pleasantries. He just… kept the hound at a distance. It was not as difficult as one might expect when the two shared a home.
His days had grown significantly less busy as time went on, as Moth had offered to take care of his more regular patients so Selby could take the time to grieve. The offer was much appreciated, and the sawbone took full advantage of this. The day was chill and cloudy, so he figured it would be a good day to visit the library. The medic had read his own books countless times over and craved a new world to explore.
So, he made the trek and found himself browsing the shelves not too much later. It was peaceful in the old building, and besides the shuffling footsteps of its unseen occupants, the atmosphere was peaceful.
That is, until a loud thud distracted him from his reading.
“Hello? Are you alright?” he called out. A beat passed, and then the feline was rushing toward the source of the noise. In the middle of an aisle, Selby spotted a very familiar face.
“Leroy!” he exclaimed, rushing to the dog’s side. He’d known that this was coming, but he found himself unprepared anyway. Panic wormed its way into his system, and his lack of supplies was not helping this anxiety.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Can you speak?” he asked, quickly taking an assessment of what was going on. Leroy’s face seemed to droop in an odd way, and Selby recalled a condition that he’d only ever read about: strokes. Nothing he could do for that either. He looked down at Leroy, choking a little bit on his next words. It was hard enough telling someone they only had months to live, let alone mere minutes.
He swallowed uncomfortably. “I… this might be it for you. But… we knew it was coming.” Doesn’t make it easier. “There’s nothing I can do for this. I’m… I’m gonna stay with you, alright? Until the end. If this is the end, anyway. Promise.” Unsure if the library contained any other visitors, he called out, “Someone needs to get Crow! Tell him it’s Leroy!”
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + COOKING - wormwood. - 10-24-2019
When it came to the topic of Leroy, Wormwood also had extremely mixed feelings about the group's proxy. At first he hadn't thought much of the canine, not interacting much with him in the early days after he had first joined Tanglewood, and then everything with people getting kidnapped and the Pitt causing trouble and him being a "traitor" had overall soured the guardsman's opinion of the other for the longest time. Still, after Draekon had inevitably left him, and things had begun to return to a more peaceful state, Worm had relaxed and had given Leroy another chance, and while they still occasionally butted heads, and he still thought Leroy was a bit of a gruff dick, he knew that there was a good guy underneath all of that. After all, if there wasn't, then Crow wouldn't gave trusted the canine enough to make him his proxy. So, deep down, Wormwood knew that Leroy cared about all of them, and so, Worm cared about Leroy in return. The lion doubted that they would ever have a supremely close relationship, but that didn't mean that they couldn't be friends, and the news of Leroy's cancer had been just as devastating to him as they had been to anybody else – save perhaps Crow, of course. Ever since then, Wormwood had noticed a distinct lack of the proxy around the group's camp most of the time, and he had to say that he couldn't help but feel disappointed. Sure, he couldn't even imagine what Leroy must have been feeling after getting such terrible news, but... surely the other would want to revel in the life he had left, rather than hide away from it all?
Still, Wormwood may be the pushy type, but he wasn't about to drag Leroy kicking and screaming out into the real world, so he had just decided to let the proxy live as he wanted, greeting the other male kindly and warmly whenever the two of them were actually able to interact – which wasn't exactly often, these days. Worm knew nothing of the long history that Leroy had with the group, considering the fact that, while he had been here for a while now, Leroy had been here for far longer, and Worm hadn't been around for quite a lot of his antics, such as the whole chicken pot pie incident. He was sure he had heard some mumblings around about how the proxy absolutely could not cook to save his life, whenever the subject of cooking came up, but he always figured that others were exaggerating. After all, cooking was difficult, especially when working with only your paws, so who was he to judge? Sure, Worm was fairly sure he could make something better than the usual messes that Feza managed to produce whenever she chose to toss her hat in the culinary ring, but he doubted that he would make anything breathtaking, and he resolved that if Leroy ever wanted him to taste test something, then he would gladly volunteer with no complaints. Still, for the longest while, it seemed as though there was absolutely no chance of that happening, since the guardsman wasn't exactly sure how much cooking could be done from the inside of a house, slumped in a corner – at least that's where he assumed Leroy was. Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure where the canine disappeared off to all the time, but he knew it was... somewhere within Tanglewood.
The library of the group was a place that Wormwood absolutely delighted in going to, not only because he had been a great fan of stories ever since he was a child, but also because he had learned shortly after adopting him that Roy enjoyed books as well. Ever since Roy had been taken, Worm had chosen to use some of the time distracting himself to go to the library, searching through aisle after aisle of books, old and new, for anything he thought that the young tiger would enjoy. It usually ended up with him taking home even more books that he thought he would enjoy as well, but that was neither here nor there. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly unusual to find Worm in the library between border patrols or training sessions, either wandering up and down the aisles or just laying comfortably with a book he just had to read immediately. So, the angel was in fact inside the building when Leroy came in. When he heard the door open and the creaking aound of another soil's footsteps, Worm had lifted his head and almost beamed with happiness when he had seen who it was. He was able to hold it back, but he wasn't able to hold back the warmth that spread through his chest, infinitely glad to see Leroy out and about somewhere, at the very least. After he got a hold of himself, Worm offered Leroy a little wave of his paw in hello, but the canine didn't notice, already off in one of the aisles on some mission that Worm very much didn't want to interrupt. So, the lion had just chuckled and turned back to the story that he had pulled down for himself, figuring that if Leroy wanted any sort of company or a discussion partner, he would actively seek someone out.
It was a while before Worm was once again broken from his reading reverie, his body jolting a little when he heard an abrupt thump against the wooden floors of the building. He lifted his head up and listened for a moment, but then swiftly wrote it off as someone dropping a book or something, and turned back to his tome. However, his attention was swiftly pulled away again when a soft and pathetic whine pierced the air, causing a frown to come to the angel's muzzle. He hesitated for a moment before closing the book he had, depositing it back on the shelf before he began to slowly search the aisles for the source of the strange noises. He didn't find then immediately, but was soon alerted when someone else did – Selby. He heard the medic's frantic call of the proxy's name, and immediately his heart sank, preparing himself for the worst. He took off towards Selby's voice, freezing when he came across the scene. Leroy was just laying there, prone and unmoving, his cheeks wet with tears, while Selby fretted uselessly, unable to do anything to help the grey canine. Worm felt both frustration and fear spread through him, and he wanted to snap at Selby to stop fucking acting like Leroy was about to die, but he was interrupted from his conflicting emotions by Selby desperately demanding that somebody get Crow. Worm hadn't even been thinking the faintest thought about the leader in the moment, but as soon as Selby said his name, Worm felt sick. Wormwood didn't know the full extent of Crow and Leroy's relationship, or if they even had one, but it was pretty clear that Crow trusted the canine enough to make him the next in line to be the leader of Tanglewood, and had known him for a long goddamn time. Just the thought of telling Crow something had finally gone wrong, so soon after Pastel's death as well? It made him sick to his stomach, but he found himself nodding and mumbling before he could truly think it through, "I'll... I'll go find him. You take care of Leroy." He tried his best to keep his voice steady and comforting as he turned around, immediately rushing out of the library and taking to the sky.
Not knowing exactly where Crow was at the moment, Worm made a few rounds around the main camp, calling out softly but loud enough to be heard, "Crow! Crow!" When he didn't hear an immediate response, the guardsman drove down and found himself at Crow's door, knocking a paw firmly against the entrance and rumbling loud enough to be heard through the wood, "Crow! You need to come with me to the library. It's Leroy. Something... happened." He tried to sound as unpanicked as possible, keeping his tone even as he waited for some kind of response. After what had happened in other high stress situations, he knew that he just needed to stay calm and get Crow to Leroy's side, because... ultimately there was nothing any of them could do, even Selby. It was either Leroy pulled and fought through, and survived, or he... didn't. Wormwood desperately, desperately hoped that it would be the former, but he also knew that he had to be prepared for this to be Leroy's final day – and be prepared for the devastated Crow and others that came afterwards.
( [member=1477]crow roux[/member] )
Still, Wormwood may be the pushy type, but he wasn't about to drag Leroy kicking and screaming out into the real world, so he had just decided to let the proxy live as he wanted, greeting the other male kindly and warmly whenever the two of them were actually able to interact – which wasn't exactly often, these days. Worm knew nothing of the long history that Leroy had with the group, considering the fact that, while he had been here for a while now, Leroy had been here for far longer, and Worm hadn't been around for quite a lot of his antics, such as the whole chicken pot pie incident. He was sure he had heard some mumblings around about how the proxy absolutely could not cook to save his life, whenever the subject of cooking came up, but he always figured that others were exaggerating. After all, cooking was difficult, especially when working with only your paws, so who was he to judge? Sure, Worm was fairly sure he could make something better than the usual messes that Feza managed to produce whenever she chose to toss her hat in the culinary ring, but he doubted that he would make anything breathtaking, and he resolved that if Leroy ever wanted him to taste test something, then he would gladly volunteer with no complaints. Still, for the longest while, it seemed as though there was absolutely no chance of that happening, since the guardsman wasn't exactly sure how much cooking could be done from the inside of a house, slumped in a corner – at least that's where he assumed Leroy was. Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure where the canine disappeared off to all the time, but he knew it was... somewhere within Tanglewood.
The library of the group was a place that Wormwood absolutely delighted in going to, not only because he had been a great fan of stories ever since he was a child, but also because he had learned shortly after adopting him that Roy enjoyed books as well. Ever since Roy had been taken, Worm had chosen to use some of the time distracting himself to go to the library, searching through aisle after aisle of books, old and new, for anything he thought that the young tiger would enjoy. It usually ended up with him taking home even more books that he thought he would enjoy as well, but that was neither here nor there. Needless to say, it wasn't exactly unusual to find Worm in the library between border patrols or training sessions, either wandering up and down the aisles or just laying comfortably with a book he just had to read immediately. So, the angel was in fact inside the building when Leroy came in. When he heard the door open and the creaking aound of another soil's footsteps, Worm had lifted his head and almost beamed with happiness when he had seen who it was. He was able to hold it back, but he wasn't able to hold back the warmth that spread through his chest, infinitely glad to see Leroy out and about somewhere, at the very least. After he got a hold of himself, Worm offered Leroy a little wave of his paw in hello, but the canine didn't notice, already off in one of the aisles on some mission that Worm very much didn't want to interrupt. So, the lion had just chuckled and turned back to the story that he had pulled down for himself, figuring that if Leroy wanted any sort of company or a discussion partner, he would actively seek someone out.
It was a while before Worm was once again broken from his reading reverie, his body jolting a little when he heard an abrupt thump against the wooden floors of the building. He lifted his head up and listened for a moment, but then swiftly wrote it off as someone dropping a book or something, and turned back to his tome. However, his attention was swiftly pulled away again when a soft and pathetic whine pierced the air, causing a frown to come to the angel's muzzle. He hesitated for a moment before closing the book he had, depositing it back on the shelf before he began to slowly search the aisles for the source of the strange noises. He didn't find then immediately, but was soon alerted when someone else did – Selby. He heard the medic's frantic call of the proxy's name, and immediately his heart sank, preparing himself for the worst. He took off towards Selby's voice, freezing when he came across the scene. Leroy was just laying there, prone and unmoving, his cheeks wet with tears, while Selby fretted uselessly, unable to do anything to help the grey canine. Worm felt both frustration and fear spread through him, and he wanted to snap at Selby to stop fucking acting like Leroy was about to die, but he was interrupted from his conflicting emotions by Selby desperately demanding that somebody get Crow. Worm hadn't even been thinking the faintest thought about the leader in the moment, but as soon as Selby said his name, Worm felt sick. Wormwood didn't know the full extent of Crow and Leroy's relationship, or if they even had one, but it was pretty clear that Crow trusted the canine enough to make him the next in line to be the leader of Tanglewood, and had known him for a long goddamn time. Just the thought of telling Crow something had finally gone wrong, so soon after Pastel's death as well? It made him sick to his stomach, but he found himself nodding and mumbling before he could truly think it through, "I'll... I'll go find him. You take care of Leroy." He tried his best to keep his voice steady and comforting as he turned around, immediately rushing out of the library and taking to the sky.
Not knowing exactly where Crow was at the moment, Worm made a few rounds around the main camp, calling out softly but loud enough to be heard, "Crow! Crow!" When he didn't hear an immediate response, the guardsman drove down and found himself at Crow's door, knocking a paw firmly against the entrance and rumbling loud enough to be heard through the wood, "Crow! You need to come with me to the library. It's Leroy. Something... happened." He tried to sound as unpanicked as possible, keeping his tone even as he waited for some kind of response. After what had happened in other high stress situations, he knew that he just needed to stay calm and get Crow to Leroy's side, because... ultimately there was nothing any of them could do, even Selby. It was either Leroy pulled and fought through, and survived, or he... didn't. Wormwood desperately, desperately hoped that it would be the former, but he also knew that he had to be prepared for this to be Leroy's final day – and be prepared for the devastated Crow and others that came afterwards.
( [member=1477]crow roux[/member] )
[glow=black,2,300]THE FREEDOM OF FALLING[/glow]
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + COOKING - DELILAH. - 10-24-2019
DELILAH EVERGARDEN
"The Gods have forsaken us."
"What's with all this yelling..?"
Delilah was awoken from her brief people watching hobby, the dragoness standing up just as soon as she watched Wormwood pass by her. He was calling for Crow- and.. Something happened to Leroy? Delilah vaguely remembered the talk she had with Leroy, too busy with her own anxieties and focuses to listen. Because Leroy was fine. He was older than her, but he was strong. If something happened.. If..
Before she knew it, a flash of pink raced past towards the buildings around her, ignoring the call of her audience gators behind her. Something was wrong. She could feel it- something was really wrong. She felt sick to her stomach. Sharp talons ripped into the floor underneath her as she raced into the library.
"What's going on? Is Leroy okay?" Delilah asked in a panic, blinking magenta eyes in favor of taking in the sight before her. Her old powers were rusty; x-ray vision, a power learned long ago. When she was the sawbone of Tanglewood many moons ago, she might have been able to use it ever so easily, but it merely glitched when she tried. Flashes of bones, soon glitching into normal vision. She couldn't.
Too rusty.
Taking in the view before her, Delilah heaved in a heavy breath, craning her neck out so her snout could push up against Selby's side, alerting her of his presence. "You need to make sure he's calm- he's probably freaking out right now." She murmured softly, a low breath leaving her lips as she stood up straight, backing away to let Crow in. She wouldn't- she couldn't let this be the end. Delilah, Beck, and Leroy were the last remaining original Tanglers. Beck wasn't well, last Delilah had seen of him.
Why was it always her left over? Why couldn't she have died back then, and stayed dead? Why? Why?
Watch it, flower girl. Never take your eyes off.
It was faint, the voice of the demoness in her head- she hadn't heard Lilith's voice in a while, but soon, the books around Leroy were lifted up into the air, neatly placed into a pile on the ground nearby. From a short glance, it seemed that Leroy was reading how to cook.
Delilah remembered that pie- she wanted to puke just thinking about it, but it was still a happy memory for her. Back when she was too scared to speak the truth. Too scared to speak her mind, too scared of men. The idea of even talking about how she felt was impossible to her. Leroy had helped change that. He'd helped her, even saved her life once.
"Tell me if you need me to go and get anything. We can't keep him here in the library, there isn't enough space." She spoke softly, not wanting to step over those boundaries. But yet, it felt.. Lonely. Who she was, who she used to be. It was because of Leroy that she had opened up more. He was like a brother to her. A big, stubborn older brother.
"Hey, old man.. Crow is coming, so try to steady those breaths for me, okay?" She rumbled softly to the large canine, glancing back to make sure Wormwood and Crow were back. She would stay out of the way, but the fact that people were whispering in the distance had her huffing.
Delilah was awoken from her brief people watching hobby, the dragoness standing up just as soon as she watched Wormwood pass by her. He was calling for Crow- and.. Something happened to Leroy? Delilah vaguely remembered the talk she had with Leroy, too busy with her own anxieties and focuses to listen. Because Leroy was fine. He was older than her, but he was strong. If something happened.. If..
Before she knew it, a flash of pink raced past towards the buildings around her, ignoring the call of her audience gators behind her. Something was wrong. She could feel it- something was really wrong. She felt sick to her stomach. Sharp talons ripped into the floor underneath her as she raced into the library.
"What's going on? Is Leroy okay?" Delilah asked in a panic, blinking magenta eyes in favor of taking in the sight before her. Her old powers were rusty; x-ray vision, a power learned long ago. When she was the sawbone of Tanglewood many moons ago, she might have been able to use it ever so easily, but it merely glitched when she tried. Flashes of bones, soon glitching into normal vision. She couldn't.
Too rusty.
Taking in the view before her, Delilah heaved in a heavy breath, craning her neck out so her snout could push up against Selby's side, alerting her of his presence. "You need to make sure he's calm- he's probably freaking out right now." She murmured softly, a low breath leaving her lips as she stood up straight, backing away to let Crow in. She wouldn't- she couldn't let this be the end. Delilah, Beck, and Leroy were the last remaining original Tanglers. Beck wasn't well, last Delilah had seen of him.
Why was it always her left over? Why couldn't she have died back then, and stayed dead? Why? Why?
Watch it, flower girl. Never take your eyes off.
It was faint, the voice of the demoness in her head- she hadn't heard Lilith's voice in a while, but soon, the books around Leroy were lifted up into the air, neatly placed into a pile on the ground nearby. From a short glance, it seemed that Leroy was reading how to cook.
Delilah remembered that pie- she wanted to puke just thinking about it, but it was still a happy memory for her. Back when she was too scared to speak the truth. Too scared to speak her mind, too scared of men. The idea of even talking about how she felt was impossible to her. Leroy had helped change that. He'd helped her, even saved her life once.
"Tell me if you need me to go and get anything. We can't keep him here in the library, there isn't enough space." She spoke softly, not wanting to step over those boundaries. But yet, it felt.. Lonely. Who she was, who she used to be. It was because of Leroy that she had opened up more. He was like a brother to her. A big, stubborn older brother.
"Hey, old man.. Crow is coming, so try to steady those breaths for me, okay?" She rumbled softly to the large canine, glancing back to make sure Wormwood and Crow were back. She would stay out of the way, but the fact that people were whispering in the distance had her huffing.
tags - penned by [member=1260]ryuu-tan[/member]
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - suvi. - 10-26-2019
[align=center]— T͏O̴G͠ETH͏ER̕ ÁT̴ ̸T̕H̶E ST͏ART̶ O͏F̀ ̵TI̡M͏E —
The library. The most common place to find the petite vixen, should she not be reorganizing her medkits or fussing over her feathered companion, Fiachra, who possessed unfortunate habits of pranking her or finding trouble. The medic had gone inside, but only for a brief moment; with muted greetings to all she passed by, she found a book then returned to the outside. Whenever the library bore one to many visitors, she read under the sun.Until a great deal of voices interrupted as her paw began turning a page. Brows creased sharply. Panic and concern emitted from within the confines of her favorite place. A voice even calling for Crow. About... Leroy. Leroy. Leroy, who had been a face she’d known since the day she found herself in Tanglewood. Leroy, gruff but truly caring. Leroy, who she knew to be dying. Knew. Understood. Comprehended. Refused to believe. Because how was she supposed to accept a Tanglewood without the gruff old proxy around?
So many new faces had surrounded her since she returned from her capture, but Leroy remained. She didn’t want to lose him too. Certainly not forever. Not forever. So, quietly, with trembling legs, the arctic fox rose to her feet. Slowly, she popped her head into the library once more. Without warning, her body moved. Disappearing and reappearing closer to the side of her former team leader, Delilah.
Her unmatched hues flickered, flashed back between Leroy - on the ground, panicked, struggling, on the ground - and Selby, the new sawbone. Accepting. Trying to be a reassuring presence despite it. No, no, no. Her stomach rolled. Her chest felt fizzy, like something was vibrating inside her chest. He’s not dying. Stop. Stop acting like he’s going away. He can’t. He can’t. Her tongue, like lead sat immobile in her mouth. Useless. She wanted to speak. To tell the others they just needed to help Leroy stand back up. He’d be fine. This wasn’t where it ended.
She refused. Numbly, the fox shuffled back some, unwilling to keep Crow from his proxy’s side. The library felt constricting suddenly. Her eyes fluttered shut, chest tight. This was Leroy. Leroy, who would make it through. He’d make it through. He will make it through. I know he can.
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - beatae - 10-28-2019
[div style="width:75px;height:5px;border:1px COLOR solid;background:url(IMAGE);float:left"]
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - trojan g. - 10-30-2019
[align=center][div style="bgcolor= black; width: 500px; font-family: georgia;font-size:12px;text-align:justify"]this is mainly a tracking post since I need to go to bed so don't mind me
Moth was there. "Oh no." She said, about to cry, like her usual crybaby self.
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - Crow Roux - 10-31-2019
[align=center][div style="width: 55%; text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]
At first, the calling of the tabby's name meant nothing to him. Frantic voices were trivial and something he had numbed himself to. That was why when he heard Wormwood howling his name so loud the Pitt could hear, he only sighed and continued his walk home. It couldn't be too bad. That thought would change when he saw the lion at his door. The library. Leroy?
Crow felt his blood turn to ice and without missing a beat he sprinted in the direction Wormwood had come from. Maybe Leroy had just hurt his bad leg again. Maybe he had gotten his head stuck in something. Maybe he was too drunk again... Upon arrival at the scene, the feline pushed his way through the crowd and realized it was much worse than he wanted himself to believe. He had seen Leroy cry before, but not like this. No, he had never seen him so vulnerable before, and it broke him. It was a stroke again, for sure.
"Shit. Fuck. I-I'm here," he said shakily as he settled down in the crook of the hound's neck and buried his nose into his tear-stained cheeks. "A-an' I ain't leavin' ya. You're fu-uckin' stayin' here with me, alright? I love you so fuckin' much..."
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - DELILAH. - 11-01-2019
DELILAH EVERGARDEN
"The Gods have forsaken us."
Delilah leaned forward ever so slightly, the breath of voice from Indie making the dragoness huff a little in sadness. Cancer- a stroke. It all amounted to something, and Delilah didn’t like the outcome of it.
”He’s having a stroke.” The soft-scaled femme spoke softly- as if mentioning it broke her. And it did. Leroy was like a brother to her, but without Lilith’s influence, she couldn’t form a sense of panic. A source of rage. Grief caused her shoulders to sag, the pink creature lowering her head as she watched the events unfold before her.
He’s dying.
”I.. Have never heard of medicine that can cure a stroke.. We can only comfort him as he is now..”
Once again. It was happening once again.
”He’s having a stroke.” The soft-scaled femme spoke softly- as if mentioning it broke her. And it did. Leroy was like a brother to her, but without Lilith’s influence, she couldn’t form a sense of panic. A source of rage. Grief caused her shoulders to sag, the pink creature lowering her head as she watched the events unfold before her.
He’s dying.
”I.. Have never heard of medicine that can cure a stroke.. We can only comfort him as he is now..”
Once again. It was happening once again.
tags - penned by [member=1260]ryuu-tan[/member]
Re: SO FAR SO GOOD + DEATH - toboggan - 11-02-2019
Throbbing agony continued to wallop Leroy's brain, relentlessly pounding away until the point of submission. His very mind was collapsing on itself, and he painstakingly endured every excruciating moment that came with it. Not that he had any other choice, of course.
If it was up to the male, he would be looming over a cast iron pot, in which bubbled a heated hodgepodge of vegetables, meat cubes, broth, and tangy spices. The mere scent of the culinary creation would tickle his nostrils and bring his maw to a drool. It would have served as an impeccable meal, a wonder in modern cooking. The two other inhabitants residing in the Roux household would be met with pleasant surprise as they consumed one of the best suppers they've ever had. Joyous laughter would erupt from the father and son, having tasted such an excellent dish. What a reality that would have been. Unfortunately, the dying canine held no control over the current situation, and instead of wearing a chef hat and a gleaming smile, he wore the expression of a man past all hope.
Seconds were hours, every coming one ten times as harrowing as the last. A little while down the line, the Proxy's perception of time went out of wack, and he couldn't tell the difference between a minute and an era.
Muffled words soon rang through the atmosphere, but the specifics were hard to make out. The voice surely belonged to Selby, and the younger Roux had definitely said "Promise", "Crow", "Leroy" in the midst of his meandering. The rest of what he said was completely indecipherable, like some archaic language. Appearance-wise, the feline was a cloud of gray-toned bokeh. A bulbous blob of blurry balls. Wormwood's presence graced the library, as well - he knew that for the lion's unmistakable tone had crept into his folded ears. The Guardsman mustn't have stayed for long, though, as his voice soon dissipated into obscurity after seemingly calling for aid.
More Tanglers made their way through the library to his side. One looked quite pink, he thought, so he could infer that this one was Delilah. A wheezing noise crept from the dog's gullet, a noise that sang a hymn of wretched sadness. The femme passed away before his very eyes in the days of yore, shepherding godawful melancholia toward his previously-elated system. Her passing, albeit brief, left a mark on the canine's soul unlike anything before. Hopelessness and despair, two shuddersome sensations that were absent in his lowdown life up until that point. Today, the roles became reversed, and it was his time to pass; he only hoped that his existence's end failed to bring the same terrible feelings he withstood before. The three remaining figures of nonrecognition were coloured white, cream, and orange, their figures clouded beyond realization. Additionally, the cur's eardrums ceased their function, rendering him deaf as a post, and his nostrils refused to pick up any scents whatsoever. Henceforth, the mongrel's five senses went null. Identifying the others was nothing short of impossible.
A vignette cemented itself at the outer reaches of his vision, beckoning darkness to corrode away at whatever eyesight he had left. Within a matter of mere moments, darkness enveloped his vision. Fully enveloped, completely enveloped.
Fully. Completely.
Fear should've consumed the male at that point, what with Lady Death eagerly inviting him inside her homestead. But, he did not feel. Not just touch could he not feel, but emotion as well. For the entire duration that followed his collapse, Leroy suffered no emotional turmoil, despite there not being a single hopeful outcome in sight. The exception of this being Delilah, and how dubiously he yearned for her to not feel pain at his loss. One may consider the gloppy tears cascading down his face a stressful reaction, yet in actuality, the waterworks had nix to do with sentiment. In fact, the mutt failed to comprehend that he cried at all, offering the argument that his crying was more so an automatic, involuntary response than anything else.
THWUMP.
A subwoofer-like boom beats inside. At once, he felt.
Warm. A tender warm, a warm only lovers could exude between one another. Every nerve, every vein, every square millimetre of his form submerged in the warm. And as long as it took for the warm to engulf his body (which was quite a short bit of time), Leroy understood why he felt the warm, in spite of how dull he now was.
Crow.
The Proxy lacked sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. Regardless of that, the connection he shared with the General felt stronger than ever before.
There was so much he wished he could do with the guy right now. If it was in his ability to push all this aside, sit up, and give him a hug, by all means would he do so. He wished to tell the alabaster feline one last time that he loved him so. To express just how grateful he was to share a home with him in his final days, and just how much it meant to him - just how much he meant to him. To say to him that he'd do absolutely anything just to spend another day with him. To kiss him, as he had never done so before. To wake up beside him in relief, relieved because it had all been a wicked dream.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Fin.
If it was up to the male, he would be looming over a cast iron pot, in which bubbled a heated hodgepodge of vegetables, meat cubes, broth, and tangy spices. The mere scent of the culinary creation would tickle his nostrils and bring his maw to a drool. It would have served as an impeccable meal, a wonder in modern cooking. The two other inhabitants residing in the Roux household would be met with pleasant surprise as they consumed one of the best suppers they've ever had. Joyous laughter would erupt from the father and son, having tasted such an excellent dish. What a reality that would have been. Unfortunately, the dying canine held no control over the current situation, and instead of wearing a chef hat and a gleaming smile, he wore the expression of a man past all hope.
Seconds were hours, every coming one ten times as harrowing as the last. A little while down the line, the Proxy's perception of time went out of wack, and he couldn't tell the difference between a minute and an era.
Muffled words soon rang through the atmosphere, but the specifics were hard to make out. The voice surely belonged to Selby, and the younger Roux had definitely said "Promise", "Crow", "Leroy" in the midst of his meandering. The rest of what he said was completely indecipherable, like some archaic language. Appearance-wise, the feline was a cloud of gray-toned bokeh. A bulbous blob of blurry balls. Wormwood's presence graced the library, as well - he knew that for the lion's unmistakable tone had crept into his folded ears. The Guardsman mustn't have stayed for long, though, as his voice soon dissipated into obscurity after seemingly calling for aid.
More Tanglers made their way through the library to his side. One looked quite pink, he thought, so he could infer that this one was Delilah. A wheezing noise crept from the dog's gullet, a noise that sang a hymn of wretched sadness. The femme passed away before his very eyes in the days of yore, shepherding godawful melancholia toward his previously-elated system. Her passing, albeit brief, left a mark on the canine's soul unlike anything before. Hopelessness and despair, two shuddersome sensations that were absent in his lowdown life up until that point. Today, the roles became reversed, and it was his time to pass; he only hoped that his existence's end failed to bring the same terrible feelings he withstood before. The three remaining figures of nonrecognition were coloured white, cream, and orange, their figures clouded beyond realization. Additionally, the cur's eardrums ceased their function, rendering him deaf as a post, and his nostrils refused to pick up any scents whatsoever. Henceforth, the mongrel's five senses went null. Identifying the others was nothing short of impossible.
A vignette cemented itself at the outer reaches of his vision, beckoning darkness to corrode away at whatever eyesight he had left. Within a matter of mere moments, darkness enveloped his vision. Fully enveloped, completely enveloped.
Fully. Completely.
Fear should've consumed the male at that point, what with Lady Death eagerly inviting him inside her homestead. But, he did not feel. Not just touch could he not feel, but emotion as well. For the entire duration that followed his collapse, Leroy suffered no emotional turmoil, despite there not being a single hopeful outcome in sight. The exception of this being Delilah, and how dubiously he yearned for her to not feel pain at his loss. One may consider the gloppy tears cascading down his face a stressful reaction, yet in actuality, the waterworks had nix to do with sentiment. In fact, the mutt failed to comprehend that he cried at all, offering the argument that his crying was more so an automatic, involuntary response than anything else.
THWUMP.
A subwoofer-like boom beats inside. At once, he felt.
Warm. A tender warm, a warm only lovers could exude between one another. Every nerve, every vein, every square millimetre of his form submerged in the warm. And as long as it took for the warm to engulf his body (which was quite a short bit of time), Leroy understood why he felt the warm, in spite of how dull he now was.
Crow.
The Proxy lacked sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste. Regardless of that, the connection he shared with the General felt stronger than ever before.
There was so much he wished he could do with the guy right now. If it was in his ability to push all this aside, sit up, and give him a hug, by all means would he do so. He wished to tell the alabaster feline one last time that he loved him so. To express just how grateful he was to share a home with him in his final days, and just how much it meant to him - just how much he meant to him. To say to him that he'd do absolutely anything just to spend another day with him. To kiss him, as he had never done so before. To wake up beside him in relief, relieved because it had all been a wicked dream.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Fin.