Leroy Starkweather lived with Crow Roux. The household in which he resided used to be home exclusively to the local branch of the Roux family, which consisted of Crow, Selby, and Pastel Roux. Somewhere down the line, Leroy - own out of his love for the tribe's leader at the time - gradually adopted the household as his own, and packed his shit and moved. An assortment of miscellaneous events transpired, and, with Selby moved into a home of his own and Pastel laying dead in a ditch, the household's sole occupants were Tanglewood's current leader and Tanglewood's ex-leader.

Before, Leroy had claimed a run-down hut on the town's outskirts as his home. Barely fitting the dictionary's description of a 'home', the hut became the storage area for the wolfhound's expansive collection - which ranged from unwanted knickknacks to incredibly curious oddities. Without a doubt, the gem of his collection was his jukebox. And now, that jukebox was going to be put in the Deathless Hound Tavern.

Initially, the vinyl-playing device had been loaded onto a small, crimson wagon for transport. Though now, Leroy's jukebox lay collapsed in an unpalatable batch of mud-splattered snow. The wagon's steel exterior was tickled by rust, indicating that the cart's condition didn't fall under 'tiptop', and to make matters worse, the hind right wheel had somehow disappeared after the ride towards the tavern commenced. However, the foul-mouthed individual tugging the wagon by the handle hadn't become aware of the wheel's absence until far too late, and thus, the jukebox toppled to the ground.

The leader's vocabulary replaced all sensible words with angered swears and exasperated curses. He worried not about the device's condition, for he knew that it'd been through so much worse - but he was still a fair ways away from his destination, and now had no method of transportation. The only option available was good ol' fashioned pushing. And even then, it'd be nigh impossible to do that on his own.

    A string of accented cursing jarred him from his accidental nap, his head smacking against the underside of a bench with the startled jerk upward. He hissed in pain, a bandaged paw rubbing at his scalp as he grimaced. He probably would feel a bump tomorrow, given his luck to bruise like a summer peach. The poltergeist puffed his intact cheek as though he tried to imitate a disgruntled bullfrog, an airstream whistling through the exposed teeth of the mutilated other. Whoever disturbed his sleep continued swearing to the heavens stood nearby, a grey four-legged blur against snowmelt and a... red rectangle. Next to a toppled one. Admittedly not the most bizarre scene he's witnessed.

    Rearing his head -- this time wary of the decrepit bench he chose for shelter -- Beck slunk from beneath the snow-covered wood planks, nose twitching as he watched Leroy struggle against the fallen shape. As he drew closer, paws sinking into the slush and leaving a trail of polka dots in his wake, he could discern the details of a jukebox and a wagon. What would an antique like that be doing out here in the snow? "Hi, Leroy. Where are you going with that?" His stump of a tail drooped as he remembered the gossip overheard ages ago; the wolfhound was afflicted with cancer, wasn't he? He shouldn't be straining himself, he might pop a blood vessel.

    Taking a shaky breath, the poltergeist inched closer, rasping gingerly, "I can... um, help you, if you'd like." Bold words from a scrawny housecat who trembled like a wilted leaf when a strong breeze shimmied by. Only for the feline apparition to dissipate into a gooey black, reshaping itself to a taller mass before an elk formed from the ooze, blinking down at Leroy. "Maybe get a rope or something and I can pull it? Y'know, like a- a horse or whatever." he wheezed, shrill voice remaining despite the body swap.

The hound didn't know quite what to expect when the small poltergeist waddled over to his person. Beck, in his mind, had become associated with mischief and ill-disposed misdeeds, what with the circumstances encircling Goldenluxury's corpse, as well as that piñata he'd created that possessed a striking resemblance to Crow. So when the spectre not only proposed aid from his end, but transfigured himself so that he was a giant deer, well, it was quite easy to say that Leroy's inside twisted with surprise.  "Err-" was all he could vocalize, before yet another figure entered the fray. This was the first time he'd ever interacted with the feline until this point, though this one's figure was one he deemed incredibly enticing. His eyes curiously scan the tigon's body, paying close attention to the curves and edges; and upon the realization that this person was none other than his second-in-command, the captivated gaze he'd locked onto the feline snapped like a frail chain.

Dumbfounded by the unexpected occurrences afore him, a handful of moments pass before any suitable words could be located. "Uh... yeah... yeah, pushin' it might be good." His words are tainted with confusion, though his bewilderment soon passes. "Dunno where any rope would be, but that'd be a nice help," Leroy admits, his field of view falling on the elk whilst he speaks. Then, his chocolate gaze shifting towards the tigon, he says, "if we're gonna push it, we gotta get it upright first. And, I appreciate the help."

Not waiting for anyone else to take initiative, the wolfhound heads to the fallen jukebox's rounded top, which lay face-up in the dirt. Fuck, as well as moving the damn thing to the tavern, it'd need a good washing up, too. It's far too heavy for him to heave upwards on his lonesome, but if he had the help of the others, then this strenuous task would be completed lickity-split.