The fact Delilah suggested that he could provide himself with alcohol slightly hurt. How many times had he indulged himself in alcohol since the hound had gotten here? Two. Was he beginning to become known more and more as a drunk? Apparently so, if that’s what people saw as his only interest; to quote the medic, ”you can have alcohol there while you do it”.

It angered him.

His weekly task was to host training, or to tell a story, and quite frankly, none of those ideas had clicked with him. Each of them were timeworn, both being performed by many a Tangler before he even set foot in the swamp. No, this week, he’d be taking matters into his own hands. And the hound would be doing so with force.

Reflecting on the Pitt’s assault, Leroy immediately identified the painstakingly obvious flaw that lured the bastardly desert-dwellers to their isolated glade. Tanglewood was an easy target. There was nothing frightening about them - hell, look at the fucking leader, he’s poofier than a pom-pom. That’s not all, for all the group had for defence was an abundance of feral gators, those of which had also developed a hankering for Tangler meat. Everyone needed to learn a lesson on how to toughen up, and luckily for them, they had Leroy, who grew up on practically the roughest spot on the planet, the impoverished streets of the Big Apple. Hopefully, he’d be able to up the group’s reputation a bit with the following lecture.

Decrepit pads and cushions were aligned in hastily-constructed rows of three, a few so crooked they seemed rather diagonal. At the head of his arrangement sat a considerably copious beanbag, destined for his rump, a goliath in comparison to the flimsy couch pillows the guardsman brought for his peers. Here was the site of his instruction, and nobody would be skipping class, unless they did not want to be able to stand their ground in a rhubarb.

"Okay, ya morons!" he’d call, attempting to grab his tribemates’ short attention spans, ”C’mere if ya wanna learn how ta be tough!.

© LEXASPERATED

Contrary to what Arrow Aineias appeared to believe, being taught how to be tough was indeed possible. Five years back, Leroy had been taught by those wiseguys over on 42nd street the very lesson which he’d soon enlighten his “class” on today. The memories had a fuzzy aura to them, for some pages were completely ripped out of his mental scrapbook, though the basic tips remained carved in stone, a stone which would never erode as long as the guardsman’s mentality remained intact. Confidently, these skills would be put to use in the near future, because, as far as the mongrel fathomed it, Delilah was a tiny minnow in a pond of minnow-eating sharks, and required a friendly fishing hook to fish her out of it. However, the aforementioned hook demanded a good sharpening, and that’s where Leroy came in.

"Look at us", the hound commenced assiduously, his amber glare scouring the inadequate crowd of Arrow and Aineias, ”we’re Tanglewood, a rattletrap batch of misfits. Look’t me; I’m Leroy, a giant of a dog, who came ‘ere because I got beaten by someone half my size. Then, there’s you, Arrow, who’s always a helpin’ hand, but if ya ain’t, you’re clawin’ your face off, like that other day. And, Aineias,” Leroy pronounced, approaching the shark-cat amalgam by some feet, ”this class is for people who have to learn how t’be frightening; no offence t’you, but you’re terrifying as is.”

Deliberately hastily forwarding the recitation following his remark, Leroy resumed his position atop his comfier seat, perching his tired rear unto the corrugated surface of the beanbag. Again, vibrantly-coloured bulbs met the entirety of his session, to whom he’d clear his throat and continue persist with the lecture. ”We’re an easy target for how jangled up we’re as a group. That’s why it’s important for us to focus on intimidation when you get in scuffles ‘n rhubarbs with fuckos like the Pitt.”

”Tell me quick - a fellow about the same size as ya comes over growling, obviously wanting t’share fisticuffs. Where d’you look with your eyes?”.

For Leroy, the most invading thing one could do was violate the mind, like brainwashing. Manipulating another’s mentality was a sick thing to do, as he learned from years of blackmailing others. It was in most people’s best wishes to just have their cognizances left alone, thank you very much. Thus, when the expeditious answer to his inquiry came as an unearthly mental message, the hound was left debauched, and slightly aghast. He had eyed the spectral bird with interest as it initially dropped in, not far from lashing out at it as a result of the destruction its kind brought upon the territory, but brushed any aggression aside once realizing that the phantom possessed no malicious intent. Promptly flustered by Airin’s answer, Leroy dubiously responded, ”ya nearly hit th’spot when ya answered with “eyes”, Spooks,” ratherish emphasizing the improvised nickname, "and ya were kinda right, in a way. When ya look at someone," the zealous guardsman began once more, explaining to the now crowd of three’s entirety, ”ya wanna look down on ‘em. It makes would-be ruffians a‘scared when they realize they’re fighting someone bigger than them. I’m a natural when it comes to this, obviously, with me being so tall and whatnot. But, I do realize that some of yous ’re on the smaller side of th’ spectrum... so”, he’d explain, to follow up his concluding word, subtly lunging his rearmost limbs forward whilst pushing up with his powerful paws in front, [color=#b2b2b2][b]”ya can make your body look taller, and look down on ‘em.”

”Fear plays tricks on the enemy’s mind, makes people weaker. Stating at a weak point sometimes works... but it’ll usually give away your target, which is th’ last thing ya wanna do; with intimidation, ya can say that ya try t’make the bad guys forget their sore points. Remember, all o’ this’ll be useful in the near future. Any questions before I continue?”. For the answer to be ‘no’, the mongrel would without delay continue.