The leather haversack hung loosely by the canine’s rawboned hips, thumping against his midsection amidst each stepping motion. Within the bag sat a lone item, a tattered packet of old cigarettes, and it flung about the empty interior in animation as Leroy trekked onwards. The pair of shoulders which topped his jagged torso swayed uncharacteristically low, with the weight of guilt pressing firmly against the crown of his front limbs. When it came to Leroy’s facial expression, the overhanging theme of iniquity retained itself through a tight frown and a hollow stare.

As to why he felt blameworthy, the hound could not recall, though flashing images of Samantha recurred inside his mentality whenever the guilty brainwaves circuited through his system. The fresh guardsman wasn’t radiating the same good-natured vibes as she did before. Hell, Sam hadn’t even interacted with him since that one day when she requested a weekly task. Since then,a handful of foul-smelling shit had gone down, the doecat losing her smokes to a Beck-induced blaze being the most recent occurrence. Seeing her without a cancer stick peeping out between her lips somewhat disconcerted him; Sam and reefers went together in a way akin to peanut butter and jam, you just couldn’t have one without the other. Hence his gift to the doecat, the threadbare cigarette carton currently catapulting around inside the leather bag.

A single pack of cigs likely wasn’t enough to sate the debilitating addiction that controlled Sam. Assuming his visit went well, he could retrieve a few more packs that lay around in his hut.

A shallow sigh exited his maw as the mongrel arrived to his destination - the foot of Sam’s humble abode. Leroy hesitated for a moment or two, giving his spine a good stretch, before proceeding to the door. Man, he sure hoped she was home. If she wasn’t in, then he’d have to look elsewhere, which he wasn’t necessarily hoping to do in the summer heat.

"Sam, open up," his blunt tone demanded, not even offering a knock. "Gotcha something," Leroy continued, "something you’ll like."

Once inside, the contents of the attaché would emptied onto the floor, and the gift could then be given.

Leroy’s oculars widened at the door slowly creaking ajar, his brows tensing out of concern as the hut’s inhabitant hastily scurried away in a rat-like fashion. He didn’t necessarily enjoy how she retreated as soon as allowing him entry. For a full second’s duration, the mongrel no longer yearned to venture forth into Sam’s home. Mayhaps, the best route from here would be to just drop the cigarette parcel and turn tail. The doecat and him weren’t exactly on speaking level, anyways. His presence would only disturb her to an even greater degree, which totally contradicted his intentions; the canine didn’t aim to amplify the newly-appointed guardsman’s stress levels with this little stopover. Rather, he desired only the opposite.

Yellowed teeth gripping upon his thin tongue, a spur-of-the-moment choice was made.

His neck craned through the hatchway’s opening. The room was inky black, with only the faintest outlines of certain objects accessible to his eyesight. "Where y’at, Sam?" Leroy called softly while stepping into the dark, enclosed space. Reaching out with a rear leg, the hound hooked his paw around the agape door and pulled forward. It shut behind him, quietly colliding with the frame. Along with the secured drapes, the closed door prevented almost all outside light from entering - making the room darker than it was before. Sighing abjectly, he cleared his phlegmy throat before speaking once more. "I ain't gonna do nothin' to ya," he started solemnly, unaware of his target’s true location, "just wanna talk. That's all."

"I get ya hate me, but I don't get why. If ya could help me understand, we could fix this bad blood between us. It'd make the place a whole lot less stressful for you an' I."

Leroy would unequip his haversack, dropping it in front of him. It was difficult to see exactly what he was doing in the dark, yet after some mild fumbling and stumbling, the cigarette pack fell loose out of the bag. "If ya could somehow turn on the lights, this'd be a lot more smooth. We- you could even puff on these for the time bein' ta make things easier."