09-22-2018, 08:12 PM
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?
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?