09-25-2018, 05:15 PM
To be frank, holding a higher position, even if it wasn’t of too much value like his current stance as a hearthkeeper, was never in his intentions. Responsibilities were not a backing factor in this distaste. Where Wendell was concerned, it involved the distinction placed upon his sweaty nape, and how it differed the incomplex mustelid from the rest of Sunhaven. A glimmer in his bister hues posed that the perfect life for him was allowing others to direct the play, and have himself be the audience. Taking up the role of stagehand, someone behind the scenes, pulling on the strings, was never in his intentions, nor were they inhabiting his wildest dreams. Relaxation and absorbing every ounce of pleasure that life grants you was the way to go; though, if Monroe discerned something from him, saw a shine of promise, then perhaps it was up to the Brit to comply. There was always the choice of multitasking, sopping up joy from the activities required of him in this guise of a superior. Though would he truly be satisfied when his destiny was to only look at a sunset and smile with a drink in his hand?
Only time may explain.
A brown limb cautiously minced into his gaffer’s abode, his lip being bitten, oval ears perked out of awe. Fish, loads of those numpties skinny-dipping in an enclosed area. Wendell’d be lucky if his innards didn’t groan at the sheer sight of them. Oh, how he adored their taste - most exotic dishes involved that certain oceany flavour that the meat is notorious for. Yet, even something as hackneyed as fish ‘n chips were enough to sate a craving for some worthwhile seafood, no matter how common that specific meal had become in households across the globe. Wait, did Monroe take offence to the consumption of aquatic animals? He was part shark, after all...
"’Ello, ‘ello, Monroe!" he’d greet heartily, the thought of food allowing him to ascend the discomfort of being in a meeting like this - it wasn’t Monroe’s kin he was eyeballing anymore, then sandwiches in the corner there appeared plenty appetizing. He’d unleash himself on those later, for now glaring at the Helion with curiosity, unsure of the meaning behind his summoning.
Only time may explain.
A brown limb cautiously minced into his gaffer’s abode, his lip being bitten, oval ears perked out of awe. Fish, loads of those numpties skinny-dipping in an enclosed area. Wendell’d be lucky if his innards didn’t groan at the sheer sight of them. Oh, how he adored their taste - most exotic dishes involved that certain oceany flavour that the meat is notorious for. Yet, even something as hackneyed as fish ‘n chips were enough to sate a craving for some worthwhile seafood, no matter how common that specific meal had become in households across the globe. Wait, did Monroe take offence to the consumption of aquatic animals? He was part shark, after all...
"’Ello, ‘ello, Monroe!" he’d greet heartily, the thought of food allowing him to ascend the discomfort of being in a meeting like this - it wasn’t Monroe’s kin he was eyeballing anymore, then sandwiches in the corner there appeared plenty appetizing. He’d unleash himself on those later, for now glaring at the Helion with curiosity, unsure of the meaning behind his summoning.