10-25-2018, 10:09 PM
”Ya need a sense of humour” - a comical statement to make in front of a man whose home and many valuables may very well be destroyed. The vexatious brat that Malphas almost sank his teeth into that one day - yeah, Leroy remembered - had not aided the case either, the childlike taunts emptying another canister of gasoline unto a dying bonfire. But, alas, the hound’s threats must have been made of counterfeit satin, as the single response which ushered out of his irritated maw had been nothing more than an irked puff. Shameful, really. He understood that a huge opportunity for a grand showdown had just been avoided, on account of the fatigue which plagued his mind, and his willingness to not rebel against Marina’s orders; perhaps the mutt was aging, after all.
Ensuing his less-than-sugarcoated prologue came a faintly familiar face, a former Tangler, as you will. Not much could the guardsman recall about this fellow; his tongue wore an irritating accent, that was for sure, and his name fell somewhere along the lines of New Jersey. Jerseykid, Jerseyboy, hell, it would’ve made the most sense if it was Jerseytot, taking his juvenile sense of humour into account. And that aforementioned accent, it was much more fierce than whatever held a grip over Leroy’s patter - with ‘a’s in place of ‘er’s, he perceived it as one of those old flicks starring men with greased-back hair and leather jackets. Of course, the poor chump of a hound was born with the misfortune of not being able to descry screens of any sort, so he’d never truly understand the look this guy was trying to pull off.
As Marina approached, a tall canine whom nearly stood doubly as high in comparison to the Tangler, his worn gaze finally made amends with the other’s obnoxious presence, instead directing it in the direction of the Helion. As the Scottish-twanged hellhound declared that those staying would assume the role of a normal Sunhavener, Leroy’s indecisive glance swapped targets yet again, this time to Axle. From past experiences, the wolfhound comprehended that the Ocker teemed with a nasty tendency to end up in odd places, as he had when he was discovered chained to a pole in the deserts of the Pitt. That was quite the tale, actually, of how he single-handedly sprawled into the heart of the stronghold like a madman and recaptured Axle. Surely, if that dunce had an ounce of logic inside of his thick skull, perhaps he wouldn’t be next on the list of Tanglers M.I.A.
Personally, he had no adversing thoughts to Marina. He was rather unfazed by her earlier philosophical comment, as bold as it was. It was a poor choice for wording on his part - none of what was being said actually upset him in any way, though he believed it would be the other story once more and more foolish taunts had been made. Timing was just not on his side in this scenario, negativity from recent events clouded his already dogged mentality. He had still yet to recover from Ophelia’s sudden vanishment, an issue made worse once Delilah was captured by those fuckers over in the desert sands. That was two girls in his life lost - the former as a lover, and the latter as a close friend. All that, and now he was being told to vacate the comforts of his home? Sorry, but to some people, that was not a-okay.
Sighing once more, Leroy began the cloying hike behind his temporary leader- was that a stifled chortle in reaction to Jerseyboy’s sudden abduction?
Ensuing his less-than-sugarcoated prologue came a faintly familiar face, a former Tangler, as you will. Not much could the guardsman recall about this fellow; his tongue wore an irritating accent, that was for sure, and his name fell somewhere along the lines of New Jersey. Jerseykid, Jerseyboy, hell, it would’ve made the most sense if it was Jerseytot, taking his juvenile sense of humour into account. And that aforementioned accent, it was much more fierce than whatever held a grip over Leroy’s patter - with ‘a’s in place of ‘er’s, he perceived it as one of those old flicks starring men with greased-back hair and leather jackets. Of course, the poor chump of a hound was born with the misfortune of not being able to descry screens of any sort, so he’d never truly understand the look this guy was trying to pull off.
As Marina approached, a tall canine whom nearly stood doubly as high in comparison to the Tangler, his worn gaze finally made amends with the other’s obnoxious presence, instead directing it in the direction of the Helion. As the Scottish-twanged hellhound declared that those staying would assume the role of a normal Sunhavener, Leroy’s indecisive glance swapped targets yet again, this time to Axle. From past experiences, the wolfhound comprehended that the Ocker teemed with a nasty tendency to end up in odd places, as he had when he was discovered chained to a pole in the deserts of the Pitt. That was quite the tale, actually, of how he single-handedly sprawled into the heart of the stronghold like a madman and recaptured Axle. Surely, if that dunce had an ounce of logic inside of his thick skull, perhaps he wouldn’t be next on the list of Tanglers M.I.A.
Personally, he had no adversing thoughts to Marina. He was rather unfazed by her earlier philosophical comment, as bold as it was. It was a poor choice for wording on his part - none of what was being said actually upset him in any way, though he believed it would be the other story once more and more foolish taunts had been made. Timing was just not on his side in this scenario, negativity from recent events clouded his already dogged mentality. He had still yet to recover from Ophelia’s sudden vanishment, an issue made worse once Delilah was captured by those fuckers over in the desert sands. That was two girls in his life lost - the former as a lover, and the latter as a close friend. All that, and now he was being told to vacate the comforts of his home? Sorry, but to some people, that was not a-okay.
Sighing once more, Leroy began the cloying hike behind his temporary leader- was that a stifled chortle in reaction to Jerseyboy’s sudden abduction?