06-22-2019, 10:15 PM
Her voice certainly was not the last thing he had expected to perceive on this day, though it was not necessarily high on that list either. Somewhere along the halfway mark was where the possibility lay.
But, even then, he’d anticipated her manner of voice to be akin to "hey everybody, it's me, the Typhoon’s leader!” - not "HURRY THE FUCK UP, SOMEONE’S DYING!"
Being that an incident of this nature occurred not for a period of months, the hollers for aid caught Leroy beyond off guard. The presence of a leading figure other than his own only added to the occasion’s curiosity. The sheer bewilderment attained from these factors caused him to hesitate for a good moment or three.
Adrenaline now pumping vivaciously through his system in response to the urgency of the situation at hand, the canine briskly split from his initial position, taking to his heels in the medical storage’s direction. In a matter of moments, herbs of a wide variety of herbs and plants resided messily within a wicker basket, compressed and worn together by a frantic pair of lofty paws. In truth, the uses for a majority of the herbs he nabbed were forgotten by him as time went on, hence his selection was quite random and poorly chosen.
Optimistically, the tiger could work with Leroy’s selection, and potentially save someone’s life.
Realistically, he likely fucked up. He likely fucked up real bad.
The scramble to Goldenluxury was lengthy, and only felt longer. In addition to the incessant worry that bedeviled his character, grim theories and images established themselves in his mind not as twisted notions, but dark possibilities. Illustrations of his comrades laying lifeless in the mud began to circulate inside Leroy’s skull, accompanied by close-ups of their decaying visages, and the haunting expressions that they wore upon death. Seeing Goldenluxury’s mighty body off in the distance had soothed the recurring gruesome concepts that inhabited his mind. The auspicious aura that the captain emanated was reassuring in a way. Suddenly, everything was going to be okay.
And then, upon seeing what lay in front of the towering feline, his heart propelled itself downwards at speeds anagolous to a steam-powered locomotive.
One of those sick, debauched theories that overtook his spirit was actually actuality. It appeared that Tanglewood’s leader was dead. At least, he thought it did.
Steady breaths devolved to precarious gasps.
Trembling yellow pupils struggled to commit themselves to a single target, constantly swapping between the clamant tiger, the straw basket, and Crow.
Leroy’s jaw unhinged, dropping the woven container onto the ground, its remedial contents spilling themselves into a heap at the front paws of the Typhoon’s commander.
"... sorry.", the male broke.
It was up to her to fix him, if it was even possible. A lack of medicinal knowledge rendered him useless.
Leroy’s noggin sloped in poignancy. This was his fault. If only he was there.
What if he couldn’t be saved?
Could he be saved?
But, even then, he’d anticipated her manner of voice to be akin to "hey everybody, it's me, the Typhoon’s leader!” - not "HURRY THE FUCK UP, SOMEONE’S DYING!"
Being that an incident of this nature occurred not for a period of months, the hollers for aid caught Leroy beyond off guard. The presence of a leading figure other than his own only added to the occasion’s curiosity. The sheer bewilderment attained from these factors caused him to hesitate for a good moment or three.
Adrenaline now pumping vivaciously through his system in response to the urgency of the situation at hand, the canine briskly split from his initial position, taking to his heels in the medical storage’s direction. In a matter of moments, herbs of a wide variety of herbs and plants resided messily within a wicker basket, compressed and worn together by a frantic pair of lofty paws. In truth, the uses for a majority of the herbs he nabbed were forgotten by him as time went on, hence his selection was quite random and poorly chosen.
Optimistically, the tiger could work with Leroy’s selection, and potentially save someone’s life.
Realistically, he likely fucked up. He likely fucked up real bad.
The scramble to Goldenluxury was lengthy, and only felt longer. In addition to the incessant worry that bedeviled his character, grim theories and images established themselves in his mind not as twisted notions, but dark possibilities. Illustrations of his comrades laying lifeless in the mud began to circulate inside Leroy’s skull, accompanied by close-ups of their decaying visages, and the haunting expressions that they wore upon death. Seeing Goldenluxury’s mighty body off in the distance had soothed the recurring gruesome concepts that inhabited his mind. The auspicious aura that the captain emanated was reassuring in a way. Suddenly, everything was going to be okay.
And then, upon seeing what lay in front of the towering feline, his heart propelled itself downwards at speeds anagolous to a steam-powered locomotive.
One of those sick, debauched theories that overtook his spirit was actually actuality. It appeared that Tanglewood’s leader was dead. At least, he thought it did.
Steady breaths devolved to precarious gasps.
Trembling yellow pupils struggled to commit themselves to a single target, constantly swapping between the clamant tiger, the straw basket, and Crow.
Leroy’s jaw unhinged, dropping the woven container onto the ground, its remedial contents spilling themselves into a heap at the front paws of the Typhoon’s commander.
"... sorry.", the male broke.
It was up to her to fix him, if it was even possible. A lack of medicinal knowledge rendered him useless.
Leroy’s noggin sloped in poignancy. This was his fault. If only he was there.
What if he couldn’t be saved?
Could he be saved?