07-10-2019, 03:36 AM
One of Tanglewood’s greatest traditions was its bonfires.
There were bonfires for parties, bonfires for feasts, bonfires for games - bonfires for just about anything. Initially, the choking fumes spawned by live flame proved to be fairly harsh at the very least least. For the duration of the first few recreational pyres, the hound desired nothing more than to be a good few miles out of the smoke’s reach. Trailer trash and hillbillies were the only classes that possessed the fortitude to withstand fire’s smouldery vapour, and the city slicker’s status stood above the both of those. Despite the rough first impressions, however, Leroy became more and more attuned to the fires, which eventually grew on him. A little ways down the line, the guardsman would even develop an adoration for them, and the adoration was kindled even brighter each time another one occurred. Whatever transpired that drastically changed his views for the better, he could not recall, but it got to the point where solely the sound crackling flame was enough to completely engulf him in implacable nostalgia. Moreover, smoke bothered him no more; inhaling it even brought pleasing, albeit brief, comfort to his marred cerebrum and aching joints.
As of late, bonfires were more uncommon than ever. The unfortunate circumstance dispirited the hound.
-
The aroma of flame met his wet nostrils, promptly perking Leroy’s folded ears. Its scent was more of a stench, actually - someone must have been setting something real funky ablaze.
On approach, what met his ears was not sputtering of flame or the sound of people’s content voices. In actuality, it was quite the opposite of the latter.
His arrival came far too late to witness the physical dramatics which had ensued between Sam, Beck, and Mikolaj, though he’d heard a good deal of what went on. Beck’s abashed heave struck a chord far inside the male, whom found himself in situations that practically mimicked the ordeal at hand. Acting on what he saw as correct as opposed to what actually is correct was one of his many flaws, allowing a shred of remorse to be felt for the poltergeist. On the flip side, however, Leroy understood just how important personal belongings are to specific people - him being one of them. You never fuck with someone’s shit; that’s a first-class ticket to scrap city.
Hues in a limpid yellow observed a physically-weakened Sam amble towards Arrow, his icy stare making note of the waterworks present in the young adult’s facial expression. Why she cried couldn’t be discerned simply by glaring, hence he knew not whether her tears were birthed from Beck’s fiery gesture, or by a reaction between her eyes and the smoke. What he did know about the current conflict was that Sam was an upset woman, and upset women were far from his area of expertise. To maintain what little steadiness found in these circumstances, his priority was dealing with Beck.
Carefully slipping past Sam, Crow, and the others who stumbled upon the cigarette blaze, a calm Leroy gradually edged closer to Beck by the second. "There’re better ways you coulda helped, Beck," he mouthed bluntly, ere explaining in a much more reassuring tone, "but, I’m sure ya didn’t mean for it to end up like this. Ya were only tryn’ta help, after all."
Leroy couldn’t foresee the reactions he’d face as a result of his words. His interactions with Beck usually sustained a mocking undertone, and Sam probably wouldn’t appreciate him aiding the enemy. Though, just like Beck, he was at least trying.
There were bonfires for parties, bonfires for feasts, bonfires for games - bonfires for just about anything. Initially, the choking fumes spawned by live flame proved to be fairly harsh at the very least least. For the duration of the first few recreational pyres, the hound desired nothing more than to be a good few miles out of the smoke’s reach. Trailer trash and hillbillies were the only classes that possessed the fortitude to withstand fire’s smouldery vapour, and the city slicker’s status stood above the both of those. Despite the rough first impressions, however, Leroy became more and more attuned to the fires, which eventually grew on him. A little ways down the line, the guardsman would even develop an adoration for them, and the adoration was kindled even brighter each time another one occurred. Whatever transpired that drastically changed his views for the better, he could not recall, but it got to the point where solely the sound crackling flame was enough to completely engulf him in implacable nostalgia. Moreover, smoke bothered him no more; inhaling it even brought pleasing, albeit brief, comfort to his marred cerebrum and aching joints.
As of late, bonfires were more uncommon than ever. The unfortunate circumstance dispirited the hound.
-
The aroma of flame met his wet nostrils, promptly perking Leroy’s folded ears. Its scent was more of a stench, actually - someone must have been setting something real funky ablaze.
On approach, what met his ears was not sputtering of flame or the sound of people’s content voices. In actuality, it was quite the opposite of the latter.
His arrival came far too late to witness the physical dramatics which had ensued between Sam, Beck, and Mikolaj, though he’d heard a good deal of what went on. Beck’s abashed heave struck a chord far inside the male, whom found himself in situations that practically mimicked the ordeal at hand. Acting on what he saw as correct as opposed to what actually is correct was one of his many flaws, allowing a shred of remorse to be felt for the poltergeist. On the flip side, however, Leroy understood just how important personal belongings are to specific people - him being one of them. You never fuck with someone’s shit; that’s a first-class ticket to scrap city.
Hues in a limpid yellow observed a physically-weakened Sam amble towards Arrow, his icy stare making note of the waterworks present in the young adult’s facial expression. Why she cried couldn’t be discerned simply by glaring, hence he knew not whether her tears were birthed from Beck’s fiery gesture, or by a reaction between her eyes and the smoke. What he did know about the current conflict was that Sam was an upset woman, and upset women were far from his area of expertise. To maintain what little steadiness found in these circumstances, his priority was dealing with Beck.
Carefully slipping past Sam, Crow, and the others who stumbled upon the cigarette blaze, a calm Leroy gradually edged closer to Beck by the second. "There’re better ways you coulda helped, Beck," he mouthed bluntly, ere explaining in a much more reassuring tone, "but, I’m sure ya didn’t mean for it to end up like this. Ya were only tryn’ta help, after all."
Leroy couldn’t foresee the reactions he’d face as a result of his words. His interactions with Beck usually sustained a mocking undertone, and Sam probably wouldn’t appreciate him aiding the enemy. Though, just like Beck, he was at least trying.