08-11-2019, 10:38 PM
The attitude withheld by Leroy throughout the day was completely based on how his morning went.
By way of example, the hound's temperament would potentially veer between irate and dickish over the course of the next twenty-four hours - for the male had just endured a total shitheap of a dayspring. Not even a second of the prior night was spent beneath sleep's tender grasp. Physical contact with other Tanglers was enough of a hassle - but now, not even sleep wished to wrap him in an eight-hour embrace. Fed up, the mongrel abruptly sprung up from his feeble sleeping position following a torturous period of time, and raided his medicine cabinet. The medications within the case had not seen the light of day in an extended period of time, but expiration dates were a scam anyways, right?
After downing a fair number of sleepytime pills, the recently-crowned proxy spilled his guts.
Hence, his morning had not been one of good nature.
Hence, he was pissy, sick, and incredibly tired. A scarce quantity of energy pulsed throughout his system. There was far from enough to get him through the day. His duties as second-in-command would be the utter death of him. A long day lay ahead, with his itinerary consisting of worrying sick about Sam, and planning the oncoming raid. If he wasn't unconscious by noon, then perhaps a nice nap would be in order.
Leroy forces his creaky door ajar with an equally creaky shoulder, harsh rays of sunlight stabbing at his frail pupils. An irked scowl narrowly vacates the male's throat, before a voice cuts him off. Great. Interaction already. Couldn't this shit just, like, wait until later? He had enough strife when it came to forming basic thoughts, let alone speaking clear-cut words. The canine's yellowed chompers break into a snarl for a wee moment; diminishing when he catches sight of the bottle clamped betwixt the feline's powerful jaws. His maw instead morphs into a crooked smile.
Wormwood wasn't a figure he knew a whole lot, and thus, he had no strong feelings towards the lion. Though, Wormwood surely had some fundamental understanding on the hound, for him to pursue Leroy at this hour with such a beverage.
"What'dja need me for, Wormwood?" he mouths, his harsh glare gradually soothing. "Certainly hope your business with me involves that, heheh."
When one pulls an all-nighter, it's never too early to drink. This is common knowledge.
By way of example, the hound's temperament would potentially veer between irate and dickish over the course of the next twenty-four hours - for the male had just endured a total shitheap of a dayspring. Not even a second of the prior night was spent beneath sleep's tender grasp. Physical contact with other Tanglers was enough of a hassle - but now, not even sleep wished to wrap him in an eight-hour embrace. Fed up, the mongrel abruptly sprung up from his feeble sleeping position following a torturous period of time, and raided his medicine cabinet. The medications within the case had not seen the light of day in an extended period of time, but expiration dates were a scam anyways, right?
After downing a fair number of sleepytime pills, the recently-crowned proxy spilled his guts.
Hence, his morning had not been one of good nature.
Hence, he was pissy, sick, and incredibly tired. A scarce quantity of energy pulsed throughout his system. There was far from enough to get him through the day. His duties as second-in-command would be the utter death of him. A long day lay ahead, with his itinerary consisting of worrying sick about Sam, and planning the oncoming raid. If he wasn't unconscious by noon, then perhaps a nice nap would be in order.
Leroy forces his creaky door ajar with an equally creaky shoulder, harsh rays of sunlight stabbing at his frail pupils. An irked scowl narrowly vacates the male's throat, before a voice cuts him off. Great. Interaction already. Couldn't this shit just, like, wait until later? He had enough strife when it came to forming basic thoughts, let alone speaking clear-cut words. The canine's yellowed chompers break into a snarl for a wee moment; diminishing when he catches sight of the bottle clamped betwixt the feline's powerful jaws. His maw instead morphs into a crooked smile.
Wormwood wasn't a figure he knew a whole lot, and thus, he had no strong feelings towards the lion. Though, Wormwood surely had some fundamental understanding on the hound, for him to pursue Leroy at this hour with such a beverage.
"What'dja need me for, Wormwood?" he mouths, his harsh glare gradually soothing. "Certainly hope your business with me involves that, heheh."
When one pulls an all-nighter, it's never too early to drink. This is common knowledge.