09-15-2019, 04:28 AM
Time passed on fleet feet when one was confined to a small space.
What seemed like an hour was in actuality a day.
A day, a week.
What hurt the most was that there were not a plethora of options before him to alter the route he traveled, especially when this close to his utter demise. Either he: A) keep to his own devices and blow the limited life that remained in to his name, or B) venture outside, interact with others, properly assume the role of Proxy, and live life on a twenty-four hour basis. The options were situated on a seesaw level of difficulty. A was perched on the ground, with Leroy's lean posterior taking a seat on top, leaving B airborne and impossible for him to obtain all on his lonesome. Frequently, he'd push himself off the ground, relishing in Option B's clarity. Yet he always came crashing down to where he began, as staying on the elevated option was all but achievable.
The least he could do was try.
Try to get some fresh air, form bonds with others, experience what life was all about even if it meant diddly shit in the long run.
Today, there was an unnatural coolness to the soil that marinated his paws - an indication that the summer's decease was imminent. The more ground covered by his stroll, however the more he began to recognize that the atmosphere's frigidity wasn't due to temperature; something was up, something was wrong, and it altered the ambiance's attitude.
Something off yonder.
Someone off yonder. Two people, actually, both of them standing across from each other. Wormwood in the fore, facing an individual whom the Proxy hadn't become become acquainted with - or hell, even met - yet. Damn, if only he hadn't been all cooped up in the Roux household, he'd have a better idea on who was who. Upon closer inspection, the unfamiliar individual's sopping coat was painted with a skeleton design, which was pretty badass if he didn't say so himself. A solid moment had passed before Leroy could fully comprehend that the source of the iciness derived stood a fair length away. And it didn't exactly stand out to him; the boy simply emanated an aura that didn't sit well with his gut.
Truthfully, the canine knew not how to properly respond to the scenario. Roy, as Wormwood referred to him, obviously meant a great deal to the hellhound. Furthermore, he could infer that an event had occurred recently, once that greatly perturbed the feline. But, that's the most he could acquire.
His paws shift uneasily. Would his presence be welcomed? What could he do to help the situation?
The boy. He was wet, and as far as the mongrel knew, being wet was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable sensations once can experience. Clearing his throat in a subtle attempt to announce his presence, he slowly encroaches on Wormwood's person, before offering, "Could grab a towel if need be. Y'know, for th' wetness."
He readied to disembark for when the hellhound gave the go-ahead. If the hellhound gave the go-ahead, that is.
What seemed like an hour was in actuality a day.
A day, a week.
What hurt the most was that there were not a plethora of options before him to alter the route he traveled, especially when this close to his utter demise. Either he: A) keep to his own devices and blow the limited life that remained in to his name, or B) venture outside, interact with others, properly assume the role of Proxy, and live life on a twenty-four hour basis. The options were situated on a seesaw level of difficulty. A was perched on the ground, with Leroy's lean posterior taking a seat on top, leaving B airborne and impossible for him to obtain all on his lonesome. Frequently, he'd push himself off the ground, relishing in Option B's clarity. Yet he always came crashing down to where he began, as staying on the elevated option was all but achievable.
The least he could do was try.
Try to get some fresh air, form bonds with others, experience what life was all about even if it meant diddly shit in the long run.
Today, there was an unnatural coolness to the soil that marinated his paws - an indication that the summer's decease was imminent. The more ground covered by his stroll, however the more he began to recognize that the atmosphere's frigidity wasn't due to temperature; something was up, something was wrong, and it altered the ambiance's attitude.
Something off yonder.
Someone off yonder. Two people, actually, both of them standing across from each other. Wormwood in the fore, facing an individual whom the Proxy hadn't become become acquainted with - or hell, even met - yet. Damn, if only he hadn't been all cooped up in the Roux household, he'd have a better idea on who was who. Upon closer inspection, the unfamiliar individual's sopping coat was painted with a skeleton design, which was pretty badass if he didn't say so himself. A solid moment had passed before Leroy could fully comprehend that the source of the iciness derived stood a fair length away. And it didn't exactly stand out to him; the boy simply emanated an aura that didn't sit well with his gut.
Truthfully, the canine knew not how to properly respond to the scenario. Roy, as Wormwood referred to him, obviously meant a great deal to the hellhound. Furthermore, he could infer that an event had occurred recently, once that greatly perturbed the feline. But, that's the most he could acquire.
His paws shift uneasily. Would his presence be welcomed? What could he do to help the situation?
The boy. He was wet, and as far as the mongrel knew, being wet was perhaps one of the most uncomfortable sensations once can experience. Clearing his throat in a subtle attempt to announce his presence, he slowly encroaches on Wormwood's person, before offering, "Could grab a towel if need be. Y'know, for th' wetness."
He readied to disembark for when the hellhound gave the go-ahead. If the hellhound gave the go-ahead, that is.