10-01-2019, 11:39 PM
Scarcely a moment had passed, and the male was already being greeted by a familiar face. Somewhat familiar, at least. He'd been informed of Wormwood's newfound infernal form - hell, he'd even seen the Chaser donning his new body on the day of Selby Roux's meltdown - yet the hellhound's sudden appearance nevertheless caught him off guard. It wasn't until the beast declared his name that the Proxy eased up, the fur along his spine that stood in alarm finally settling.
"Hello, Wormwood," Leroy returned softly. His words were stagnant, and lacked energy and vigour. The wolfhound's eyes contradicted his tone however, for they actively scrutinized the creature's figure with modest interest. Gone were wings painted in the colours of a raging blaze. Gone was the glorious mane that shrouded the feline's neck. Wormwood appeared to have opted out of the sovereign look he wore, instead going for a more rustic - more revolting - approach. Neat.
Wormwood spoke once more, this time in a manner that matched a concerned parent's. Leroy wished to roll his eyes whilst the perturbed words met his ears, though he'd refrain from it. After all, the undead-ish male was right to worry. How he knew about Crow's house, though, the mutt did not know. The canine made sure to keep the ordeal the down low; he wanted his relationship with Tanglewood's leader to stay strictly professional.
Brushing aside the nosy tidbits of Wormwood's dialogue, the male forces a meager chuckle, and clears his throat. "I'm still kickin' around, so that means at least somethin', don't it?
"Been livin' offa canned stuff, that's why ya haven't seen me leave the house, much." A sigh erupts from his hoarse throat, bringing a brief pause to Leroy's morose voice. "I dunno... just haven't really felt like gettin' out there after findin' out I don't got much long left. But enough about me - how're you holdin' up?"
"Hello, Wormwood," Leroy returned softly. His words were stagnant, and lacked energy and vigour. The wolfhound's eyes contradicted his tone however, for they actively scrutinized the creature's figure with modest interest. Gone were wings painted in the colours of a raging blaze. Gone was the glorious mane that shrouded the feline's neck. Wormwood appeared to have opted out of the sovereign look he wore, instead going for a more rustic - more revolting - approach. Neat.
Wormwood spoke once more, this time in a manner that matched a concerned parent's. Leroy wished to roll his eyes whilst the perturbed words met his ears, though he'd refrain from it. After all, the undead-ish male was right to worry. How he knew about Crow's house, though, the mutt did not know. The canine made sure to keep the ordeal the down low; he wanted his relationship with Tanglewood's leader to stay strictly professional.
Brushing aside the nosy tidbits of Wormwood's dialogue, the male forces a meager chuckle, and clears his throat. "I'm still kickin' around, so that means at least somethin', don't it?
"Been livin' offa canned stuff, that's why ya haven't seen me leave the house, much." A sigh erupts from his hoarse throat, bringing a brief pause to Leroy's morose voice. "I dunno... just haven't really felt like gettin' out there after findin' out I don't got much long left. But enough about me - how're you holdin' up?"