10-23-2019, 11:08 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Leroy was a strange topic in Selby’s mind as of late, and an incredibly large portion of this strangeness could be attributed to his inevitable and impending death. Of course, his relationship with him as a doctor was a significant factor. It was odd to think that there was a dying man right under his nose he could do very little for. Though he’d always known that Leroy would be beyond help, there was a queer little inkling of guilt that settled in his bones whenever the two met. Selby supposed that this feeling was unavoidable but not one to dwell on.
A much bigger factor in this awkwardness Selby felt towards the dog was his relationship with Crow. Whenever he saw the two interact, a voice whispered (perhaps a bit harshly) This will destroy him. He was not mistrustful of his father’s personal decisions, and he knew that Crow knew what he was getting into. Still, it was hard not to feel weird about the situation. Pastel’s death was not helpful, and though she was not discussed, the issue weighed heavily on him when he was alone with his father.
Despite all these strange feelings, Selby made a point to be polite to Leroy. Granted, he was polite to everyone, but he always made sure to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ as he came and went and exchange other similar pleasantries. He just… kept the hound at a distance. It was not as difficult as one might expect when the two shared a home.
His days had grown significantly less busy as time went on, as Moth had offered to take care of his more regular patients so Selby could take the time to grieve. The offer was much appreciated, and the sawbone took full advantage of this. The day was chill and cloudy, so he figured it would be a good day to visit the library. The medic had read his own books countless times over and craved a new world to explore.
So, he made the trek and found himself browsing the shelves not too much later. It was peaceful in the old building, and besides the shuffling footsteps of its unseen occupants, the atmosphere was peaceful.
That is, until a loud thud distracted him from his reading.
“Hello? Are you alright?” he called out. A beat passed, and then the feline was rushing toward the source of the noise. In the middle of an aisle, Selby spotted a very familiar face.
“Leroy!” he exclaimed, rushing to the dog’s side. He’d known that this was coming, but he found himself unprepared anyway. Panic wormed its way into his system, and his lack of supplies was not helping this anxiety.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Can you speak?” he asked, quickly taking an assessment of what was going on. Leroy’s face seemed to droop in an odd way, and Selby recalled a condition that he’d only ever read about: strokes. Nothing he could do for that either. He looked down at Leroy, choking a little bit on his next words. It was hard enough telling someone they only had months to live, let alone mere minutes.
He swallowed uncomfortably. “I… this might be it for you. But… we knew it was coming.” Doesn’t make it easier. “There’s nothing I can do for this. I’m… I’m gonna stay with you, alright? Until the end. If this is the end, anyway. Promise.” Unsure if the library contained any other visitors, he called out, “Someone needs to get Crow! Tell him it’s Leroy!”
A much bigger factor in this awkwardness Selby felt towards the dog was his relationship with Crow. Whenever he saw the two interact, a voice whispered (perhaps a bit harshly) This will destroy him. He was not mistrustful of his father’s personal decisions, and he knew that Crow knew what he was getting into. Still, it was hard not to feel weird about the situation. Pastel’s death was not helpful, and though she was not discussed, the issue weighed heavily on him when he was alone with his father.
Despite all these strange feelings, Selby made a point to be polite to Leroy. Granted, he was polite to everyone, but he always made sure to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ as he came and went and exchange other similar pleasantries. He just… kept the hound at a distance. It was not as difficult as one might expect when the two shared a home.
His days had grown significantly less busy as time went on, as Moth had offered to take care of his more regular patients so Selby could take the time to grieve. The offer was much appreciated, and the sawbone took full advantage of this. The day was chill and cloudy, so he figured it would be a good day to visit the library. The medic had read his own books countless times over and craved a new world to explore.
So, he made the trek and found himself browsing the shelves not too much later. It was peaceful in the old building, and besides the shuffling footsteps of its unseen occupants, the atmosphere was peaceful.
That is, until a loud thud distracted him from his reading.
“Hello? Are you alright?” he called out. A beat passed, and then the feline was rushing toward the source of the noise. In the middle of an aisle, Selby spotted a very familiar face.
“Leroy!” he exclaimed, rushing to the dog’s side. He’d known that this was coming, but he found himself unprepared anyway. Panic wormed its way into his system, and his lack of supplies was not helping this anxiety.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong? Can you speak?” he asked, quickly taking an assessment of what was going on. Leroy’s face seemed to droop in an odd way, and Selby recalled a condition that he’d only ever read about: strokes. Nothing he could do for that either. He looked down at Leroy, choking a little bit on his next words. It was hard enough telling someone they only had months to live, let alone mere minutes.
He swallowed uncomfortably. “I… this might be it for you. But… we knew it was coming.” Doesn’t make it easier. “There’s nothing I can do for this. I’m… I’m gonna stay with you, alright? Until the end. If this is the end, anyway. Promise.” Unsure if the library contained any other visitors, he called out, “Someone needs to get Crow! Tell him it’s Leroy!”