12-23-2019, 04:32 AM
Away from the Roux household Leroy ventured, instead trudging towards the stone hut he once claimed as his home. The place was filled by cardboard boxes, each one crammed top the top with a unique assortment of items and doohickeys. He dubbed the tremendous accumulation of unprofitable junk The Collection. With the entirety of his heart did he love The Collection. The Collection was his child, after all - he saw its birth, and he saw it grow. And whilst it grew, Leroy helped guide it through every stage of life, including childhood, adulthood, and that slew of awkward years in between. If that wasn't the protocol for raising a child, then he didn't know what was.
The oaken door which fronted the house appeared much more worn than the last time he laid eyes on it. The wood looked damp through and through, despite the recent aggregation of dry weather. It was cracked, and stood unevenly off the ground. Altogether, it seemed about as structurally safe as a sandal, and half as sturdy. Not much could be said in regards to the stone foundation, since it was fucking stone and all. But if the door's clinical condition was a result of abandonment, then the General could only imagine how the building's interior looked.
Biting back on his lip, mildly wincing as he proceeded, he reaches forward and wraps his front right paw around the stone handle.
He pulls back.
A tidal wave of the boxes' contents surge from the ajar doorway. In a matter of mere seconds, Leroy is drowned beneath a substantial mass of odds and ends, nearly asphyxiating the poor bastard. However, he manages to find leverage beneath the gargantuan pile, and draws himself up. "Fuck!" he cries.
Oh yeah. It's fucking midnight in this bitch, so it's not like he could just call for help or anything like that.
The oaken door which fronted the house appeared much more worn than the last time he laid eyes on it. The wood looked damp through and through, despite the recent aggregation of dry weather. It was cracked, and stood unevenly off the ground. Altogether, it seemed about as structurally safe as a sandal, and half as sturdy. Not much could be said in regards to the stone foundation, since it was fucking stone and all. But if the door's clinical condition was a result of abandonment, then the General could only imagine how the building's interior looked.
Biting back on his lip, mildly wincing as he proceeded, he reaches forward and wraps his front right paw around the stone handle.
He pulls back.
A tidal wave of the boxes' contents surge from the ajar doorway. In a matter of mere seconds, Leroy is drowned beneath a substantial mass of odds and ends, nearly asphyxiating the poor bastard. However, he manages to find leverage beneath the gargantuan pile, and draws himself up. "Fuck!" he cries.
Oh yeah. It's fucking midnight in this bitch, so it's not like he could just call for help or anything like that.