01-06-2020, 11:39 PM
Leroy considered himself a man of hardly any fears. The terrors and atrocities that the wolfhound witnessed throughout his existence vastly overpowered what the majority of his tribemates had seen. Thus, the few fears that he did held to his name were - in his humble opinion - incredibly hardcore. First off, Leroy was utterly terrified of the ocean. Its abyssal expanses just went on forever, so who really knew what went on down there? Giant squids? Sharks that shot frickin' laser beams? Octopus-headed god-like beings that yearned for the planet's destruction? Eugh, he'd rather not think about it. The ocean, though, wasn't nearly as scary as terminal diseases. Passing away sort of mitigated his insensitivity to the matter. Before being diagnosed, the mongrel never foresaw himself dying of it, and after being told that he had cancer, his life did a total 180. Without a moment's notice, the fragility of life became so apparent, and he finally began finding joy in the littlest of things. And then he died. But now he's back, and realizes that terminal diseases are no joke (yet technically speaking, he's still dead, though his spirit is using the body of his younger brother as a living flesh puppet).
None of the fears previously listed were anything on giant spiders smack-dab in the middle of the fucking night.
He coolly pulls himself out from neath the rubble, though at the sight of Abathur, Leroy lets out a bit of a scream. A horrifying, bloodcurdling scream. However, he cuts himself off before too long, so that he didn't have a horde of freshly-awakened Tanglers to deal with.
"Shit, 'm sorry Abathur," he apologizes sincerely, recognizing how fucking disrespectful that must've been, "ya caught me off guard. I dunno what came over me, I think it might've been the eyes-"
Shut up, Leroy.
Worried that his little act left the oversized arachnid with a bad taste in his weird-looking mouth, the general's gaze glides back to the massive mess that partially consumed him. Fuck, this mess was messy. "I dunno if there's much to help with," he voices as he digs around the top layer of trash, tossing away a rather ugly monkey wrench, "I came back 'ere to move some shit, since I don't live here no more, but it looks like the shit decided to move onto me." It was true. The canine made a habitat out of the Roux household nowadays, residing alongside the ex-leader, Crow, and his healer son, Selby. Howbeit, despite moving houses, he had yet to move any of his possessions. And while his old place of residence seemed to be filled to the brim with unwanted junk, there was some useful shit in there. Hell, his jukebox was still in there.
"If ya did wanna assist with anythin' - I'm not orderin' ya to or nothin' - then ya can help me out dig out my most valuable possessions... which are like my icebox, my jukebox, my strongbox, and my tinderbox. Lotta boxes. Again, that's only if ya wanna. I'm sure I can deal with this shit on all on my lonesome." Taking a long look up at the towering mass of clutter, that was clearly not the case.
None of the fears previously listed were anything on giant spiders smack-dab in the middle of the fucking night.
He coolly pulls himself out from neath the rubble, though at the sight of Abathur, Leroy lets out a bit of a scream. A horrifying, bloodcurdling scream. However, he cuts himself off before too long, so that he didn't have a horde of freshly-awakened Tanglers to deal with.
"Shit, 'm sorry Abathur," he apologizes sincerely, recognizing how fucking disrespectful that must've been, "ya caught me off guard. I dunno what came over me, I think it might've been the eyes-"
Shut up, Leroy.
Worried that his little act left the oversized arachnid with a bad taste in his weird-looking mouth, the general's gaze glides back to the massive mess that partially consumed him. Fuck, this mess was messy. "I dunno if there's much to help with," he voices as he digs around the top layer of trash, tossing away a rather ugly monkey wrench, "I came back 'ere to move some shit, since I don't live here no more, but it looks like the shit decided to move onto me." It was true. The canine made a habitat out of the Roux household nowadays, residing alongside the ex-leader, Crow, and his healer son, Selby. Howbeit, despite moving houses, he had yet to move any of his possessions. And while his old place of residence seemed to be filled to the brim with unwanted junk, there was some useful shit in there. Hell, his jukebox was still in there.
"If ya did wanna assist with anythin' - I'm not orderin' ya to or nothin' - then ya can help me out dig out my most valuable possessions... which are like my icebox, my jukebox, my strongbox, and my tinderbox. Lotta boxes. Again, that's only if ya wanna. I'm sure I can deal with this shit on all on my lonesome." Taking a long look up at the towering mass of clutter, that was clearly not the case.