01-12-2020, 06:23 PM
Following his ascent to power, the Roux household had become Leroy's haven. At the conclusion of every flooded itinerary, every action-packed work day, the general made way for home. The residence existed as an escape - and a comfy one at that - from the responsibilities of leadership and the everyday trials and tribulations that the tribe faced. While inside, no longer was he enwreathed by a sea of Tanglers that were full of vim and vigour. No longer did he have to tackle a daily hustle that wore him to his brittle core, which, at times, was just too much for him to handle. That's why the appeal of an enclosed environment shared by only three people was so strong for him. In such a space, he could find solace. In such a space, he could replenish and ready himself for the next tiresome day.
Crow and Selby Roux. Bedmate, and the bedmate's son.
Upon returning home, Leroy's attention mostly fixated on Crow. Scarcely did he interact with the Sawbones in a familial sense, only doing so when the ex-general did. Outside of that, he'd intermittently shoot the beginnings of small talk in the feline's direction, along with a "hey" or "hi" for good measure. Which was odd. Normally, the canine came off as rather talkative and colloquial, yet in the presence of Selby, his words were short and hollow. The juxtaposition between his interactions with Selby and the rest of the tribe was not purposeful. When he thought about it, he sort of made sense of their awkward encounters. The healer was Crow's son, and how the hell are you supposed to look someone like that in the eye after a night of lovemaking with their father?
It was the end of another day. The door is stormily pushed ajar, and the brawny bod of Leroy moseys through the frame. His head hangs low, indicating that it'd been a particularly rough day. The wolfhound's gaze scans the room, attempting to locate his lover, however to no avail. Either the dude was asleep, or simply out and about (though the latter option seemed incredibly unlikely). A frown grows across his face. He is in no mood to wake the male up, or go out and look for his scrawny ass. Sighing, he instead ambles towards a cushion and collapses on it. Comfy.
Crow and Selby Roux. Bedmate, and the bedmate's son.
Upon returning home, Leroy's attention mostly fixated on Crow. Scarcely did he interact with the Sawbones in a familial sense, only doing so when the ex-general did. Outside of that, he'd intermittently shoot the beginnings of small talk in the feline's direction, along with a "hey" or "hi" for good measure. Which was odd. Normally, the canine came off as rather talkative and colloquial, yet in the presence of Selby, his words were short and hollow. The juxtaposition between his interactions with Selby and the rest of the tribe was not purposeful. When he thought about it, he sort of made sense of their awkward encounters. The healer was Crow's son, and how the hell are you supposed to look someone like that in the eye after a night of lovemaking with their father?
It was the end of another day. The door is stormily pushed ajar, and the brawny bod of Leroy moseys through the frame. His head hangs low, indicating that it'd been a particularly rough day. The wolfhound's gaze scans the room, attempting to locate his lover, however to no avail. Either the dude was asleep, or simply out and about (though the latter option seemed incredibly unlikely). A frown grows across his face. He is in no mood to wake the male up, or go out and look for his scrawny ass. Sighing, he instead ambles towards a cushion and collapses on it. Comfy.