01-17-2020, 09:30 AM
Though Sam had strolled into his line of sight, her verbal introduction still caused him to nearly jump out of his own skin. His attention hadn't been fixated on the doorway, after all - rather, he was much more focused on the drink before him: good ol' fashioned Tanglewoodian moonshine. The stuff practically assaulted his tastebuds with its foulness, though the hound was in too good a mood to give a hoot. It was just him, his elation, and his drink.
And, as of now, Sam.
"I'd say I's equally scared," he huffs, settling into the relaxed position in which he sat before. For the first time in... well, a long-ass time, the canine allows his eyes to comb over Sam's form. Not much has changed about the doecat, except for the fact that she looked as fit as a broken fiddle, and sounded twice as worse. Apart from that, she was still the same pretty quadruped as before; on the outside, that is. He hadn't the slightest clue as to how badly her mentality was perturbed since the last time the two saw one another.
An abundant, drawn-out sigh escapes his maw. What would likely occur next was a prolonged, heartwarming conversation chock-full of 'How have you been?'s, and perchance a handful of 'I missed you so much's. Not that such an interaction gnawed at Leroy in any way, but the general found himself partaking in them every other day as of late, what with the recent influx of re-joiners. He simply yearned for a break for once, that is all.
The wolfhound flashes the femme a smile, one that sang of glee, but repentance as well. Having Sam back meant the world to him, it really did. By the time of his passing, she existed as one of his top three most trusted confidants. Yet, he felt shame, shame for being the root cause of a number of her tribulations. If only he'd been more vigilant, she wouldn't have been hauled off to the Pitt to be tortured and chained up. If only he'd been kinder to her, perhaps taking her side when Beck burnt her cigarette stash rather than maintaining a neutral stance, the two could have had a stronger relationship before. If only he'd told her to stay in the tribe's company before he ultimately died, she would have listened, and not suffer from her latest batch of injuries. If only he'd done a lot of things he should've, things today could've been better.
"Gotta say," the cur says softly, his eyes haphazardly returning to his drink, "I've seen some shit. Shit that fucked me up. Shit that fucked me up bad." His line of vision shifts yet again unto the doecat's figure, this time beneath a gaze somber in tone. "But nothin'," he says, "nothin' makes me happier than seein' ya back."
And, as of now, Sam.
"I'd say I's equally scared," he huffs, settling into the relaxed position in which he sat before. For the first time in... well, a long-ass time, the canine allows his eyes to comb over Sam's form. Not much has changed about the doecat, except for the fact that she looked as fit as a broken fiddle, and sounded twice as worse. Apart from that, she was still the same pretty quadruped as before; on the outside, that is. He hadn't the slightest clue as to how badly her mentality was perturbed since the last time the two saw one another.
An abundant, drawn-out sigh escapes his maw. What would likely occur next was a prolonged, heartwarming conversation chock-full of 'How have you been?'s, and perchance a handful of 'I missed you so much's. Not that such an interaction gnawed at Leroy in any way, but the general found himself partaking in them every other day as of late, what with the recent influx of re-joiners. He simply yearned for a break for once, that is all.
The wolfhound flashes the femme a smile, one that sang of glee, but repentance as well. Having Sam back meant the world to him, it really did. By the time of his passing, she existed as one of his top three most trusted confidants. Yet, he felt shame, shame for being the root cause of a number of her tribulations. If only he'd been more vigilant, she wouldn't have been hauled off to the Pitt to be tortured and chained up. If only he'd been kinder to her, perhaps taking her side when Beck burnt her cigarette stash rather than maintaining a neutral stance, the two could have had a stronger relationship before. If only he'd told her to stay in the tribe's company before he ultimately died, she would have listened, and not suffer from her latest batch of injuries. If only he'd done a lot of things he should've, things today could've been better.
"Gotta say," the cur says softly, his eyes haphazardly returning to his drink, "I've seen some shit. Shit that fucked me up. Shit that fucked me up bad." His line of vision shifts yet again unto the doecat's figure, this time beneath a gaze somber in tone. "But nothin'," he says, "nothin' makes me happier than seein' ya back."