01-27-2020, 12:29 AM
The general recoils in unbridled terror at the sight of the eight-legged creature scurrying up the face of his home. Ooooooh, how he hated those fucking legs. There was far too many of them, and whenever the arachnid strolled along, they would all move at a lightning-quick pace. If only he could halve the number of Abathur's limbs. A morbid thought, of course, but at least he'd be spared from having to witness the spider's petrifying walking pattern. Whilst standing upon the hut's surface, the creepy crawly then requests him to lower his volume, which left the wolfhound oddly perturbed. Seconds ago did he have the bejesus scared out of him, and now he was being told to shut up about it. And though he possessed a bullheaded persona that would usually challenge such an abrupt request, the disconcerting nature that surrounded this situation coerced Leroy to... simply listen. The canine's maw, that had initially been readied to spit back some foul retort, sealed itself shut in unusual defeat.
By the time Abathur climbed back to the ground and assumed his previous position, the soft hairs that hitherto stood upright in pure fear had fell flat against his back, and his shoulders found themselves free of the tense stance in which they were locked in. The rather jumbo-sized critter, although grotesque in visage, posed no threat to him tonight - nor did he ever (the mongrel hoped). The spider's apology obliged the leader to subtly shake his head. No, HE should be the one apologizing. For reacting negatively to the being's presence on a regular basis. For deducing the being to his appearance alone, rather than his intellectual prowess. Despite his apology existing as unnecessary, it alleviated him to an adequate degree. Hopefully, the next time Abathur decided to come wriggling around, he wouldn't be met with insolence.
"Boxes", he echoes the other individual, glancing towards the hefty pile that the building's doorway puked out. "This's my collection. Lotta this shit ya can't find anywhere else on the island." His closing claim was true. He had looked far and wide, but ultimately failed in his search of another erotic motorcycle poster.
"Tonight," he continues, "I wanted to move somethin' o' mine to the tavern. There's a jukebox somewhere in there, and I'm one hundred-and-one percent certain that there's a wagon too. Problem is, I got all these fuckin' boxes on the ground. So that's a fuckin' kick in the head."
By the time Abathur climbed back to the ground and assumed his previous position, the soft hairs that hitherto stood upright in pure fear had fell flat against his back, and his shoulders found themselves free of the tense stance in which they were locked in. The rather jumbo-sized critter, although grotesque in visage, posed no threat to him tonight - nor did he ever (the mongrel hoped). The spider's apology obliged the leader to subtly shake his head. No, HE should be the one apologizing. For reacting negatively to the being's presence on a regular basis. For deducing the being to his appearance alone, rather than his intellectual prowess. Despite his apology existing as unnecessary, it alleviated him to an adequate degree. Hopefully, the next time Abathur decided to come wriggling around, he wouldn't be met with insolence.
"Boxes", he echoes the other individual, glancing towards the hefty pile that the building's doorway puked out. "This's my collection. Lotta this shit ya can't find anywhere else on the island." His closing claim was true. He had looked far and wide, but ultimately failed in his search of another erotic motorcycle poster.
"Tonight," he continues, "I wanted to move somethin' o' mine to the tavern. There's a jukebox somewhere in there, and I'm one hundred-and-one percent certain that there's a wagon too. Problem is, I got all these fuckin' boxes on the ground. So that's a fuckin' kick in the head."