03-09-2020, 09:12 PM
The hound didn't know quite what to expect when the small poltergeist waddled over to his person. Beck, in his mind, had become associated with mischief and ill-disposed misdeeds, what with the circumstances encircling Goldenluxury's corpse, as well as that piñata he'd created that possessed a striking resemblance to Crow. So when the spectre not only proposed aid from his end, but transfigured himself so that he was a giant deer, well, it was quite easy to say that Leroy's inside twisted with surprise. "Err-" was all he could vocalize, before yet another figure entered the fray. This was the first time he'd ever interacted with the feline until this point, though this one's figure was one he deemed incredibly enticing. His eyes curiously scan the tigon's body, paying close attention to the curves and edges; and upon the realization that this person was none other than his second-in-command, the captivated gaze he'd locked onto the feline snapped like a frail chain.
Dumbfounded by the unexpected occurrences afore him, a handful of moments pass before any suitable words could be located. "Uh... yeah... yeah, pushin' it might be good." His words are tainted with confusion, though his bewilderment soon passes. "Dunno where any rope would be, but that'd be a nice help," Leroy admits, his field of view falling on the elk whilst he speaks. Then, his chocolate gaze shifting towards the tigon, he says, "if we're gonna push it, we gotta get it upright first. And, I appreciate the help."
Not waiting for anyone else to take initiative, the wolfhound heads to the fallen jukebox's rounded top, which lay face-up in the dirt. Fuck, as well as moving the damn thing to the tavern, it'd need a good washing up, too. It's far too heavy for him to heave upwards on his lonesome, but if he had the help of the others, then this strenuous task would be completed lickity-split.
Dumbfounded by the unexpected occurrences afore him, a handful of moments pass before any suitable words could be located. "Uh... yeah... yeah, pushin' it might be good." His words are tainted with confusion, though his bewilderment soon passes. "Dunno where any rope would be, but that'd be a nice help," Leroy admits, his field of view falling on the elk whilst he speaks. Then, his chocolate gaze shifting towards the tigon, he says, "if we're gonna push it, we gotta get it upright first. And, I appreciate the help."
Not waiting for anyone else to take initiative, the wolfhound heads to the fallen jukebox's rounded top, which lay face-up in the dirt. Fuck, as well as moving the damn thing to the tavern, it'd need a good washing up, too. It's far too heavy for him to heave upwards on his lonesome, but if he had the help of the others, then this strenuous task would be completed lickity-split.