03-22-2020, 03:24 PM
The regular flow of joiners sort of diminished as of late. Odd, it was, to not have a new face show up on the border every other day - though, to be fair, Leroy rarely ventured out that far to greet joiners anyway. Ever since assuming the role of general, the wolfhound saw his need to patrol the territory's outer reaches as unnecessary. Conducting patrols was a job for the guardsmen and chasers, not the leader.
Nonetheless, Leroy found himself straggling off in the direction of the region's outskirts. Why, exactly? He received intel pertaining to a particular group of mischievous youths, and how they made the decision to demonstrate their artistic prowess by decking the surrounding trees in a blanket of vivid paint. Up until today, he hadn't seen the young Typhoonites' damage; but upon the sight of the trees, which surely sustained a good amount of harm from the colourful chemicals, the canine's neutral expression shifted into a grimace. In fact, he was just about ready to return to the town and order Feza or Beck or another one of those impish types to return the favour. But, in the apex of his chocolate eyes, he saw two figures: one of Selby and Moth's kin, and a stranger.
The hound encroaches, keeping his figure obscured in the surrounding thicket. He is interested in how Ivan would handle this encounter, as he hadn't personally met the feline, and thus, hadn't the slightest clue in regards to how the child's mind worked. As the tyke spews defensive scurrility at the outsider, Leroy couldn't help but break into a smile. At that point, he emerges, and offers a half-apologetic half-facetious glance towards the grey tabby. "What he said," the male's gruff voice adds, flicking his noggin in Ivan's path. It wasn't likely, but the general hoped that the young cat's opposing attitude did not deter the foreigner. "My name's Leroy," he continues, "and I run this place. Who are you, where are you from, state your business, et cetera."
Nonetheless, Leroy found himself straggling off in the direction of the region's outskirts. Why, exactly? He received intel pertaining to a particular group of mischievous youths, and how they made the decision to demonstrate their artistic prowess by decking the surrounding trees in a blanket of vivid paint. Up until today, he hadn't seen the young Typhoonites' damage; but upon the sight of the trees, which surely sustained a good amount of harm from the colourful chemicals, the canine's neutral expression shifted into a grimace. In fact, he was just about ready to return to the town and order Feza or Beck or another one of those impish types to return the favour. But, in the apex of his chocolate eyes, he saw two figures: one of Selby and Moth's kin, and a stranger.
The hound encroaches, keeping his figure obscured in the surrounding thicket. He is interested in how Ivan would handle this encounter, as he hadn't personally met the feline, and thus, hadn't the slightest clue in regards to how the child's mind worked. As the tyke spews defensive scurrility at the outsider, Leroy couldn't help but break into a smile. At that point, he emerges, and offers a half-apologetic half-facetious glance towards the grey tabby. "What he said," the male's gruff voice adds, flicking his noggin in Ivan's path. It wasn't likely, but the general hoped that the young cat's opposing attitude did not deter the foreigner. "My name's Leroy," he continues, "and I run this place. Who are you, where are you from, state your business, et cetera."