05-29-2020, 07:29 PM
Roxanne? Like that one Police song? Basing your first impressions of someone on anything other than their behaviour was an unwise decision, for sure, but goddamn... that song was a fucking jam. And, owing to the aforementioned fact that the song in question was a fucking jam, the wolfhound felt no discomfort in this curiously-designed individual's presence.
Eager pawsteps bring the male forward, signifying his moderately late entrance to the occasion. Whatever his tribemates had said prior to Roxanne's introduction wasn't perceived by him, and perhaps his belatedness was for the best - hearing multiple mentions of the deserter's name surely would have soured his adequate good mood. While unable to give ear to all that'd been said prior to his coming, the general arrived just in time to catch the newcomer's preamble.
Learning of her current status of Reaver only added to his preexisting ease, for he regarded the Typhoon as nothing less than trustworthy. On the other hand, however, gaining the knowledge of her last name sent waves of restlessness through his system. There were so many fucking Rouxs - hell, he even made a bedmate out of one. Either that family was a science experiment gone wrong, or their ancestors had a very productive spring one year.
"Another Roux, eh?" he muses, marking his first batch of dialogue in this encounter, "there's an endless supply of ya, I gotta say- not that that's a bad thing, of course." Pincher, Goldenluxury, Crow, Selby, Pastel, and now Roxanne. Quite the big creed, and that was just the folks he knew. Big families like that had big fortunes, especially when a hefty chunk of the family being discussed consisted of pirates. Perhaps the wolfhound would ask Crow about it later, and if he were entitled to a percentage of it due to his relationship with a family member.
"Roxanne," the canine croons quietly, roughly in tune to the song, before resuming a proper conversational tone, "how's the Typhoon been after - y'know - a fuckin' meteorite impact? Had the intentions of roundin' up some helpful folk to provide aid if need be, but we've got some cleanup efforts of our own to take care of first, unfortunately."
The male figured that all of the typical introductory bullshit had been covered already. The 'who are you' and 'what are your intentions' business. Thus, the mongrel hadn't anything new to add to the discussion. Oh, wait. "M'name's Leroy," he says, "General of Tanglewood."
Eager pawsteps bring the male forward, signifying his moderately late entrance to the occasion. Whatever his tribemates had said prior to Roxanne's introduction wasn't perceived by him, and perhaps his belatedness was for the best - hearing multiple mentions of the deserter's name surely would have soured his adequate good mood. While unable to give ear to all that'd been said prior to his coming, the general arrived just in time to catch the newcomer's preamble.
Learning of her current status of Reaver only added to his preexisting ease, for he regarded the Typhoon as nothing less than trustworthy. On the other hand, however, gaining the knowledge of her last name sent waves of restlessness through his system. There were so many fucking Rouxs - hell, he even made a bedmate out of one. Either that family was a science experiment gone wrong, or their ancestors had a very productive spring one year.
"Another Roux, eh?" he muses, marking his first batch of dialogue in this encounter, "there's an endless supply of ya, I gotta say- not that that's a bad thing, of course." Pincher, Goldenluxury, Crow, Selby, Pastel, and now Roxanne. Quite the big creed, and that was just the folks he knew. Big families like that had big fortunes, especially when a hefty chunk of the family being discussed consisted of pirates. Perhaps the wolfhound would ask Crow about it later, and if he were entitled to a percentage of it due to his relationship with a family member.
"Roxanne," the canine croons quietly, roughly in tune to the song, before resuming a proper conversational tone, "how's the Typhoon been after - y'know - a fuckin' meteorite impact? Had the intentions of roundin' up some helpful folk to provide aid if need be, but we've got some cleanup efforts of our own to take care of first, unfortunately."
The male figured that all of the typical introductory bullshit had been covered already. The 'who are you' and 'what are your intentions' business. Thus, the mongrel hadn't anything new to add to the discussion. Oh, wait. "M'name's Leroy," he says, "General of Tanglewood."