07-24-2019, 03:12 AM
The leather haversack hung loosely by the canine’s rawboned hips, thumping against his midsection amidst each stepping motion. Within the bag sat a lone item, a tattered packet of old cigarettes, and it flung about the empty interior in animation as Leroy trekked onwards. The pair of shoulders which topped his jagged torso swayed uncharacteristically low, with the weight of guilt pressing firmly against the crown of his front limbs. When it came to Leroy’s facial expression, the overhanging theme of iniquity retained itself through a tight frown and a hollow stare.
As to why he felt blameworthy, the hound could not recall, though flashing images of Samantha recurred inside his mentality whenever the guilty brainwaves circuited through his system. The fresh guardsman wasn’t radiating the same good-natured vibes as she did before. Hell, Sam hadn’t even interacted with him since that one day when she requested a weekly task. Since then,a handful of foul-smelling shit had gone down, the doecat losing her smokes to a Beck-induced blaze being the most recent occurrence. Seeing her without a cancer stick peeping out between her lips somewhat disconcerted him; Sam and reefers went together in a way akin to peanut butter and jam, you just couldn’t have one without the other. Hence his gift to the doecat, the threadbare cigarette carton currently catapulting around inside the leather bag.
A single pack of cigs likely wasn’t enough to sate the debilitating addiction that controlled Sam. Assuming his visit went well, he could retrieve a few more packs that lay around in his hut.
A shallow sigh exited his maw as the mongrel arrived to his destination - the foot of Sam’s humble abode. Leroy hesitated for a moment or two, giving his spine a good stretch, before proceeding to the door. Man, he sure hoped she was home. If she wasn’t in, then he’d have to look elsewhere, which he wasn’t necessarily hoping to do in the summer heat.
"Sam, open up," his blunt tone demanded, not even offering a knock. "Gotcha something," Leroy continued, "something you’ll like."
Once inside, the contents of the attaché would emptied onto the floor, and the gift could then be given.
As to why he felt blameworthy, the hound could not recall, though flashing images of Samantha recurred inside his mentality whenever the guilty brainwaves circuited through his system. The fresh guardsman wasn’t radiating the same good-natured vibes as she did before. Hell, Sam hadn’t even interacted with him since that one day when she requested a weekly task. Since then,a handful of foul-smelling shit had gone down, the doecat losing her smokes to a Beck-induced blaze being the most recent occurrence. Seeing her without a cancer stick peeping out between her lips somewhat disconcerted him; Sam and reefers went together in a way akin to peanut butter and jam, you just couldn’t have one without the other. Hence his gift to the doecat, the threadbare cigarette carton currently catapulting around inside the leather bag.
A single pack of cigs likely wasn’t enough to sate the debilitating addiction that controlled Sam. Assuming his visit went well, he could retrieve a few more packs that lay around in his hut.
A shallow sigh exited his maw as the mongrel arrived to his destination - the foot of Sam’s humble abode. Leroy hesitated for a moment or two, giving his spine a good stretch, before proceeding to the door. Man, he sure hoped she was home. If she wasn’t in, then he’d have to look elsewhere, which he wasn’t necessarily hoping to do in the summer heat.
"Sam, open up," his blunt tone demanded, not even offering a knock. "Gotcha something," Leroy continued, "something you’ll like."
Once inside, the contents of the attaché would emptied onto the floor, and the gift could then be given.