As much as he hated the vulnerability of a predictable schedule, obsessively checking his various traps scattered throughout the polluted wetlands was becoming quite the routine for the poltergeist. Whether or not boredom or pride of his handiwork drove him to stalk through the brambles, fixing groundcover over waiting nets and collecting whatever happened to stumble into snares or legholds, didn't matter. The only thing Beck cared about was that it was distracting work that required all of his concentration to accomplish without temporarily losing a finger -- or paw, whatever, it was the same idea.

    His current stop actually seemed to reward his efforts with a catch; ears perking in foolish hope at the tell-tale sounds of a creature struggling to escape one of his cruel inventions, Beck wasn't greeted with a trespasser ensnared by the jaws of a crude conibear trap. Freckled features set into a disappointed scowl at the crooked magpie sprawled between the metallic jaws, its neck having been snapped the instant the trap was triggered. Puffing out a ragged sigh up at a matted cowlick that kept falling into his vision, the boy reset the trap with practiced ease, frigid paws prying apart the trap's frame and freeing the bird's broken body. Only a causality of his trapping methods in an attempt to defend their borders, but at least someone would end up eating it -- definitely not him. Dusting off its ruffled feathers and picking it up to hesitantly carry between razor-sharp teeth, Beck hovered over the trap to fold back its jaws again before abandoning it to secure another unsuspecting creature.

      A new scent, one reeking of mange and foreign lands, prompted his curiosity to rear its ugly head, the boy's once relaxed gait stiffening up with paranoia. Teeth shifting the magpie in his mouth around slightly for a better grip, Beck halted for a nonexistent heartbeat, inky nose twitching as he failed to identify the other scents thanks to the overwhelming tang of blood wafting up from his bird. He did hear voices, familiar ones at least, and that coaxed him into finally approaching, a skittish ripple causing his apparition to falter from its physical state as he shouldered past a buttonbush. Ignoring the leaves briefly phasing through his being and recovering his physical state, his lantern-like eyes at first only offered a glazed-over stare towards Barb. The little feline was easily dwarfed by the battle-worn cougar, albeit in terms of scarring, both were equally matched.

    Spitting out the magpie at his feet, Beck gave a childish tilt of his head before wheezing out, "We ain't got much clean water 'round here, but Morgan --" A dark-furred paw gave a jerky little wave at the samoyed, recoiling as soon as the gesture had made its point. "Morgan here, uh, was cleanin' up some of it." A strand of electric blue drool was beginning to drip from where his cheek had long since been burnt away, and while he didn't mind bad first impressions, he did his best to smear most of the lingering chemicals away with the back of a shackled wrist. Flicking away the acidic saliva, Beck refocused with a whistling inhale, before returning the unnecessary air by continuing to hoarsely rasp, "I'm Beck, by the way, just Beck. Ya can stay with us here if ya want," the typically hostile poltergeist offered, bloodless lips twitching as he fought off a devilish smirk. He extended a paw in both an attempt to help her up from the mud and as one of those handshakes he'd seen on t.v., careful not to reveal the voltage charging in his dark paw pads. If she accepted his paw, she would be met with a nasty prank similar to a joybuzzer, a friendly little shock of electricity that he couldn't help but mischeviously smile about just thinking of.