The last few years of his life were spent in back-street alleys and his own little forest sanctuary, stealing food when he could, and at his lowest, commonly scrounging through discarded leftovers for anything to drive away the hunger. And all his competition did, too. He knew fighting like the back of his scarred hand, indents and scrapes standing out on his pallid knuckles as if every scrap they were from were being honored on a bony pedestal. Of course, mud and fur now hid them from sight, a drawback to adopting a feline disguise. But whether or not his scars were on display, it should have been obvious that Beck was from a rough-and-tumble background: he was quick on his feet and even quicker to bite at the smallest threat. A philosophy of fight or die was molded, even if he ended up losing to an unfair game in the final hours.

    In order for his project of a clan to thrive, they needed to know how to defend themselves as violently and as ruthlessly as he did, right? It should have been considerably easier for those with muscle or bulk to fall back on, unlike their own scrawny commander. The only issue was a lack of experience, or at least he assumed. So a training session was the way to go to shape them up into lean, mean fighting-machines.

      And, boy, was he getting a kick out of it, too. Perched up in an overhanging tree, Beck was a hidden spectator, apparition unseen and lurking as he watched the fighting unfold. A true animal fight night, like the ones he occasionally watched when there was nothing better on whatever television he was borrowing for the night. Except this time, powers had a play in it as well. Or at least, Morgan's powers did. Shrill giggles sounded from the wilting branches at Vigenere's frozen situation and Killian's distress, the poltergeist materializing back into view with his paws hugging his belly in both laughter and the resulting pain. "Y'all need to fight more --" He gasped for air he didn't entirely need, his squeaky giggle continuing even after he sucked in a rasping inhale. "-- often, that was fun!" Beck gave a punctured wheeze, settling down from his outburst with a crooked smile pulling up the unscathed corner of his lips. Leaning away from his branch and creeping forward to gain a better view of those present, the mangy feline drawled out as if to dare anyone else into another brawl, "Who's up for round two?" If only he could eat popcorn, then it would be perfect.