If youthful optimism still lingered in his heart, Beck might have seen the fire burning his houseboat to the ground as a forced rebirth. Like a phoenix, if the poltergeist cared enough to reach into the shallow waters of aged mythology. From the ashes, he could find a new home, maybe even rebuild what once stood in the now charred ring of soil around a remaining hull. He could branch out his web of friends, seeing as currently, the resident sawbone was the lone fly bundled in its silk. He could maybe, just maybe, even start to fit in with the group he founded. Except... reality crashed down just as his house did. Audrey III was gone, his home was gone, and everyone he trusted before was gone, replaced by unknown faces. Beck didn't rise from the scorched earth; he hid his face into the soft striped fur of Selby's chest and sobbed, clinging to the older male like a tick as tears clogged his burnt throat, as he hiccupped and sniffled and mourned.

    By the time the boy blinked bleary eyes up at Selby, wiping his nose on the back of his arm while mumbling an apology, there was a dark patch soaking into grey fur. Beck wasn't entirely sure how another one of their idle chats began, yet he relaxed into Selby's hold nonetheless, sighing with exhaustion every now and then. Conversation with Selby never seemed forced. Words weren't even needed to enjoy each other's company after months spent together, both content to simply sit in comfortable silence. When the tabby did speak, his ears always perked to listen, studying his friend with a fond look. So when Selby suggested that the reclusive poltergeist try putting himself out there more, try meeting new people, the little ghost swallowed his hurt and nodded along.

    But... how? Was he just supposed to stand around doing nothing for people to come crawling from the woodworks? There was little fun in waiting for something to happen; he was practically begging for boredom to smack him upside the head. This dilemma prompted Beck to ask the sawbone for further instructions, resulting in the impromptu creation of tasks designed specifically for him. In the back of his mind, he could only see the simplistic activities listed off to him as what one might assign a nuisance to do, sending him off so Selby could be rid of his nagging and crying. Even so, Beck didn't have anything but ash and a basement to lose.

    Crooked teeth worked at his lower lip as he watched the world laze in the sun, warming itself in the brief light as much as it could. Although Beck couldn't appreciate the otherwise-welcomed heat thanks to centuries of only knowing the cold and cold alone, he had to admit it was a nicer day than most. At least more people would be stirring throughout the decades-old town rather than huddling up inside to avoid catching a cold, meaning his chore would be over sooner. If people actually showed. The boy, oh-so obedient to his friend, was supposed to cheer up someone's day. Given the context that he was nothing more than a walking, occasionally floating entity spawned of negative energy, his task appeared quite daunting. Yet that wouldn't stop Beck. Stubbornness coursed through darkened veins. The poltergeist would impress Selby, as though one accomplishment could serve as retribution for all the stress he put on the sawbone's shoulders.

    The quickest way to get someone to smile -- and by extension, cheer up their day -- was with humor. Laughter happened to be an apt replacement for antibiotics and splints, a natural remedy for the blues. At the same time, it was horrendously contagious, taking up a dozen different strains, ranging from polite hisses through teeth to belly-shaking chortles to frilly titters to snorting giggle fits. Beck himself was once infected by the last virus before he no longer had reason to laugh, all unbridled joy beaten from him with every blow, kick, and slap. But he did have centuries to think up some comedic content of his own.

    Peeling the skin from his ragged lip in thought, the poltergeist took a steadying breath and wetly coughed, lungs rattling and shoulders shaking. It was one method to catch people's attention. Sucking air in through gritted teeth, he sputtered out, "I, uh... got some jokes if anybody wants to hear them?" As soon as the sentence rolled off his tongue and escaped his mouth, he desperately sought to reclaim it, causing it to lilt like an uncertain question. Shutting his snout instantly, his hazel stare widened into a hidden panic, hoping nobody would take him seriously or notice him at all. The thought of Selby upturning his nose in disappointment kept him rooted visibly in place, however, despite the slight tremor rippling through his apparition for a moment.

The daily hustle and bustle of Tanglewood life had shifted into an incredibly hectic line of work. In a period of twenty-four hours, there were at least two pivotal plot points for someone's life, a training or sparring session, a new body being discovered, a Pittian drifter at the border again, and a fight between clanmates. Leroy did not oppose the strenuous activity one bit - it meant that the clan he lead was in great health - excellent health, even. High populations in groups ofttimes resulted in clique or exclusive activity, but much to the general's delight, this was not the case at all for his tribe. Thus, as far as he was concerned, the forest group could remain in its state of high activity, for there appeared to be minimal negative downfalls to it being so.

At the same time, he missed the fluff. The everyday social interactions one would indulge themselves in. As of late, with all the important events occurring on a regular basis, the fluff seemed to have died down, and that came as a complete and utter shame. So to see Beck offering to tell a joke or three, the leader's serious expression morphed into one of relief.

The wolfhound saunters towards the scene, and once close enough, plants his ashen butt in the ground and relaxes himself into a comfortable seated position. "Go ahead," he declares tenderly, "humour me."

    His stiff posture seemed to tense even more as the one-eyed lion sauntered in, as though the sight of Aurum alone warped the boy into a cornered beast, apparition bunched up like a spring to act on instinct. He didn't expect anybody to show up, much less Aurum. (He would realize how much of a fool he was for that assumption moments later.) Why, oh why did he seem to be everywhere at once? Did he even sleep? Admittedly, the consistency would be nice if the proxy happened to be anybody else. Sure would've been helpful back in the early days of the swamp.

    A sharp huff left his undersized chest. Okay. It'd be okay. He didn't exactly have a choice in his audience. Improvise, damn it! Pearly claws curled into the earth, flexing warily. Gulping, he stammered, "O-Okay. Um... gimme a sec." Biting down onto his scabbed lip once more, Beck forced himself to think through the mental static berating his awkward response.

    The dark-furred feline thumped his stub of a tail against the earth in failing thought, opening his disfigured snout just as a lean wolfhound approached. Oh, thank God for Leroy. But something seemed off. A scrutinizing glance over couldn't identify what was different about the new commander -- er, general, yet the missing detail hesitated on the tip of his clammy tongue. Beck tilted his head to the side for further examination before ultimately surrendering to his faulty memory. "Okay, okay." Double his expected audience now, double the jokes to administer. Forced a wry smile onto his face, the poltergeist rasped, "What's it called when ghosts rob a bank?" He allowed a moment of pause for the standard guess or prompt to continue, then his smile split into a wider one, displaying razor-sharp teeth. "A polter-heist!" Worriedly, he giggled, glancing from face to face as though expecting a reprimand.

    His smile momentarily faltered, but he quickly stretched one out again, crooked and grimacing. "Wait, wait, wait -- I've got another! Why should you never drink with ghosts?" Pause again for the punchline... "'Cause they can never handle their boos! Get it? Like booze, but boo!" A hysteric laugh escaped him in a rattling tone and he quickly slapped a paw over his mouth to silence it. Selby had better consider this embarrassment as a task well done.

    More slunk forth at his comedic routine. The poltergeist gulped at the sight, figuring his task wouldn't have included an audience larger than a couple of creatures. A whine threatened to escape his pressed lips, the wary noise swelling in his throat as an unfamiliar face drew closer. Vathmos and Kiira, too -- he returned her shy smile, appreciative of the veteran swamp dweller's presence before Aurum's demand spooked him out of his deathly pale skin. Jokes, they wanted more jokes. Claws sunk into the mud, poking through wilted leaves and catching on trampled grass.

    "Uh..." he stammered, blinking dumbly. C'mon, think! The dark fur along a slouching spine stood trembling with blitz of static and he drummed his front paws, seeking a subconscious rhythm to cling to. "Um.. oh, what happens when chickens get hit while crossing the road? They become... poultry-geists!" Too similar to his first pun; he wheezed slightly, surveying the varied reactions.

    Another hiccup of forced laughter, then his wavering voice tumbled from his mouth once more. "That one's not that good. Um, why should you invite a ghost over when you're sad? 'Cause they'll lift your spirits." Less enthusiasm arrived with the punchline, his words plainly stated as he struggled for more content. His claws dug deeper into the mud, squelching with the added pressure.

    "Okay, last two. Where do ghosts learn to become pilots?" He paused for a rasped breath, undersized chest inflating. "At fright school! And..." His half-disfigured snout stretched wide into a forced grin equal to that of uneven Glasgow slits and his final joke was released with a bout of unhinged giggling. "Why can't ghosts ever get a tan? 'Cause they're always wearing sun-scream!"

    His shoulders sagged with relief, his social torment finally over. His notched ear twitched and he looked up to the gathered crowd, sheepishly wheezing, "That's... all I got. Sorry." With that, he staggered to stand, stubby tail tucked as he slipped through their larger, warmer bodies and darting out of sight.