Rummaging through the junkyard was once a pastime of his, sifting through what earlier town inhabitants considered garbage and unearthing long lost trinkets to add to his expansive collection of stolen knick-knacks and swiped goods. It was just a little nice to have some semblance to his prior daily activities before his vacation to a hellish torture chamber in the middle of the desert, but nagging paranoia restlessly turned shadows in the corner of his eyesight into lurking fiends seeking to recapture him. A tremble of static ran along his spine at the thought. Beck never wanted to go back to those horrid caves as long as the earth still spun.

    There was nothing new to collect today. The same as every other trip before. With a hollow sigh, he skidded down a slope of debris, only stumbling for a couple of steps at the bottom before steadying himself. Voices carried from across the yard; apparently, today seemed to be perfect for scavenging to others. The little ghost slumped miserably. His social battery was already depleted for the day, maybe even the entire week. Rubbing exhaustion from his eyes with the back of a paw, he nearly disappeared from view just to avoid whoever else was there -- until he caught a familiar whiff of ash. Sam... Sam was here? His head tilted curiously, notched ear perked. She was here! And alive! A grin broke across his woeful features. Beck limped to her direction, following the smoke scent that damned both of their lungs.

    His grin swiftly fled at the sight of the everpresent lion reaching her first, yet his attention flitted to the clump of yellow in the doecat's wake. A chick, roaming an impressive distance from the farm and its henhouse. Dark eyes widened slightly before he looked to Sam, momentarily forgetting what he was doing before offering her a shy smile. She looked a dozen times better than how she did in the filth and chains of the caverns, complete with a donated eye, too. "Hi, Sam," the poltergeist said with a rasp, wanting to be closer yet standing his ground. He flopped back onto his haunches with a stifled wheeze, watching the little chick in amusement. "Does he have a name yet?" he wondered aloud, pausing before sheepishly tacking on, "Or she. Hard to tell." A bubble of laughter escaped his throat at this, as though he reverted back to his public comedy venture. But, truthfully, the boy merely sought after the subtle joy the others displayed, calling it forth so he could grasp it, maybe even pocket some of it for himself.