He witnessed when Vigenere first returned, a figure of unhindered yellow and stark black hue. He even tackled the old proxy -- had he been proxy? Or was it deputy then? He didn't remember. Such a meaningless title was lost among the panels of memory, stained with time like spilled coffee and leaving a bitter taste in his scarred mouth. If he imagined, he could see the faces of the first swamp dwellers like a sepia photograph, rustic and archaic compared to the generations of features blurring together to fill a gap of two, three years. He might even close his eyes for a moment to reminisce, a dangerous pastime for one with so much grief burdening unseen chains. But the bitter-soaked faces didn't exist when he opened his eyes. They were gone. Gone forever, it seemed.

    No surprise followed Vigenere disappearing yet again, in search of the lover on a crusade to find the serval himself. He doubted either would return even if they reunited. There was nobody left but him. And what did he have to offer besides sniveling tears and infectious misery?

    Less excitement overtook the wiry cat's face as his keen nose flared, breathing shallowly the scent of sulfur once more. Along with a waft of something, of someone new. So the lost lovers failed to unite after all. A ragged sigh slipped from water-logged lungs. He had nothing better to do than mope in the woods and tend traps pointless without the gluttonous plant they fed. So Beck approached again, parted the foliage again, studied Vigenere again. "...Where'd you go?" wheezed the overlooked question, his glare pointed with accusations and suspicion. He was getting sick of wearing his heart on his sleeves, only for it to be crushed each time he tried opening up, tried to be better than he used to be.

    Yet of all the faces in the mental photograph, his own was cursed with perpetual youth, cursed to never change.

    But his doubts ceased as another child skipped in his path, frightfully similar to the samoyed that once reigned. His jaw parted, not only in shock but to scent the newcomer as well, his crooked lower teeth poking from behind slackened lip. "Oh my God," he stammered, all he could really force out as the realization dawned upon him. They had reunited after all... and got busy.

    A second accusatory look aimed itself at Vigenere, momentarily glancing downward before refocusing on a more appropriate location to stare at. "You fucked Morgan?!" Beck abruptly blurted, ignoring the prior implications of lovers instead for living proof of intercourse. Evidently, certain details mattered more to pubescent teens than to adults with a sense of respect and dignity.