For once, Beck didn't need to sniff a trespasser-slash-possible joiner out; the nasally yelling did the job for him. Surprisingly, he hardly ever heard cries for help in their territory. Usually, whoever was in peril was killed before they could call out for a begrudging savior, leaving the first to find them responsible for cleaning up the remains. Sometimes, he wondered if it would save time and effort to leave the bodies as a warning and bonus fertilizer -- but then the swamp would only be even more polluted with their filth.

    The only reason he was willingly close to the shore was because of the same fishing trap he'd been attempting to set up since he was distracted by Iota not too long ago, hesitating on the banks of the estuary with the wire trap tightly clenched in his paws. Staring out over the murky water, the boy was paralyzed by his own memories, jaw visibly setting as he fought back the urge to hack and cough. The desperate shouting was a welcomed distraction, his honey-brown glare snapping towards the direction with a wheezing exhale he didn't remember holding. Without a moment of thought, he abandoned the fish trap, returning it to his nook hidden beneath cypress roots, and

      A clamor was growing around whoever washed up, sounds of multiple creatures approaching causing his ears to swivel around like triangular satellites in a paranoid attempt to pinpoint everyone's exact location as he limped to the scene. The closer he drew, stalking through cattails and sawgrass, the easier it was to recognize which of his peers had reached the distress call first, a hollow sniff identifying their scents. The wafting tang of old rust, sickly sweet aroma of fruit, and a faint whiff of oil -- and someone else carrying only the distinct scent of tarnished metal. Freckled features wrinkling in suspicion, Beck shoved past a thicket of bullrushes and halted at the sight of a dinged-up robot. Tilting his head to the right and only offering a wide-eyed stare at first, he had to wonder, how did someone lose their legs? Weren't they too important to misplace? Maybe the stranger should have had a tracking chip installed. Blurry vision blinking away the blinding glint of sunlight bouncing off Crow's metallic covering, Beck averted his attention elsewhere, rubbing at his eyes to chase away the resulting sunspots.

      When he opened his eyes again, there was still an annoying metallic glint irritating his sight, but another source was responsible. A wavy sheet of metal jutting out of the mud, one that seemed more at home on a roof than littered on the shore. Figuring everyone else could handle Crow, Beck sauntered closer to the metal shingle, admiring it for a moment before rearing back on his hind legs and struggling to rip it from the ground. Eventually, the shingle loosened and the mud released its hold, sending it and the mangy feline toppling backwards. The metal sheet was larger than he pictured, but after a bit of clumsy maneuvering, he stumbled back to his feet with a plan. Pushing the shingle back over to Crow, and ignoring the static charge building up in his apparition seeking to travel through the electrical conductors present, Beck spoke up with a flat croak, "Look, Vige, y'ain't gotta carry 'em, just put 'em on this metal-thing, and slide 'em over." Like a makeshift sled or gurney. Except it needed a handle. The poltergeist gave a dismissive shrug of bony shoulders at the thought, knowing it would be too much of a hassle to stab the holes needed for a rope to serve as a handle through the metal shingle right then and there. But maybe later, he could give Crow something to be mobile with some assistance. Recoiling from the four, Beck watched the robot with a doubtful scowl, rasping out the first of many childish questions to come: "Are ya here to invade us?"

    Unlike the other creatures unaffected by Crow's insulting words, Beck narrowed his eyes in irrational offense, all willingness to help quickly disappearing. Dropping the metallic shingle, resulting in a muffled clang against the mud, the poltergeist let out a punctured huff with a dangerously numb expression on his features. "Well, since ya don't want these 'hillbillies' helpin' ya, then we can just leave ya here," he falsely threatened, knowing that nobody in Tanglewood had the guts to leave someone to their doom -- where had they been when he was murdered? Swiping a tongue over exposed teeth, he cast an unreadable glance towards the five now gathered and continued with a nonchalant rattle, "If ya ain't got nothin' else to say, then we'll just leave ya out here with the gators. It was nice knowin' ya, Crow." Ears flicking back in dismissal, the commander appeared to make a move to leave, watching over his shoulder for an reaction.

    If he hadn't been surrounded by softies determined to help any poor whelp that wound up on their land, Beck would have followed through with his threat and abandoned Crow without a second thought. Just out of spite. Of course, when Amunet welcomed the metallic feline, he was forced to drop his act. The poltergeist hung close by, bloodless lips curling into a strained grin as he mock-echoed after the goddess in a shockingly accurate impression, "Yeah, 'welcome'." Still upset over the verbal jabs Crow had spoken and the fact he couldn't leave the armless robot out as gator bait, Beck bitterly spat on the ground, in vain as toxic drool still clung to his disfigured maw, and stalked off into the cattails, hopefully leading the crowd to drag Crow back to the ghost town.