Although Beck would never admit it, part of him thought it was nice to, for once, not wallow in sludge wherever he stepped. Not that clearer paths would clean away all the dirt and grime caked over his bony frame; after years of trying to scrub off the awful reminder of how many times he had been thrown onto the river bank, how long he spent kicking and thrashing in blood-soaked mud against his soon-to-be executors, how he was dragged away from the river with waterlogged lungs, his body leaving a trail through the dark mud -- the boy had grown used to the constant mud staining his apparition, at least. And how could he not? Mud was the only thing that cared enough to bury him after worms had picked his bones clean and plants weaved his bones into the forest carpeting.

    But mud meant a body of water, and bodies of water meant someone was waiting to grab him by the hair with their fingers snagging the blood-slick knots and dunk his head under the water's surface. So a break from the wetlands, filled with muddy waters with lurking dangers, was something he didn't realize he needed. Besides, he liked grass just as much as he liked mud. With that, he snuck away from his clan to bring them back the supplies he was promised, carrying along the baby fly trap he was rapidly growing attached to in its makeshift and portable pot. Audrey needed the culture anyways, since most plants stay rooted in place for their entire lives. And it could possibly help him transport supplies back to Tanglewood. And he didn't want to be alone with a bunch of strangers.

    Dark-furred paws weren't sure where quite to carry him at first, his memory slipping and failing to preserve the directions he had taken before. Beck couldn't recall much of the events leading up to his impulsive visit, in fact. All his mind wanted to remember was anger. Anger towards the world for abandoning him, anger towards himself, and a seething hatred for the strung-up creature that disrupted his mind and forced him to drown all over again. Bastille didn't know what he unfettered when he went prodding around in a split soul. He deserved to suffer anyways, he had it coming, he wanted to see him strangled by a noose over and over and over -- A snarl peeled back ashen lips just the mention of Bastille, muscles moving on their own accord although Beck himself couldn't understand why. Years of shielding vulnerability had built up an deceiving mask of false emotion, and while he wouldn't show it, Beck was scared. Teeth clamped down tighter on Audrey's bucket handle, the recycled pot swaying erratically with the poltergeist's obvious limp.

      It took far too long to track down the disappearing scent trail Bastille had left when a certain panicked ghost lugged him back to his border. Unable to keep his nose close to the earth thanks to the bucket he carried, his disfigured snout continuously twitched and sniffed the air to keep himself on track. Cypress and mangroves thinned and mud dried the further he strayed from the territory he so fiercely guarded, until few trees dotted the plains and rocks took their place. The Ascendant's scent was a painfully familiar one to him, his features wrinkling as he paused at their border. Shaking his head to clear the foreign stench in vain, he pointedly stepped over their borderline with a smug sneer to himself and pressed on.

    The poltergeist was terribly exposed without any thickets or trees to lurk in, paranoia bristling down his spine as he headed to the heart of their territory. He wouldn't put it past Bastille to set a trap, just to put them back at an uneven payback ratio again. Maybe they would spare Audrey if they swarmed him. He bet Iota would take care of the mutant fly trap for him until he escaped from his troubles like he always did. While Beck daydreamed about an ambush and how he could get Audrey back to Tanglewood, said fly trap seemed to perk, leafy jaws opening in search of food. There was movement up ahead, it could sense it deep down in its trigger hairs, and a scraggly wine snaked out from its metallic pot to tug at its carrier's cold fur, impatiently demanding something to chomp down on and eat. At the vine coiling around his chest fur and nearly yanking out a clump of replicated hair, the mangy feline noticed the crowd gathering ahead, unknown creatures waiting for something. For him? Beck quickly unraveled Audrey's vine from his fur and tucked it back in its pot, limp quickening ever so slightly before he reached them.

      So many unfamiliar smells, too many. He could recognize a few on their own, but not when they overlapped and overwhelmed each other. How many were there? Honey-brown eyes squinting to make out the blurred figures before him, anyone could tell that the scorned commander was shrinking back, ready to flinch away from any prepared attack. He was frightfully small compared to their towering figures, comprised only of scrawny muscles and brittle bones. Without a scowl contorting his freckled features, his true age was present for all to gawk at and wonder if this pathetic entity was responsible for torturing one of their members. Beck was close to freezing up, apparition slouching and bony shoulders jutting with tension. He didn't like awkward crowds; they were worse than angry mobs. What was he supposed to do? Where they talking about him before he showed his ugly face?

    The boy let out a rattling wheeze, a shackled paw lifting out of habit to embarrassedly wipe away the electric-blue chemicals spilling from his missing cheek only for more to drip down immediately after. "Uh, hi," was all he could croak out, Audrey's bucket handle still hanging from his sharkish teeth and obscuring his mumble even further. The fly trap didn't seem to care about anyone present, once again reaching out a tendril to coil around the first thing it could grasp. Beck didn't try to stop his bizarre plant, or he was too preoccupied to fully register its actions. Fumbling for another sentence to spit out, the poltergeist forced a crooked smile, yet with half of his teeth permanently exposed by a salt burn, the expression came off more like a grimace of pain as he rasped, "So, whatcha got?" A greedy glint could be seen within his dull stare, enough confidence returning for him to revert back to the Beck they were expecting. His failed genuine smile warping into a childish sneer, the poltergeist rocked back and forth on his dirty paws impatiently as he still struggled to identify who he was facing.