It came as no surprise to anyone that Beck couldn't sleep. At least not like he used to back when he needed rest. It was possible to fall into a mindset similar to the beginning stages of sleep if he focused hard enough in complete stillness, but never true slumber. Just lying on his back on a wooden floor with his eyes squeezed shut in the middle of a dusty attic. That was the closest he had gotten to taking a nap in centuries, back during the good old haunting days. It was impossible to even think of relaxing out here with animals running amok and requiring his leading supervision. Sometimes he forgot that Tanglewood was comprised up of nothing but animals, only to abruptly remember when reality practically slapped him across the face with the truth. They may have all behaved closely to the humans he could remember, working together in a society and having civil conversations not comprised solely of barks and hisses like he believed so long ago, and maybe that was because of his unintentional guidance. But no matter how sophisticated his peers seemed, the memory of their idea of water cleaning lingered on his thoughts. Sure, he was a hypocrite and Morgan hadn't been killing for sport like humans did, but Beck just hadn't expected the entire misunderstanding.

    Nor had he been expecting the slosh of waters and the exact canine's voice to call for him from outside and interrupt his rambling thoughts. The poltergeist wasn't certain whose house he had slipped into, or if someone had claimed it at all yet. While he had taken to checking in on his members in their sleep, hoping for morning to come sooner so the boredom would lessen, tonight he slipped through an arbitrarily-chosen wall and fell back on the floor just to think. It took a moment to register the fact Morgan had spoken his name at all, forgetting his identity as he numbly stared up at the unstable ceiling. He was quick to snap from his trance, however, scrambling up to limp outside, walking through the wall as if it never was there in the first place with only a slight ripple disturbing his apparition. The mangy feline coldly stared back at the samoyed, luminous eyes two amber will'o'wisps on the darkened porch as he struggled to discern Morgan's blurred figure. He hesitated, visibly biting down on his tongue out of habit before croaking, "'Bout what?" Was it a trap? The surrounding water remaining from Morgan's transportation was enough to make him jittery, phantom hands pressing down on his bruised back as he nervously glanced at the black water, only visible to him from the moonlight bouncing off its muddy surface. "This better be good," Beck mumbled to mostly himself, kicking away a tiny chip of rubble where he could hear it land with a sad plop on the flooded grass.