It was hard not to be an asshole when you had been around as long as Beck had. How long was it now? Definitely not a number he could count on fingers, that was for sure. Maybe half of a century, but that was a vague estimation. Spending decades isolated and bitter sculpted a hostile jackass, and everyone around the boy would have to face the consequences.

    He didn't anticipate an invitation. Nor did he really expect a creature waiting at the border. Paranoia was lessening its primitive grip around his brain the mire he settled and the more people there were around that could defend him. Beck was far from the edges of territory while Bastille assumed he spent every hour lurking and waiting. The poltergeist had things to do, after all. Still, breaking news of a foreign scent carried on the wind and passed around as gossip didn't take long to reach him.

    Masking his disgust towards Bastille with a coldly indifferent expression, the raggedy feline stalked out from the brambles not long after Vigenere, ears flicking backwards as he caught up to the conversation. Ew, parties. Beck scoffed lightly, then shrugged his bony shoulders in defeat when Vigenere accepted. "Yeah, they all can go, I guess. But don't expect me to show up; I ain't goin', and ya can't make me," the commander sneered, spitting chemical cleaner at Bastille's feet before turning on his muddy heel and preparing to creep away.