After what seemed like an hour had passed and enough bottles were drained -- no doubt thanks to Malphas -- Beck was beginning to grow disinterested in listening to chatter and stories from those present at the bonfire. Boredom setting in quickly and leeching away at his rare smile of excitement, it wasn't long before he slumped forward to lie on his bony stomach and watch the fire crackle. With firelight reflecting in his hazy eyes, it took a moment for him to notice another bright glint bouncing off a nearby surface.

    Tilting his head for his nearsighted vision to identify the shape better, he owlishly blinked at an empty glass bottle toppled over on its bronze-tinted side, once containing the bitter moonshine he found. The poltergeist stretched out a paw to bat the bottle towards him, the shackle tightly hugging his wrist accidentally clinking against the glass in the process. As he held the bottle closer to his face with a nose wrinkled to avoid the scent of makeshift liquor, memories clicked and a devilish smirk reappeared on his scarred muzzle. People at parties would play something with a bottle, right? He couldn't remember too much, but it did involve kissing; a great way to spread diseases, but it wasn't like animals could catch anything. He remembered seeing on a show once that dogs had cleaner mouths than humans assumedly because of their dental structure and how the molars constantly brushed up against each other, but he wasn't entirely sure if it was true. With nothing better to do, Beck held up the bottle, and struggling to remember the exact name, asked to no one in particular, "Anybody ever heard of, uh, spin the bottle?"