retro

    Despite his paranoia around bodies of water, Beck didn't mind the rain all too much. It was more of a hindrance if anything. He couldn't see clearly in the first place and big globs of pitter-patter cascading from the high heavens only made his vision worse. Not to mention the rain washed away scent, and without scent, he couldn't tell friend from foe. A rattle of a sigh slipped from aching lungs as he slumped against the slick wall of an unknown hut belonging to an unknown creature. He could brave it out; he was good at that. Boredom gnawing at his bloodless guts, the poltergeist numbly held out an arm out from the shelter of the hut's eave, notched ear twitching as the raindrops quickly targetted his arm and disrupted his apparition. A slight tickle where the rain mindlessly phased through his otherwise stable illusion, focused only on reaching the muddy sand. It didn't take long for Beck to lose interest in that, too, and pulling his arm back to cradle it against his stitched chest, he blindly stared out into the haze with a scowl.

    Until a familiar chirp sounded through the storm and reached Beck's ears. The ghost perked immediately, sorely clambering to his feet and blinking in the direction of the source. Usually, the locals were asleep by now, curled up in their assumedly warm and dry beds as they took rest for granted. But an insomniac still was nice company when he ran out of ways to entertain himself. Shaking out his sopping wet pelt, the boy practically sprinted into the rain, his limp inevitably slowing him down after a few steps. Gritting his teeth and regretting the action as his broken jaw reminded him of its presence, Beck cursed the man who twisted his ankle until the joint snapped and tendons ripped, but he continued on, his apparition distorting with every raindrop that struck him.

    A white figure broke through the grey of his nearsighted view right as Beck practically tripped over Linux. Recoiling from his clumsy mistake with a crackle of static running down his hackles signifying his childish panic, he recognized the tiny dots speckling the feline as stickers and tentatively murmured, "Lin? Uh, Linux?" Squinting at her until he could confirm it wasn't a stranger, he flopped onto his haunches with a puff of stagnant air directed up at the bothersome cowlicks drooping into his face. "Whatcha doin' out here, buryin' bodies?" Beck giggles at his morbid assumption, his laugh a fragile little whistle bound to get on people's nerves at one point or another. "I mean, if ya are, I'd be glad to help or, or give advice or somethin'." First tip: don't hide a corpse on a beach unless you wanted the grave to be washed away and the remains exposed for all to find. Huh, he knew a lot about evading the consequences of murder. Not that Beck ever needed to bury a body; he simply daydreamed a little too much.