THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU, BARBARA / return to activity

After near months of solitude spent lurking in the darkest, coziest corners of Goldenluxury's hut, the eccentric spirit abandoned on the shore by the tides had become nothing more than a rumor. Besides his only outlet to the islander society via Goldie, Beck hadn't stumbled into the public's eye in what seemed like forever. At first, the isolation an introverted dream brought to reality. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted with absolutely no paranoia or insecurities allowed in on his lonely entertainment. However, lazily sprawled in a sloppy nest of blankets and recounting his favorite horror movies frame by frame in his mind quickly grew boring. Even watching the natives and their violent theatrics became dull for the once-eager observer. And during the nigh eternity that his closest friend was missing, Beck paced the silent hut with a restless worry to his limp, dragging the edge of his teeth along the tightly-wound bandages on his arms. There was nothing left to do; he couldn't take another day of waiting around for the world to finally end.

Blinking away the initial shock of afternoon sunlight, the scrawny feline paused his stumble outside to fitfully rub at his adjusting eyes. He never could reconcile with the sun's pervasive light -- the light exposed him, burned him. His mangy flanks feeling almost naked without the security of shade to conceal himself from danger, Beck dragged himself off Goldie's porch only to land with a muted thud upon the sand. Even if she wasn't around the hut at the moment, at least she had been brought home. Not that it was the same... well, memories could be recovered. Maybe replaced if worse came to worst. The boy carelessly dusted off his chest, surely leaving behind grits of sand within his fur. Perhaps he would get a pearl out of his self-neglect. Halting in his crusade against boredom to let out a much-needed twitch of his back leg and a shoulder shrug, Beck finally stepped forth to reintroduce himself to society.

Crooked ankle threatening to buckle like a newborn fawn much to his numbed obliviousness, it took longer than anticipated to reach the bay Goldie had previously informed him about. For a hotspot of socializing, the shoreline sure was empty. A grateful smirk tugged on the corners of his intact lips as a wheezing sigh of relief sounded from him. Crowds were terrible, turning him into an awkward, mumbling wallflower as too many scents and conversations overwhelmed his thoughts. Unable to bite back a lilting chirp on impulse, he wrinkled his nose to brainstorm something amusing to do. His mind failed him as he stared blankly out at the white horizon, electric blue drool on the verge of dripping from his missing cheek before he hastily smeared it away with the back of his paw. Ignoring the oozing chemicals soaking into the fraying gauze protecting from his nasty biting habits, Beck sucked in a gasping breath before hissing through his teeth and setting off to gather the smoothest stones he could find. Skipping stones was always a good time-killer, but he wasn't too sure how they would bounce and sail over sea water, especially with the choppy waves. But it was worth a shot.

Quickly gathering a wobbly pyramid of pebbles and rocks deserving of being cast out into a watery grave, the poltergeist flopped down close to the placid shallows with the first passenger in his shaky grip. Beck reeled back an arm before swinging it forwards to send the stone skidding out over the water's surface, only for his first attempt to fail with a pitiful splash. Despite his ears pinning to his skull, he wouldn't let the mistake darken his chance at entertainment; he was just out of shape, that was all. Snatching up the next and repeating the same action with more care in his throw, the stone only managed a single hop before sinking. Amber eyes narrowed as he reached for another... and soon another... and yet another, all failing to come close to his record of seventeen skips and earning a frustrated scowl from his youthful features. He must have been more out of shape then he thought.

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Patience has been the key, for without patience, it was likely that Marco opt to conclude his search after two decades. Fast-forward three more decades, and you have Marco, cogently on the meridian of his pursuit, purely because he had faith in himself, and in his employer above. Constant reverberations echoed inside of his skull, encouraging the angel to comb over everything with ever so much care, now more than ever, for the one he’d been seeking for years on end was absolutely mere centimetres out of his reach. Assuming that the lynx took action based off of his ideas’ suggestions, he’d find himself with his sibling by the end of the day. It’d take some time, perhaps a tad bit of dedication, but he’d prevail, reuniting the two following a gap of five hundred long years.

Each of the many hollow plops of water grabbed ahold of more and more of his attention. Either a lot of stuff decided to fall into the crystal clear aqua on impulse, or another being was tossing away possessions of some sort. Consequent to investigating, going against his mentality’s wishes to beat about for that specific person, Marco discovered that it was the latter.

And, the being casting the stones into motion would be of great importance, contrary to his restless thoughts’ beliefs.

A ghost, a transparent imitation of a creature whom once tasted, breathed, smelled, now only existing to linger. Many spectres had met peace against their wills due to Marco’s deeds, back in the day, prior to God enforcing the “judge-on-action, not-appearance” rule. ”It matters not holy or unholy”, the angel could recall from his boss, ”mostly everybody nowadays likes to think, which means you do not have to mindlessly slaughter phantoms or demons anymore; only those you deem worthy of it”. Fortunate for the present apparition, currently dissatisfied with his skills in vaulting pebbles, he would not experiencing a smiting today. Or at all, in that matter, for it occurred to the holy being that this may very well be his long-lost older brother, honest to goodness. Think of it- the one he had searched for was not in heaven, nor purgatory, nor hell, but Earth, however, he was not in flesh, either. That meant, he’d have to take the form of something unholy, such as a fiend, or even maybe a ghost. Another piece to this jigsaw puzzle fell into its precise position when Marco’s clairvoyance began going off the charts.

A fulfilled smile sprang on his mug, content with his discovery. Of course, there was always the possibility of this certain haunt not being his brother, yet Marco saw it as unlikely. Optimism overwhelmed his usual stance of realism, and he knew that it would eventually take a toll on him, but for now, he’d enjoy it. Proud strides carried the angel forward, looming ever so nearer to his target, until parking himself at but a metre behind the person already engaging in conversation with the ghastly fellow. Patience overruled his desire, in spite of his search finally- hopefully coming to a close.

Later, the two would speak. He was sure of that.

It would be easy for Bakugou to forget the spirit. His only reminder of Beck's presence on the island were the ghosts who were currently floating about the island, screaming and wailing at night, disturbing his sleep because they felt that they were more important than the pirates who were currently alive. He had little interactions with the boy but enough for the Reaver to decipher that he didn't like him, rather comfortable with pretending the eternal child didn't exist when he went about his business. In fact, if the ghosts ever left (hopefully by the end of October, he thinks), he would probably forget Beck completely. The ghost would no longer cling as a remnant, a fragment of light within his vast memory. There are too many things he'd want to remember, too many things he would be afraid to forget but Beck was not one of them. He was okay with losing the ghost from his mind, banishing the creature back to the chasms of nothingness within his cognitive perspective. It was his world, after all, and he wouldn't want it ruined growling and complaining over the spectre of a child.

His eyes follow the form of their Dealer, seeing her join the the semi-transparent form of Beck. It wasn't hard to remember the ghost's name, watching them quietly as he saw the creature throwing stones. The activity brought about an amusing challenge. He remembered the technique of throwing the pebbles, remembered how they needed to be flat so that they could be rebounded across the surface of water. The feeling of it between his hands... Bakugou bites the bottom of his lip, nibbling gently in frustration. Did he even remember what it was like to have hands? Toes he would wiggle whilst his feet were encased in shoes? He feels his own heart thud in discomfort, distracted that he didn't see the winged lynx approaching the two, silent as his thoughts - unknown by those around him. "He's skipping stones," the Reaver finally says, approaching the three. He was about to ask Goldenluxury if it reminded her of anything, wondering if there were any memories associated with the water but he realises it is not his place to ask. Bakugou then looks at Marco: "Know how to skip stones?"

Beck prided himself, more or less, for his ability to always be alert. He should have thanked his paranoia for not only spawning a skittish creature who couldn't trust a single other's actions without expecting a blow but for also constantly scanning the area for danger. Yet as his dangerous frustration bubbled over and fogged up his senses, his attention narrowed until only the stones and their splashes registered in his mind.

Until an otherwise welcomed voice of perhaps the closest friend he's had in years snapped him from his practice. The little ghost gave a visible flinch at her arrival, swiveling his head around in owlish fashion before the rest of him followed, prepared to catch a blow before recognizing the familiar blur. A hoarse wheeze slipped past his lips as he held back a bought of wet coughing, ultimately failing when an oozing film of sputum began to line his disfigured maw. Taking care to smear the phlegm off his chin even with a rock gripped in his oddly flexible paw until his knuckles turned white beneath grime and fur, a smile instantly illuminated the boy's scarred face at the sight of his Goldie. "I'm jus-st skippin' stones, skippin' stones," he chirped out despite fumbling with the sing-song stutter acquired with the accident, "Ya wanna try, Goldie-e?" Bestowing upon the bengal what would've been his next victim to sleep with the fish, the stone's surface frigid to the touch from his shaky grasp, he replaced another stone in his paw and motioned out towards the waters. "All ya gott-ta do is kinda, um, flick your wrist out like this 'nd spin it -- like -- out over, I thi-ink." Beck followed his verbal example with yet another stone cast out over the bay that managed at least ten skips, glancing back over a bony shoulder with a crooked grin to seek Goldenluxury's approval.

Yet now there was a second figure in his myopic stare, lurking behind the striped blur he admired so. The grin was hastily wiped from existence, transfigured into a twitchy snarl at the stranger. "Who are -- what d'ya want?" His nastily-sharp teeth mangled his shrill words into an unsteady hiss, wearing his suspicions on his sleeve. The unfamiliar lynx carried the aroma of hay bales and feather down along with something cleansing he couldn't quite place, his nose setting to work memorizing the scent as he craned his neck out forwards to sniff at Marco's fluffy pelt. A notched ear twitches to acknowledge Bakugou's presence but nothing more than a sideways glare would be offered to him; while it was harsh to assume, Beck could tell that the hotheaded grouch didn't give a rat's ass about his existence. Which, sure, he was quite accustomed to after years of neglect and isolation, but why should he pay mind to a creature who couldn't even bother to greet him while they interrupted his stone skipping? Abruptly rolling his eyes back in their sockets, the gaunt feline fell back into his slouch, itching to return to pelting the water with stones rather than meaninglessly converse.

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He was usually on guard but, because of his horrible ego, he often let it down in the worst of moments. He just needed to be more focused, more fixated on what was in front of him. His brain kept flying elsewhere because there were other thoughts that deemed themselves more important than reality. It was rather disorientating for the cream furred male to keep on like this but somehow he was holding on, snapping awake when time called for it. This moment in time was no exception. The aggression which left Beck's lips was not strangled out by his brain's filters, Bakugou blinking in surprise when he sees the way the ghost of a child snapped at Marco. Then he sees the male react to the Reaver with a glare, the male struggling to hold back his own growl in return to the male. Bakugou doesn't care about a lot of members of The Typhoon, acting the same with everyone until they made enough of an impression on him to act otherwise. It was obvious, however, that it would never work in social circumstances where so many personalities existed in one island. And yet Bakugou couldn't see the spectre's annoyance at the fact that he knew that Bakugou didn't care about the other's well being. All he knew was that he wasn't welcomed here, deciding that he didn't need to waste his time. He doubts Goldenluxury would end up hurt by Beck, not at this moment at least, so turns around and leaves to go about his routine again.

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L U C I F E R . G R I M M

"The endless Void, The gazing abyss, The bottomless ocean of horror...It coiled itself around your tender heart"

he knows of the spirit, remembers his son mentioning the ex-leader in past and has seen him wandering around idly once in awhile, he knows the other is close to Goldie - and with her current state that must be somewhat painful, he doesn't like to think it might once have been similar for any of his family to find his unremembered self and know he didn't recognise them.

still he stops some meters away from the group to watch Bakugou saunter off and merely cocks a brow before he wanders closer to briefly greet the group before inevitably going back to his own patrol routes "Good day, Beck, Goldie, Marco"

/heck short + no clue m'apologies oof.

DRAGON [10FT Hght, 25FT Lgth] — HELLION [5FT] — TYPHOON / OFFICER — PLAYLIST — TAGS

Olive pupils dilated and contracted as he silently witnessed the events transpiring in the foreground, silently nodding to the figure known as Bakogou, whom left ere the angel could correctly respond to his inquiry surrounding the skipping of the stones. He is aware of the other present, the grim reptile looming nearby, and mindful of Goldenluxury’s awfully commending introduction of him to the phantom. It was unnecessary, for he could have obviously done it on his own time, though he was grateful for it, allowing Beck, as he was dubbed, to have an aspect of space when it came to his inevitable reunion with Marco. It appeared, frankly, that the transparent feline wasn’t too warm with strangers, offering an impaired ”what do you want?” contrary to a typical ”hi, how’re you?”. This bothered him none, and, again, Goldenluxury had just made the lynx’s everlasting existence all the more easy. His large noggin fell into a puzzled crook whilst the holy feline pondered on his next actions; would he go the blunt route, and straightaway declare that “you’re my brother, come with me, we have lots to talk about” route, or the patient “lovely weather we’re having” route? Seeing how far patience has brought him already, the answer seemed nigh clear as a bell.

"Throwing stones isn’t in my field, I’d guess," an established tone spoke, its barer shuffling along towards the deuce with a slight tickling sensation of hesitation, ”it looks like you two know a bit more than me at the activity. A fault on my part.” The shorter she occurred to be saddened at themselves, and their rather pitiful attempt at the activity which Beck had instigated; thus, his dialogue took a self-deprecating approach, in hopes of bringing some of that shame off of her miniature shoulders. Marco hoped that he wasn’t showering the two with anxiety from his presence, as the angel’s appearance alone had the potential to be overbearing, let alone his height. And that blasted halo, that, too, could prove as a distraction to some. Stepping forward a tad bit more fore parking himself in his tracks, the celestial being spoke again. ”Goldenluxury is correct, I have come here in search of something- nay, someone,” he’d breathe, ”and I believe myself to be hot on their trail.” This vague accession would, with optimism, lure a questioning response out of Beck, or perhaps his female advocate. However, if the situation somehow went awry in any way, Marco would promptly leave, and try again another day, as he always had in situations like these.