Tired and clueless // joining - Printable Version

One of Tanglewood's claims to fame besides pollution, mutants and bad health care -- unfortunately not a joke anymore considering the lone medic's murder -- were the array of hunting traps riddling their border, snares and nets tediously camoflauged with groundcover. An odd twinge of memory recalled the commonly uttered words of the swamp-dwelling rogues to newcomers, warning to watch their step for the noose of a snare or the steel teeth of a leghold. A grimy feline known only by a simple name was to blame for his malicious creations, paranoid and defensive instinct scattering his handiwork throughout the territory. Centuries of perfecting his sadistic craft after observing the occasional hunters skulking around his forested hideaways, Beck was adamant in checking set traps on a daily basis, resetting or replacing or repairing whenever needed. Sometimes nothing had triggered any trap to close around them, sometimes whatever was caught escaped, leaving bloody tufts of fur behind, but on the best of times, he would catch Audrey III an easy meal in the form of mangled prey.

"Why sho-ould I?" a rasping voice cooed from the shadowed cattails, belonging to two disembodied eyes that burned like fiery will-o-wisps into the blurred figure of his fresh catch, eagerness soaking his stuttering words. He always enjoyed it when they were still wriggling for their lives -- was that bad? Ugh, maybe, but whatever. The poltergeist limped into the hybrid's view, twirling in an impulsive circle before abruptly shrugging his shoulders and clicking terribly sharp teeth at the same time. With a sigh of poorly-hidden relief, Beck sneered up at the dangling creature, taking notice of the blended features of both a primate and a canine. How interesting, how amusing! "You'd ma-ake a good, good addition..." he mumbled out the side of his unscathed cheek, thinking aloud as he pictured the resulting mount from skinning and stuffing the trespassing oddity. A gauze-bound paw absentmindedly found its way to his teeth as he began to gnaw on his arm in thought; fortunately, the boy was unable to draw blood thanks to fraying bandages. As exciting as it was to fantasize about the opportunity of adding an unnatural cross between a monkey and a mutt to his currently small taxidermy collection, he was sentient given the fact he could speak... Beck wasn't entirely fond of being scolded or yelled at or even punished by clanmates seeking higher numbers for their dwindling family, and skinning a possible joining animal would presumably earn all of the above. But the hybrid would be so cool as a stuffed trophy! Still dragging his razor-blade teeth along his bandaged arm, he narrowed his eyes and wordlessly stared up at his catch, thankfully keeping his morbid thoughts off his tongue and out of the air as he struggled to decide whether to free the monkeymutt or not.

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Morgan came running when he noticed the two auras in the distance. Several red flags were checked off: Beck was alone with an unfamiliar aura and that unfamiliar aura was thrashing around but not moving away from one spot. The samoyed breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the apparition, glad that he had made it quickly enough. He arrived just in time to hear the hybrid's pleas, and he smiled wide, turning toward Beck for a moment.

"That's awfully convenient,"

he muttered.

"Because we've got a pretty warm, sheltered place nearby and we're looking for new members to help us survive around here."

In an instant he sliced through the trap with a blade of high-pressure water in an effort to let the stranger down.

"I'm Morgan, by the way,"

he added, smirking once more.

"This place's called Tanglewood, if you're wanting to join."

"Oh no, the poor trap!" mockingly cried a worn mutt as he approached the party, flinging a false glare of distress towards Beck. From a distance, Leroy observed the unfamiliar hybrid in skepticism. There was a twang to the wolf’s appendages that seemed a little... out of place. The fingers on their paws instead of rounded digits, it was very unsettling. Same goes for that lengthy tail; if ever need be, it lay in the hound’s power to truncate a few inches off of that noodle-looking torment. The teasing which he egressed as his tall, grayed figure converged drew closer to the scenario derived from multiple directions. Firstly, it was meant to intimidate the new guy, to show the abomination that Leroy cared not for his health, instead paying more attention to the destruction of an inanimate object. Secondly, it was a jab at the poltergeist, whom was guilty of placing said traps in the first place; the very same traps which forced the guardsman to amputate a hind leg off of the late Delilah. As much as he was a fan of unrelenting chaos, he utterly detested the steel creations. They were randomly sprinkled throughout here and there, and posed as a looming threat for every living Tangler. Beck practically treats those things like his very own children - thus, Morgan has effectively murdered one of the feline’s precious cherubs.

Once again, it seemed that the General was being a bit too welcoming towards a joiner. Once upon a time, Leroy had dropped by some secluded glades which promised isolation. Nowadays, essentially everybody is allowed past the first few yards of tree-line without having a dagger pressed against their throat in one way or another. As much as he disliked the free rein and safety that strangers had in his territory, there was a good reason behind it, as Tanglers were currently a dying breed and needed fresh faces to ensure any possibility of survival.

Survival. A thing that the new face seemed to lack the aptitude of maintaining on his own. He looked like a badly bruised apple, and if he was to be turned away right at this moment, the apple would be chopped up into fine slices, and fed to the gators.

He didn’t know. Leroy wanted to feel some sort of sympathy for the individual, but he couldn’t. Perhaps it was something about the monkeydog’s appearance, or how unsubtle he had been about joining. Nonetheless, he’d just watch, better to let Morgan handle distractions like this.

+ninja’d kinda