For an entity so uncanny to the laws of the mortal realm, bypassing all logic and reason, Beck was considerably plain as far as ghosts went by. The same tragic backstory as fate sent a downpour of bad luck to follow him, tragic death scarring his mind, tragic existence for eternity because he couldn't suck up the hurt -- nothing too revolutionary. Yet he couldn't relate to those few lacking anything physically remarkable, considering in their eyes how... unusual he was. But it hardly mattered. He wasn't supposed to care; he didn't care, right? However, powers, as any unnatural ability was dubbed, failed to impress him. After everything the boy witnessed in his eternal years of the afterlife, it was difficult to be impressed at all anymore.

    The horrid tang of burnt hair and flesh wafted through the swampland, causing his sensitive nose to huff and twitch with irritation. Who thought it was a good idea to burn corpses in daylight? Snarling to himself while listing off a dozen better ways detailing body disposal -- vertical grave, dead animal decoy, fish chum, woodchipper -- Beck surrendered his work salvaging herbs before Morgan's planned blizzard, distracted by the curiosity to know who thought it necessary to set the entire swamp on fire today. A bundle of witch hazel and marigold gingerly secured in his teeth, decorating the disfiguring hole for a cheek with their leaves, the scrawny feline pointed his nose to the mud and tracked down the culprit: none other than Jim.

    Lifeless eyes swiftly flicking over the aftermath of a battle, with the ex-captain taking home the victory, Beck huffed in annoyance as his myopic gaze drifted to the smoldering coyote. "Take -- I take it y'ain't the roasted o-one, huh?" he sneered around the herbs stuffed in his jaws, kicking a clod of mud at the charred form. Shifting his attention to the wolfdog, he rasped with a shockingly serious tone compared to his childish pout, "But ya got hurt, didn'tcha?" Not waiting for permission, he reached inside his chest to retrieve a makeshift bag serving as a temporary first-aid kit, fishing around for a gauze roll before tearing off a square as well as a crumpled plastic bottle he asked Morgan to fill with cleaned water. Dog bites, or bites in general, were easy to handle from his experience of evading search hounds. As long as any infection didn't set in. The dark-furred feline shuddered at the feverish memory, scrunching his eyes shut and giving his head a violent shake before he recovered his concentration. Spitting out his bundle of herbs, he plucked a couple leaves from both, shredding the leaves into a pulp with his claws over the bandaging. The poltergeist reared onto his hind legs in order to reach Jim's bitten shoulders, pouring water over where tooth punctured skin to rinse away the bacteria riddling the coyote's bite. He didn't bat an eyelid as the water crackled with static, plastering the gauze-square, poultice side down across Jim's shoulders, and smoothing out the bandaging with a jerky pat. Considering his apparition was comprised of electrical currents himself, he didn't mind the jolt from Jim's sparking pelt that rushed down his spine upon contact. In fact, Beck somewhat enjoyed it, a surge of excitement fizzling in his guts. Falling back to all four feet and stepping back behind Aya and Feverdream, the poltergeist only gave a shrill giggle at the newfound powers he previously ignored. "Don't worry, Jimmy, you'll get the ha-ang of it eve-eventually," the boy snickered, splaying his own bandaged paw for Jim to observe a demonstration as arcs of unstable electricity bounced from toe to toe. Although perhaps his example wasn't the best for learning, especially since he had practiced for centuries to perfect his apparition's control.