05-20-2018, 08:32 PM
It took a moment before Beck fully realized who he ended up jabbing a paw at, filmy eyes narrowing in the direction of the blurred mass as his inky nose twitched with a couple wheezing sniffs before his scowl relaxed into a blank slate of features. He wasn't sure how exactly to feel about Morgan, he wasn't even sure what was going on behind their expressionless mask. Maybe they wore a mask to hide the fact that their face was eaten away by frostbite. Because of wearing an ice mask? The scrawny feline winced, tucking his bandaged paw closer to his chest and tried to ignore the bubbling anger in his mind suggesting methods of revenge. It hadn't been torture, right? She deserved it, everyone who had wronged him deserved it. Pushing aside his skewed sense of justice, Beck wrinkled his scarred snout to feign thought as he concentrated more on hiding his instinctive grudge against the samoyed. What was he doing again? Amber eyes glanced down to the mass of worms in his awkward grip, confusion briefly knitting his brow. Right, intrusive questions. "Where'd ya even come from?" Beck blurted out, foggily remembering the day a mute fluffball charged right into their camp with no reason or excuse. "I mean, like, where were ya livin' before ya came here?" There wasn't much else he could interrogate about, or at least he assumed. He wasn't even sure if Morgan's vocabulary had expanded enough to answer him yet.
Yet the commander pressed on, idly fidgeting with his can of wiggling friends as Bella lectured Killian. A noise similar to a giggling snort left him, bony shoulders trembling for a split second before his laugh abruptly cut off with a flushed scowl. Brainstorming a question for Killian didn't take terribly wrong; it wasn't too difficult to grasp the concept of entities being able to sense their fellow demons. But what Beck couldn't quite predict just yet was how Killian would react. His head childishly drooped to the right, admiring the jagged scarring engraved into the other's hips. "Hey, Kills, scar stories are always cool -- how'd ya get those ones?" he wheezed, slouching forward to rest a grimy chin on his elbow with his intact cheek pressed against the metal of his worm can, "They gotta have a good one behind 'em." He couldn't foresee Belladonna's departure from Tanglewood, whether it was fortunate or not. His words were blissfully oblivious to the future as he swiped a tongue over razor-blade teeth in thought, recalling the rare nights were her crying attracted the poltergeist's flighty attention. Nightmares were his best bet, even though he had been spared from them for centuries, so what better chance than now to pry deeper into her fears? "I know you've got some nightmares, Bells, ain't no secret, but what are they 'bout, huh?"
Amunet distracted him before he could intrude any further with follow up questions that would never be answered. A sickening smirk twisted up ashen lips, not filled with malice but rather knowledge. Beck could have been classified as a serial stalker at this point, constantly trailing behind whoever caught his flighty interest from the shadowed foliage before abruptly switching his target to a random passerby. Helpful when it came to keeping tabs on his members, but not so much when he accidentally blurted something personal he wasn't supposed to know in the midst of a conversation. Amunet's subtle brushes up against a certain war incarnation's side or attempt to wind her tail around his was just the thing Beck had been on the look out for; nothing else could quite cure boredom like good old romantic drama. Specifically only from other people. His favorite part of all relationships were the soap opera-esque break-ups at the end. "So, Am, ya got any, uh, crushes? On a certain someone, maybe?" Part of him shriveled up and cringed at using the word "crush" as if he were nothing more than a snob-nosed schoolgirl, but the other part suppressed a wheezy squeal at the thought of Fenris and Amunet being cute together and whatever else it is that cute couples do. His crooked smile faltered after he spat at enough questions for the crowd, a reminder that he would have to answer their own prying words next. Hopefully no one would get the bright idea to ask him how he died, but it was unlikely. Whiskers bristled and eyes glazed in thought, the poltergeist already weaving together an excuse, a story far less painful as the truth, claws tightening around his aluminum can with an awful squeak of metal.
[align=center]»――➤Yet the commander pressed on, idly fidgeting with his can of wiggling friends as Bella lectured Killian. A noise similar to a giggling snort left him, bony shoulders trembling for a split second before his laugh abruptly cut off with a flushed scowl. Brainstorming a question for Killian didn't take terribly wrong; it wasn't too difficult to grasp the concept of entities being able to sense their fellow demons. But what Beck couldn't quite predict just yet was how Killian would react. His head childishly drooped to the right, admiring the jagged scarring engraved into the other's hips. "Hey, Kills, scar stories are always cool -- how'd ya get those ones?" he wheezed, slouching forward to rest a grimy chin on his elbow with his intact cheek pressed against the metal of his worm can, "They gotta have a good one behind 'em." He couldn't foresee Belladonna's departure from Tanglewood, whether it was fortunate or not. His words were blissfully oblivious to the future as he swiped a tongue over razor-blade teeth in thought, recalling the rare nights were her crying attracted the poltergeist's flighty attention. Nightmares were his best bet, even though he had been spared from them for centuries, so what better chance than now to pry deeper into her fears? "I know you've got some nightmares, Bells, ain't no secret, but what are they 'bout, huh?"
Amunet distracted him before he could intrude any further with follow up questions that would never be answered. A sickening smirk twisted up ashen lips, not filled with malice but rather knowledge. Beck could have been classified as a serial stalker at this point, constantly trailing behind whoever caught his flighty interest from the shadowed foliage before abruptly switching his target to a random passerby. Helpful when it came to keeping tabs on his members, but not so much when he accidentally blurted something personal he wasn't supposed to know in the midst of a conversation. Amunet's subtle brushes up against a certain war incarnation's side or attempt to wind her tail around his was just the thing Beck had been on the look out for; nothing else could quite cure boredom like good old romantic drama. Specifically only from other people. His favorite part of all relationships were the soap opera-esque break-ups at the end. "So, Am, ya got any, uh, crushes? On a certain someone, maybe?" Part of him shriveled up and cringed at using the word "crush" as if he were nothing more than a snob-nosed schoolgirl, but the other part suppressed a wheezy squeal at the thought of Fenris and Amunet being cute together and whatever else it is that cute couples do. His crooked smile faltered after he spat at enough questions for the crowd, a reminder that he would have to answer their own prying words next. Hopefully no one would get the bright idea to ask him how he died, but it was unlikely. Whiskers bristled and eyes glazed in thought, the poltergeist already weaving together an excuse, a story far less painful as the truth, claws tightening around his aluminum can with an awful squeak of metal.