CAN OF WORMS / mass meet & greet

[beck.]

    A cave. Well, he figured as much. Morgan didn't seem like the type to have been a pampered pet or runaway orphan. They were too... unpredictable, even despite their attempts at integrating into a semi-functional society. "Huh," was all that the boy could mumble out, freckled features drawing closer together as he tried to imagine a fluffball of a puppy roughing it on their own in a cave of all things. A warm, wet one, too. Where in territory was it warm and wet? Pretty much everywhere, which narrowed down his options significantly. "I didn't know we had caves 'round here," he wheezed aloud, claws squeezing the worm can tighter as his straining lungs constricted in pain. Holding back an obnoxious coughing fit, Beck was glad to turn his attention to the elderly polar bear, jaw clenched shut as his shoulders trembled with the abrupt urge to hack up all the blood and water sloshing around in his lungs. At least Morgan skipped over the fact that they had to ask a question back in return -- he really, really didn't want to in the first place, so if they all forgot, then it was better for him.

    It took a moment for him to settle down, a rattling sigh slipping through bloodless lips with a meek cough as he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Who was next again? Through a squinted glare, the poltergeist discerned the towering form of the Russian, blinking in recognition. "Oh, hi there, Zima," the feline rasped with an awkward grin, or an attempt at a grin. It didn't take much thinking to produce a question to ask; Beck quickly rambled to the bear, gesturing to his right eye to help get the message across, "How'd ya get that eyepatch? Sure looks fancy to me." Part of him wanted to ask if he could have it, striving to steal the unique eyepatch to add to his ever-accumulating collection, yet for once, he restrained.

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