05-31-2018, 03:25 AM
Some part of Beck regretted closing off Tanglewood from the other clans; yet at least they wouldn't be required to attend parties hosted by allies. Isolation was all he had ever known, and despite the growing amount of "friends" surrounding him, he selfishly didn't want to risk losing them, be it to conspiring outsiders or petty wars. He figured the other groups out there would start to respect their privacy by now. So why they were being invited for a memorial to a leader he gave two rat's tails about?
The unwelcomed stench of the Ascendant's flowery territory along with a heavy dosage of alcohol was enough to stir his unstable wrath, his spine already bristling with tiny flickers of static before he arrived. Stalking through the thorny underbrush with a murderous glare aimed at whoever had the gall to bother them again, his limping gait was eerily silent, barely causing a sound beyond the occasional jingle of singular chain links against their shackles. Luckily for the couple, others had already intercepted their invitation, rescuing them from a volatile entity with a body count nearing triple-digits. His peers' presence didn't shelter them from all his anger, claws digging into mud as he eavesdropped out of sight.
Next thing he knew, he was materializing from nonexistence threateningly close to Suiteheart, scarred features wiped clean of any irksome smirk and instead contorted with a feral snarl. Pupils mere dark pinpricks against his lantern-like glare, Beck's ashen lips peeled back to expose the other half of a dangerous set of teeth as a low growl rattled in his lungs. "Ya better watch it," the poltergeist rasped, usual childish mockery to his words stripped away to leave behind a sinister warning, "You're forgettin' whose land you're on." His burning stare passed between Margaery and Suite, unspoken acts of violence and blood-spray flashing through those dusky amber eyes of his. A funeral for three instead of only one would be something worth attending. Beck regained his control, letting out a bitter huff of waterlogged air at the pair and refusing to back down despite having to crane his neck to meet their eyes. "Morgan, and everyone else, can go to Starryskies' l'il party if they want -- but I doubt it." Maybe it would be better for the most extroverted members to get out and see what horrors were beyond their polluted swamp, but that was their choice. He couldn't control them, and he didn't want to try. He should start telling them about ongoing politics despite how much he hated them, but there hasn't been anything going on that was newsworthy so far. Flicking a notched ear against his skull and back, Beck hissed through his teeth a question he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to: "Who's the Astral Asshole now?" In polite terms, he wanted to know he would be dealing with during leader business, and if he should hate them in advance.
[align=center]»――➤The unwelcomed stench of the Ascendant's flowery territory along with a heavy dosage of alcohol was enough to stir his unstable wrath, his spine already bristling with tiny flickers of static before he arrived. Stalking through the thorny underbrush with a murderous glare aimed at whoever had the gall to bother them again, his limping gait was eerily silent, barely causing a sound beyond the occasional jingle of singular chain links against their shackles. Luckily for the couple, others had already intercepted their invitation, rescuing them from a volatile entity with a body count nearing triple-digits. His peers' presence didn't shelter them from all his anger, claws digging into mud as he eavesdropped out of sight.
Next thing he knew, he was materializing from nonexistence threateningly close to Suiteheart, scarred features wiped clean of any irksome smirk and instead contorted with a feral snarl. Pupils mere dark pinpricks against his lantern-like glare, Beck's ashen lips peeled back to expose the other half of a dangerous set of teeth as a low growl rattled in his lungs. "Ya better watch it," the poltergeist rasped, usual childish mockery to his words stripped away to leave behind a sinister warning, "You're forgettin' whose land you're on." His burning stare passed between Margaery and Suite, unspoken acts of violence and blood-spray flashing through those dusky amber eyes of his. A funeral for three instead of only one would be something worth attending. Beck regained his control, letting out a bitter huff of waterlogged air at the pair and refusing to back down despite having to crane his neck to meet their eyes. "Morgan, and everyone else, can go to Starryskies' l'il party if they want -- but I doubt it." Maybe it would be better for the most extroverted members to get out and see what horrors were beyond their polluted swamp, but that was their choice. He couldn't control them, and he didn't want to try. He should start telling them about ongoing politics despite how much he hated them, but there hasn't been anything going on that was newsworthy so far. Flicking a notched ear against his skull and back, Beck hissed through his teeth a question he wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to: "Who's the Astral Asshole now?" In polite terms, he wanted to know he would be dealing with during leader business, and if he should hate them in advance.