06-02-2018, 07:45 PM
The war god was lucky that Beck had even chosen to keep a home for himself, although it was more of a storage unit than a home. The boy, skittish and wary as always, much preferred spaces where he wasn't enclosed, spaces where if danger revealed itself, he could flee without ending up cornered. A cornered animal might as well be a dead animal; a lesson he learned the hard way. But, everyone else had moved into the houses they all helped repair. Hesitant to exclude himself from the only company he had in years, Beck begrudgingly followed after, collecting his hoarded belongings and stuffing them into the only house that caught his eye. The decaying building was a shabby little thing, the furthest away from the heart of the evacuated town, and half-sunken into the boggy ground until only the roof and a couple of windows were properly above ground. Only the finest home he deserved. Plants had invaded every inch of russet brick and tile, breaking out glass panes and crumpling walls while at the same time being the only thing holding everything together. As much as Beck could recover from his hidden nooks around territory had been piled madly in every corner, creating a maze of stolen knick-knacks and meaningless treasures that only he could navigate. Tonight was one of the rare nights the poltergeist was hiding out in his little burrow, organizing his collection to an arbitrary order as an attempt to pass time faster.
Even through his persistent wheezing that became much more prominent in silence, his ears twitched upwards at the soft sound of treading footsteps outside. Immediately he froze, halting his sorting with a book of matches in one paw and a shattered hand mirror in the other. After a moment of paranoid listening, the footsteps gave a heavier thud, as if dropping something, before retreating back into the night. His own luminous glare was his only source of light as he gingerly placed his cherished trinkets back in their respected places strewn on the dusty floor, creeping towards the only entrance in the entire dwelling: an ajar window with its framing splintered and panes punched out. Clambering up to the windowsill, he warily poked his head outside, teeth bared in preparation to bite into the certain attacker nearby. A frigid paw dared to step forward, outstretched claws connecting with wrapping paper rather than the familiar cool touch of mud.
Recoiling backwards in shock, the grimy feline nearly lost his footing on the windowsill, tripping over himself out of instinct to get away. Once he regained his balance on the ledge, blurred vision discerned a brown little package in front of him, as well as a large crow not too far off. His scarred features contorted into confusion as the raven recited a note, one his poor eyesight failed to notice on the package. A furrowed brow darkening his otherwise glowing stare, he glanced down at the package -- gut and skin a deer? How was he supposed to gut anything with a present? His confusion wore off as realization dawned on him, ashen lips forming half of an "o". The poltergeist made quick work of the plain wrapping, claws slitting into the paper with expected ease before the bundled knife fell from its remains. Oh, killing things was much easier with a blade; albeit, he could have used the package to bludgeon instead if it was heavy enoug. Snatching it up from the ground, it took a bit of squinting and holding the handle close to his face in order for him to recognize the shape of an alligator. The smallest of smiles pulled up the corners of half his unscathed muzzle, for once morbidly genuine. F.G, huh? Unless he had a secret admirer, which was a bad decision for everyone involved, the initials belonged to Fenris himself, based on the knowledge that he was the only "f" member he knew of with a last name. He was always so formal; that was the lone thing about the other that rubbed Beck the wrong way. Beyond that, he would admit Fenris was tolerable, and coming from him, that was the highest compliment in his book. Plus, whatever species he was had a steady, loud heartbeat. He had grown attached to heartbeats, having been missing his for almost his entire existence.
His grip had adapted long ago to a dagger readied to slash and hack in order to defend himself, the hunting knife wasn't far too different. Certainly nicer than the tarnished dagger he swiped from a dead guard's sheath. He ran his paw down the edge of it, tempted to test its sharpness right then and there, but he refrained. Instead, he dragged the side of the blade across his black-iron shackle as if to sharpen it, creating a horrid scraping sound yet leaving no mark on the hell-forged metal. Content with checking over its surprising quality, Beck sloppily re-wrapped the knife in the scraps of packaging and slipped back through the broken window, assumedly placing it among his most prized belongings before returning to shoo off the raven. He hesitated, tilting his head to peer at the strange corvid. It had to belong to Fenrisulfr himsel, right? Years of observing countless interactions taught him that people were expected to show gratitude after receiving something -- but he had never been given anything before. Always needing to take and steal. He didn't know how to say thank you.
Numbly waving the raven away, Beck watched its blurred silhouette merge into the dark treeline, honey-brown eyes searching for it in vain as it grew further and further away. A fatigued sigh rattled in his chest, shoulders slumping as he returned his gaze to glaring at the ground. Giving a final twitch of his notched ear, the boy turned and retreated back into the decrepit house, allowing the night to continue dragging on as boredom once more overtook him.
[align=center]»――➤Even through his persistent wheezing that became much more prominent in silence, his ears twitched upwards at the soft sound of treading footsteps outside. Immediately he froze, halting his sorting with a book of matches in one paw and a shattered hand mirror in the other. After a moment of paranoid listening, the footsteps gave a heavier thud, as if dropping something, before retreating back into the night. His own luminous glare was his only source of light as he gingerly placed his cherished trinkets back in their respected places strewn on the dusty floor, creeping towards the only entrance in the entire dwelling: an ajar window with its framing splintered and panes punched out. Clambering up to the windowsill, he warily poked his head outside, teeth bared in preparation to bite into the certain attacker nearby. A frigid paw dared to step forward, outstretched claws connecting with wrapping paper rather than the familiar cool touch of mud.
Recoiling backwards in shock, the grimy feline nearly lost his footing on the windowsill, tripping over himself out of instinct to get away. Once he regained his balance on the ledge, blurred vision discerned a brown little package in front of him, as well as a large crow not too far off. His scarred features contorted into confusion as the raven recited a note, one his poor eyesight failed to notice on the package. A furrowed brow darkening his otherwise glowing stare, he glanced down at the package -- gut and skin a deer? How was he supposed to gut anything with a present? His confusion wore off as realization dawned on him, ashen lips forming half of an "o". The poltergeist made quick work of the plain wrapping, claws slitting into the paper with expected ease before the bundled knife fell from its remains. Oh, killing things was much easier with a blade; albeit, he could have used the package to bludgeon instead if it was heavy enoug. Snatching it up from the ground, it took a bit of squinting and holding the handle close to his face in order for him to recognize the shape of an alligator. The smallest of smiles pulled up the corners of half his unscathed muzzle, for once morbidly genuine. F.G, huh? Unless he had a secret admirer, which was a bad decision for everyone involved, the initials belonged to Fenris himself, based on the knowledge that he was the only "f" member he knew of with a last name. He was always so formal; that was the lone thing about the other that rubbed Beck the wrong way. Beyond that, he would admit Fenris was tolerable, and coming from him, that was the highest compliment in his book. Plus, whatever species he was had a steady, loud heartbeat. He had grown attached to heartbeats, having been missing his for almost his entire existence.
His grip had adapted long ago to a dagger readied to slash and hack in order to defend himself, the hunting knife wasn't far too different. Certainly nicer than the tarnished dagger he swiped from a dead guard's sheath. He ran his paw down the edge of it, tempted to test its sharpness right then and there, but he refrained. Instead, he dragged the side of the blade across his black-iron shackle as if to sharpen it, creating a horrid scraping sound yet leaving no mark on the hell-forged metal. Content with checking over its surprising quality, Beck sloppily re-wrapped the knife in the scraps of packaging and slipped back through the broken window, assumedly placing it among his most prized belongings before returning to shoo off the raven. He hesitated, tilting his head to peer at the strange corvid. It had to belong to Fenrisulfr himsel, right? Years of observing countless interactions taught him that people were expected to show gratitude after receiving something -- but he had never been given anything before. Always needing to take and steal. He didn't know how to say thank you.
Numbly waving the raven away, Beck watched its blurred silhouette merge into the dark treeline, honey-brown eyes searching for it in vain as it grew further and further away. A fatigued sigh rattled in his chest, shoulders slumping as he returned his gaze to glaring at the ground. Giving a final twitch of his notched ear, the boy turned and retreated back into the decrepit house, allowing the night to continue dragging on as boredom once more overtook him.