06-04-2018, 04:34 AM
The suffocating heat hardly affected Beck. He heard a couple of members snickering over the suggestion the reason he wasn't close to heatstroke like everyone else was because his heart was too frozen to even feel anything anymore. Part of him wanted to sulk over and whine about how his heart was perfectly fine, another part opted to cut their tongues out for disrespect, but the boy only flinched and sullenly limped away, stubby tail drooping and ears pinned flat in an attempt to block out their words. He wasn't cold, but he was cold. Nevermind, that didn't even make sense to him. A frigid apparition and a chilled draft wherever he went were trademarks of his ghostly-ness; a polar opposite to Fenrisulfr's furnace of a body. He died in the cold, and he was cursed to continue his afterlife radiating an unwelcoming, bitter cold.
If only Valo-kas wasn't destined to ooze stomach medicine and pure irritation as well. Dragging his feet through the town and kicking up quite a bit of overgrown moss in the process, squealing voices over a crackly radio caught his flighty attention, bewildered disgust overtaking his freckled expression. The mysterious voices were singing, and he loathed the earsplitting noise with a burning passion. Wildly thrashing his head around until he was dizzy from a rattled brain in a hopeless attempt to get the music out of his mind, he wasn't surprised to discover the source of his migraine was their resident mutant. Beck loitered on the fringe of the empty party, a skeptical scowl glaring daggers towards Valo-kas. If looks alone could kill, the mutated feline would be lying face down in a pool of his own flamingo-pink blood. "I don't dance," was all the poltergeist flatly rasped, freezing paws awkwardly crossing over themselves as he fidgeted. How did animals even dance anyways? He'd yet to learn how creatures who walked on four legs managed their own choreography, but he figured it would be amusing, at least.
[align=center]»――➤If only Valo-kas wasn't destined to ooze stomach medicine and pure irritation as well. Dragging his feet through the town and kicking up quite a bit of overgrown moss in the process, squealing voices over a crackly radio caught his flighty attention, bewildered disgust overtaking his freckled expression. The mysterious voices were singing, and he loathed the earsplitting noise with a burning passion. Wildly thrashing his head around until he was dizzy from a rattled brain in a hopeless attempt to get the music out of his mind, he wasn't surprised to discover the source of his migraine was their resident mutant. Beck loitered on the fringe of the empty party, a skeptical scowl glaring daggers towards Valo-kas. If looks alone could kill, the mutated feline would be lying face down in a pool of his own flamingo-pink blood. "I don't dance," was all the poltergeist flatly rasped, freezing paws awkwardly crossing over themselves as he fidgeted. How did animals even dance anyways? He'd yet to learn how creatures who walked on four legs managed their own choreography, but he figured it would be amusing, at least.