07-12-2018, 03:29 AM
Wordlessly arriving on the sidelines, the clan's notorious eavesdropper surveyed the armored man's movements with a distant curiosity glinting in his honey-brown glare. He opted to be called "the Meta", huh? An ominous name with a pretentious ring to it. In the poltergeist's blatant opinion, he liked Agent Maine much better. His apparition briefly rippled to reflect his otherwise unreadable thoughts, dark eyelids peeling back ever so slightly as Beck stared on with wavering disinterest. More than happy to let his peers bother with the conversation, bloodless lips remained pressed together in a centuries-old scowl before he uttered the typical welcoming grumble, "Yeah, whatever, just come to camp already -- did ya say mission?" The single phrase was enough for the runt of a feline to perk up like a mutt being offered a bone, his notched ear beginning to erratically twitch in response.
His childlike excitement quickly dwindled into suspicion, slumping forward and twisting his scarred lips into a wary snarl. "What type of mission? Are ya some kinda spy? Who sent ya?" Beck half-hissed and half-whistled out, punctured lung failing him in the middle of an improvised interrogation. A muddied paw took a threatening step forward as his stubby tail attempted to bristle and lash, copying the real cats he remembered from experience. His nearsighted eyes couldn't discern a face beneath the helmet's orange visor, and without any concern for an aggressive reaction, the commander reared back onto his hind legs to stretch forward on tiptoes. Wobbling for a second before steadying himself by propping his paws up on Meta's chest -- where his touch created slight yet visible frost across the armor plates -- the entity allowed himself to temporarily float as all spirits could in order to balance the height difference. No longer having to look up to meet the hellhound's shielded gaze, Beck dared to knock on the helmet's visor as if the other's head were nothing more than a fish tank. "What's this helmet even for, huh? Whatcha hidin'?" he sneered in a shrill voice, tilting his head side to side as he looked for any angle to glimpse Meta's true face.
[align=center]»――➤His childlike excitement quickly dwindled into suspicion, slumping forward and twisting his scarred lips into a wary snarl. "What type of mission? Are ya some kinda spy? Who sent ya?" Beck half-hissed and half-whistled out, punctured lung failing him in the middle of an improvised interrogation. A muddied paw took a threatening step forward as his stubby tail attempted to bristle and lash, copying the real cats he remembered from experience. His nearsighted eyes couldn't discern a face beneath the helmet's orange visor, and without any concern for an aggressive reaction, the commander reared back onto his hind legs to stretch forward on tiptoes. Wobbling for a second before steadying himself by propping his paws up on Meta's chest -- where his touch created slight yet visible frost across the armor plates -- the entity allowed himself to temporarily float as all spirits could in order to balance the height difference. No longer having to look up to meet the hellhound's shielded gaze, Beck dared to knock on the helmet's visor as if the other's head were nothing more than a fish tank. "What's this helmet even for, huh? Whatcha hidin'?" he sneered in a shrill voice, tilting his head side to side as he looked for any angle to glimpse Meta's true face.