04-08-2018, 09:48 PM
Well, this was spiraling out of control. That was fine, everything was fine. So much for your lousy plan, Becky. Now was not the time to bicker with his own thoughts, as multiple creatures stepped from the shadowed foliage and readied themselves behind him. It was enough to snap the boy from his horrid shrieking, claws still hooked around the bell's cord as panic swelled in his burning chest. He bit back a hiss, wanting to tell them that it was supposed to be an ambush, that his killers did a better job at surprising the enemy then they did. When Argus and Guru slipped up like the eels they are, Beck offered a defeated smirk towards everyone present and yanked his claws form the bell. Despite their early failures, they weren't the main threat. Unlike Pincher and his selfishness, he wasn't willing to send his followers to their demises. No, Beck fully anticipated a retreat, and as soon as they provided a long enough time slot for others to retrieve Vlad, he would back down from the pitiful distraction. It was a functional strategy, and it would have worked, too, if it weren't for the unknown fact that Vladimir was dead.
He squinted at the two females as if attempting to pinpoint their reason for existence. Just to be annoying, he supposed. "An example? Thought that the mighty bad-ass pirates would've already had that handled. Or are y'all yellow-bellied?" the poltergeist hoarsely giggled in his infamous deranged manner, vocal chords akin to crickets rubbing their scratchy wings together. All the yelling had taken a toll on him; his unnecessary breathing was ragged and gasping, accompanied by worsening coughs. By the time, Guru spoke down from her imaginary throne, Beck's matted flanks shuddered with his struggle to regain air. He couldn't have a coughing fit right in the middle of a fight, that was just stupid. They must have thought he had asthma or something. He hardly noticed the suggestion of her words, nor even answered. Instead, he hunched despite his efforts not to make a scene of his coughing, hacking and wheezing and eventually retching, as disgusting as it was. All the screaming had irritated his feeble lungs, sloshing around with a centuries-old mixture of inhaled river water and tar-like blood. So his recreated system reverted to the primitive instinct of forcing the fluids out, resulting in his awful gagging. Before Guru could recoil from the coughing poltergeist, he sputtered up the diluted blood from his lungs. Swishing the solution as well as he could in his half-exposed mouth, Beck crudely spat at her feet, presumably spattering her dainty paws. The blood writhed as if its own entity, and with globs of antifreeze joining the chemical cocktail, the faintly blue spit staining the earth and Guru's paws. He himself seemed disgusted by the blood-and-toxin-tinged phlegm, but he supposed his mind just had to roll with it and catch up to his impulsive actions. Stumbling back, he smeared away the residue dripping from scarred lips with the back of his arms and twisting his features into a particularly nasty grin, he rasped with a fading rattle, "Hope ya like that, too, ya sicko."
Then the man of the hour arrived, the notorious bitch of the high seas. Or at least Pincher wanted to be well-known, apparent by his snobbish demeanor and rambling words. He could tell that Pincher was lying. He hadn't seen Vlad or assisted in his apparent beating because of one small detail: Vlad didn't have any eyes -- a fact Beck was keen to notice the first time he glanced at the cougar. The way the fabric lay on his face revealed to subtle folds where eyelids should have been lifting it up. It'd be difficult to mistake a gouged socket for a nose unless you were that intoxicated by rum or a poor liar. As soon as Pincher waltzed into nearsighted view, Beck nearly lunged at him on sight, saving any challenging words for when he was standing over the doberman's corpse. But really? Monologuing? The commander's face screwed up into an expression of disgust and confusion, electricity bristling down his form as if itching for punches to be thrown and not just pointless jargon. "Do ya even hear yourself when ya talk?" he mumbled, to more himself then anything, but immediately forgot the conversation when an opening appeared. Girls' night out! Go wild! As soon as [member=66]PINCHER[/member] uttered his typical nonsense, the poltergeist lurched forward, apparition gladly molting its feline disguise to take on the shape of a coyote. A rather practical trick up his sleeve, to not own a body and instead have free reign over his form. Jaws lined with razor-blade teeth posed to clamp down on Pincher's throat just beneath his chin where he would hang, the shapeshifting entity would not only just bite down hard enough to feel his own teeth through the tissue, but he would also violently shake his head with fangs hooked into flesh in order to tear, shred, and sever. He was aiming for arteries, and he wanted to see the captain gush crimson from his jugular. By the time Pincher managed to throw Beck off, his neck would look like it had been mangled by a chainsaw.
[align=center]»――➤He squinted at the two females as if attempting to pinpoint their reason for existence. Just to be annoying, he supposed. "An example? Thought that the mighty bad-ass pirates would've already had that handled. Or are y'all yellow-bellied?" the poltergeist hoarsely giggled in his infamous deranged manner, vocal chords akin to crickets rubbing their scratchy wings together. All the yelling had taken a toll on him; his unnecessary breathing was ragged and gasping, accompanied by worsening coughs. By the time, Guru spoke down from her imaginary throne, Beck's matted flanks shuddered with his struggle to regain air. He couldn't have a coughing fit right in the middle of a fight, that was just stupid. They must have thought he had asthma or something. He hardly noticed the suggestion of her words, nor even answered. Instead, he hunched despite his efforts not to make a scene of his coughing, hacking and wheezing and eventually retching, as disgusting as it was. All the screaming had irritated his feeble lungs, sloshing around with a centuries-old mixture of inhaled river water and tar-like blood. So his recreated system reverted to the primitive instinct of forcing the fluids out, resulting in his awful gagging. Before Guru could recoil from the coughing poltergeist, he sputtered up the diluted blood from his lungs. Swishing the solution as well as he could in his half-exposed mouth, Beck crudely spat at her feet, presumably spattering her dainty paws. The blood writhed as if its own entity, and with globs of antifreeze joining the chemical cocktail, the faintly blue spit staining the earth and Guru's paws. He himself seemed disgusted by the blood-and-toxin-tinged phlegm, but he supposed his mind just had to roll with it and catch up to his impulsive actions. Stumbling back, he smeared away the residue dripping from scarred lips with the back of his arms and twisting his features into a particularly nasty grin, he rasped with a fading rattle, "Hope ya like that, too, ya sicko."
Then the man of the hour arrived, the notorious bitch of the high seas. Or at least Pincher wanted to be well-known, apparent by his snobbish demeanor and rambling words. He could tell that Pincher was lying. He hadn't seen Vlad or assisted in his apparent beating because of one small detail: Vlad didn't have any eyes -- a fact Beck was keen to notice the first time he glanced at the cougar. The way the fabric lay on his face revealed to subtle folds where eyelids should have been lifting it up. It'd be difficult to mistake a gouged socket for a nose unless you were that intoxicated by rum or a poor liar. As soon as Pincher waltzed into nearsighted view, Beck nearly lunged at him on sight, saving any challenging words for when he was standing over the doberman's corpse. But really? Monologuing? The commander's face screwed up into an expression of disgust and confusion, electricity bristling down his form as if itching for punches to be thrown and not just pointless jargon. "Do ya even hear yourself when ya talk?" he mumbled, to more himself then anything, but immediately forgot the conversation when an opening appeared. Girls' night out! Go wild! As soon as [member=66]PINCHER[/member] uttered his typical nonsense, the poltergeist lurched forward, apparition gladly molting its feline disguise to take on the shape of a coyote. A rather practical trick up his sleeve, to not own a body and instead have free reign over his form. Jaws lined with razor-blade teeth posed to clamp down on Pincher's throat just beneath his chin where he would hang, the shapeshifting entity would not only just bite down hard enough to feel his own teeth through the tissue, but he would also violently shake his head with fangs hooked into flesh in order to tear, shred, and sever. He was aiming for arteries, and he wanted to see the captain gush crimson from his jugular. By the time Pincher managed to throw Beck off, his neck would look like it had been mangled by a chainsaw.