10-26-2018, 11:01 PM
Beck shared Maisie's woes of too much noise -- shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up -- although his ears were much more prominent. Comedically large triangular satellites constantly swiveling to pinpoint danger, one even baring the mark of a murdered man's blade, cartilage cleanly notched instead of the ragged tear from claws as would be expected. He deserved it. At the wicked voice snarling in his mind and bouncing off the inner walls of his skull, the boy furiously rubbed his face into the sand, trying to force the other voice out.
A familiar chittering snapped him from his groveling trance, strangely welcomed as he twisted his head to the side. Catching the predicted glimpse of Maisie, he sneezed to free the grits of sand stuck to his mutilated muzzle, although the granules lodged between exposed teeth would be a different challenge of its own. Yet his attention was elsewhere; the brightly-colored rubber ball clutched in fossilized talons drew his stare to it as the moon pulled water, and the scrawny ghost scrambled to his feet, kicking sand over the puddle of toxic drool beginning to soak the earth where his chin had been before approaching with a limp and a curious tilt of his head. While he desperately wished he could ask the young velociraptor where she found the ball, perhaps so he could visit the site himself to collect more for a hoarded collection, he refrained, knowing full well of the language barrier. But what else could holding a ball and yelling for attention mean? She wanted to play, right? Sure, why the hell not. He couldn't keep himself from abruptly breaking out in a strangled mimicry of her playful chitters, vocal chords warping to recreate it before he had satisfied the tic and shook out his grimy pelt. Beck dropped into an impish bow akin to a mutt ready to fetch whatever was thrown and even gave his stump of a tail a wag as a signal that he was willing to participate in a frivolous game. "C'mon, thr-row it or somethin'," he rasped, clicking his teeth in impatience.
[align=center]»――➤A familiar chittering snapped him from his groveling trance, strangely welcomed as he twisted his head to the side. Catching the predicted glimpse of Maisie, he sneezed to free the grits of sand stuck to his mutilated muzzle, although the granules lodged between exposed teeth would be a different challenge of its own. Yet his attention was elsewhere; the brightly-colored rubber ball clutched in fossilized talons drew his stare to it as the moon pulled water, and the scrawny ghost scrambled to his feet, kicking sand over the puddle of toxic drool beginning to soak the earth where his chin had been before approaching with a limp and a curious tilt of his head. While he desperately wished he could ask the young velociraptor where she found the ball, perhaps so he could visit the site himself to collect more for a hoarded collection, he refrained, knowing full well of the language barrier. But what else could holding a ball and yelling for attention mean? She wanted to play, right? Sure, why the hell not. He couldn't keep himself from abruptly breaking out in a strangled mimicry of her playful chitters, vocal chords warping to recreate it before he had satisfied the tic and shook out his grimy pelt. Beck dropped into an impish bow akin to a mutt ready to fetch whatever was thrown and even gave his stump of a tail a wag as a signal that he was willing to participate in a frivolous game. "C'mon, thr-row it or somethin'," he rasped, clicking his teeth in impatience.