04-17-2018, 02:26 AM
Beck would have loved a life of pacifism and luxury, not whatever struggle to survive he ended up with. He was at the bottom of the food chain by the time he was an orphan and a menace, easy pickings for any predator that wanted to snatch him up off the streets. Adaptation was quick to rescue him, and soon enough, Beck felt no twinge of guilt every time he kicked an attacker's knees in, split his knuckles punching front teeth, or even at his worse, plunging a blade into an unsuspecting victim from behind. He never learned proper fighting, and he didn't need to -- he was an improviser, and usually only got violent when his traps failed to subdue or his emotions slipped out of his control. Which was a lot. Not his proudest confession.
Nostalgic memories of when he had actual adrenaline to accompany him aside, Beck assumed he would end up caught before actually doing any damage. He was, after all, on foreign turf, leaving him vulnerable. And he had lost his element of surprise, a tactic he was heavily reliant on. This was a bad idea, bad idea to the bone. He rocked on his toes, sizing up the tiger in his internal tug-o-war between retreat or beat-down. Weighing his options wasn't difficult, visibly biting down on his tongue as he was rightfully questioned. Fuck it. Beck lurched forward expectantly, assumedly aiming to pounce onto Roy and scratch at his face, but at the last second, the scrawny feline faked out and slid beneath the bulky tiger, claws outstretched to rake up and kick into his exposed underbelly. The poltergeist had been needing more practice anyways for the next time he and Pincher went toe-to-toe, and Roy was lucky enough to be his punching bag, in exaggerated terms.
[align=center]»――➤Nostalgic memories of when he had actual adrenaline to accompany him aside, Beck assumed he would end up caught before actually doing any damage. He was, after all, on foreign turf, leaving him vulnerable. And he had lost his element of surprise, a tactic he was heavily reliant on. This was a bad idea, bad idea to the bone. He rocked on his toes, sizing up the tiger in his internal tug-o-war between retreat or beat-down. Weighing his options wasn't difficult, visibly biting down on his tongue as he was rightfully questioned. Fuck it. Beck lurched forward expectantly, assumedly aiming to pounce onto Roy and scratch at his face, but at the last second, the scrawny feline faked out and slid beneath the bulky tiger, claws outstretched to rake up and kick into his exposed underbelly. The poltergeist had been needing more practice anyways for the next time he and Pincher went toe-to-toe, and Roy was lucky enough to be his punching bag, in exaggerated terms.