03-06-2019, 01:57 AM
How odd it was to hide behind his mask once again. A face of spiked bone replacing scars and freckles -- halfway through their trek, Beck yanked the worn mask from his face, unable to tolerate the memory of its chilled bone pressed against his skin. Too many memories attached themselves to the bone, soaked into the fossilized marrow. The memories couldn't reach his thoughts when it was slung around his neck by a fabric strap. The time before Morgan, his time could only be remembered through second-hand experience, and it certainly seemed more fun than the smothering, righteous fluffball. When he looked up at Crow, he didn't see a noble figure. He saw a coward on a rooftop, dribbling blood from his nose and mumbling in a drunken stupor. Just as he had seen Morgan as a solitary pup washed ashore, and just as he had been himself. But something was going to fail, something they would overlook -- anxiety gnawed at fractured ribs as the mangy feline trailed after the raiding party, burdened by delusion and a tin bucket of viscera held from his jaws.
Why aren't you excited, Becky? It's been too long. He grimaced. Muddy paws limped to a halt behind the others, and Beck sucked in a wispy inhale to steady his thoughts. You haven't grown soft on me, have you? It was a much different scene than the swift moments before a skirmish broke out in the streets he ruled, but the anticipation remained the same. He glanced over a bony shoulder to ensure the satchel left behind by Morgan was secure around his torso, filled with rudimentary supplies such as herbs or gauze to use in a pinch, as well as a makeshift tourniquet. He hadn't bothered with paint. Why camouflage when he could easily disappear from the living's eye? Placing his bucket of harvested guts in the sand, the poltergeist tipped his head to study Crow, unblinking as he awaited the telltale signal.
[align=center]»――➤Why aren't you excited, Becky? It's been too long. He grimaced. Muddy paws limped to a halt behind the others, and Beck sucked in a wispy inhale to steady his thoughts. You haven't grown soft on me, have you? It was a much different scene than the swift moments before a skirmish broke out in the streets he ruled, but the anticipation remained the same. He glanced over a bony shoulder to ensure the satchel left behind by Morgan was secure around his torso, filled with rudimentary supplies such as herbs or gauze to use in a pinch, as well as a makeshift tourniquet. He hadn't bothered with paint. Why camouflage when he could easily disappear from the living's eye? Placing his bucket of harvested guts in the sand, the poltergeist tipped his head to study Crow, unblinking as he awaited the telltale signal.