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Several attempts of yanking the man's legs -- only to lose his footing and land on his back with a pained wheeze -- was it took to dissuade the boy from the useless tactic. Since when were dead people so heavy? A fatigued pant slipped from his mouth, invisible despite the frigid air, yet shifted to a growl of frustration as he pushed himself from the snow once more. Wisely deciding to opt for another method, Beck grabbed the man by his ankles once more, this time turning the body until it was perpendicular to the west: the direction he knew where the nearest town slept. Or at least he assumed would be... what time was it anyway? Dropping the body's ankles, his head twisted around to glare up into the bare treetops, branches far too intertwined to allow proper sunlight through. If he squinted enough, he could see a smidge of light overhead. A frown curved the corners of his mouth. Daytime meant he wouldn't have a lot of cover for his planned antics.
The poltergeist merely shrugged the hinderance off, however, moving to kneel by the body and press his hands up against the corpse's side. Dark eyes lingered on the ragged hole torn by his blade. The soaked red of fabric tempted him to prod at the frayed skin or stick his fingers in the wound, aching to earn a reaction from the man -- it had only been a couple of minutes, right? He might've only been unconscious, but not dead quite yet. Briefly leaning closer to his chest debunked his silly theory. No heartbeat between the two of them. Beck fell back to his knees, sputtering out a wheeze first before setting to work on rolling the remnants of the hunter through the slush.
Flipping the body along turned out to be a tedious effort, if not annoying. When he finally reached dry ground, Beck gladly reverted back to his original approach, dragging the cadaver through winter's debris. By the time he could look over his shoulder and discern a fence not too far from his forest's treeline, both he and the hunter were covered in mud and blood. Not that Beck minded his grimy appearance. He glanced around with wide eyes, at first checking for any unwanted witnesses before he scanned the clearing within the fence and the trees for ideas. His gaze fell on two wavering birches, close enough to hang the man's body between their branches. The boy almost cackled at his creativity, only to fall silent in thought when he remembered he lacked the material needed to pull off the scene: rope. Scowling, Beck looked from the trees to the corpse, one hand perched on a bony hip while the other ruffled his hair in contemplation. After a moment, his face illuminated with a solution. Maybe guts were just as strong as ropes?
Stepping back from his macabre work with a wicked smirk, he dusted off his bloody hands. The man, now with his entire abdominal cavity shredded open and emptied, was suspended in the air like a star, intestines binding his wrists and ankles to the birch's helpful limps. Beck couldn't wait to see the looks on the faces of whoever discovered his masterpiece. But... his stare was drawn to the trail his efforts of transporting the body had created. The wiry boy looked torn for a beat. Waiting for horrified reactions was alluring, yet the purple blur crept back into his thoughts. An oddity that was much more interesting than terrorizing people as he had done for so many years. Chest puffing out with an inhale and quickly deflating as he sighed in defeat to his own curiosity, the street rat abandoned the mutilated hunter with a forlorn glance cast over his shoulder before retracing his steps.
Identifying the tracks of the creature was relatively easy, its peculiar footprint sticking out like a black sheep in a herd, although the transition to mud took some adjusting. The tracks ran blindly for a while before the space between the imprints shortened as its pace slowed, then quickened once more. As Beck followed the unintentional guide, however, he purposefully disturbed and covered the tracks, smearing them out of existence with the heel of his boot. Just in case. He wasn't entirely sure what the end of the trail would reward him with. Upon gaining sight of the den's widened maw, slight disappointment sent a wave of distortion through his image. Curiosity still gnawed on his mind, enticing him to inch forward and peer inside. Was the thing in there? Would it bite off his head in a fit of panic? Freckles crinkling at the thought, the poltergeist lowered himself onto his belly for a better look.
Well, it was purple, alright. And larger than a badger. And sleeping. Despite his attempts to squint or rub at his eyes, poor vision failed to collect any more observable traits. Maybe it was winged? He thought he saw wings in the swift flash when it darted into the woods. Beck's cheek hit his folded arms. It looked so peaceful while it was resting, compared to the desperate, squirming reptile maybe an hour or so ago. In the silence, Beck noticed a faint glow from its collarbone, which made him perk in interest. Abruptly, the brush rustled from behind and snatched his attention away once more. Oh, right. He let two of the stupid hunters go.
"Wake up." He didn't realize he started to speak until the choppy words were rasped into the air. Not waiting for any response more than the creature's groggy stirring, Beck pressed his cheek against a gauze-bound forearm again and added in an amused tone, "You should get going unless you want those hunters to catch up with you."
The poltergeist merely shrugged the hinderance off, however, moving to kneel by the body and press his hands up against the corpse's side. Dark eyes lingered on the ragged hole torn by his blade. The soaked red of fabric tempted him to prod at the frayed skin or stick his fingers in the wound, aching to earn a reaction from the man -- it had only been a couple of minutes, right? He might've only been unconscious, but not dead quite yet. Briefly leaning closer to his chest debunked his silly theory. No heartbeat between the two of them. Beck fell back to his knees, sputtering out a wheeze first before setting to work on rolling the remnants of the hunter through the slush.
Flipping the body along turned out to be a tedious effort, if not annoying. When he finally reached dry ground, Beck gladly reverted back to his original approach, dragging the cadaver through winter's debris. By the time he could look over his shoulder and discern a fence not too far from his forest's treeline, both he and the hunter were covered in mud and blood. Not that Beck minded his grimy appearance. He glanced around with wide eyes, at first checking for any unwanted witnesses before he scanned the clearing within the fence and the trees for ideas. His gaze fell on two wavering birches, close enough to hang the man's body between their branches. The boy almost cackled at his creativity, only to fall silent in thought when he remembered he lacked the material needed to pull off the scene: rope. Scowling, Beck looked from the trees to the corpse, one hand perched on a bony hip while the other ruffled his hair in contemplation. After a moment, his face illuminated with a solution. Maybe guts were just as strong as ropes?
Stepping back from his macabre work with a wicked smirk, he dusted off his bloody hands. The man, now with his entire abdominal cavity shredded open and emptied, was suspended in the air like a star, intestines binding his wrists and ankles to the birch's helpful limps. Beck couldn't wait to see the looks on the faces of whoever discovered his masterpiece. But... his stare was drawn to the trail his efforts of transporting the body had created. The wiry boy looked torn for a beat. Waiting for horrified reactions was alluring, yet the purple blur crept back into his thoughts. An oddity that was much more interesting than terrorizing people as he had done for so many years. Chest puffing out with an inhale and quickly deflating as he sighed in defeat to his own curiosity, the street rat abandoned the mutilated hunter with a forlorn glance cast over his shoulder before retracing his steps.
Identifying the tracks of the creature was relatively easy, its peculiar footprint sticking out like a black sheep in a herd, although the transition to mud took some adjusting. The tracks ran blindly for a while before the space between the imprints shortened as its pace slowed, then quickened once more. As Beck followed the unintentional guide, however, he purposefully disturbed and covered the tracks, smearing them out of existence with the heel of his boot. Just in case. He wasn't entirely sure what the end of the trail would reward him with. Upon gaining sight of the den's widened maw, slight disappointment sent a wave of distortion through his image. Curiosity still gnawed on his mind, enticing him to inch forward and peer inside. Was the thing in there? Would it bite off his head in a fit of panic? Freckles crinkling at the thought, the poltergeist lowered himself onto his belly for a better look.
Well, it was purple, alright. And larger than a badger. And sleeping. Despite his attempts to squint or rub at his eyes, poor vision failed to collect any more observable traits. Maybe it was winged? He thought he saw wings in the swift flash when it darted into the woods. Beck's cheek hit his folded arms. It looked so peaceful while it was resting, compared to the desperate, squirming reptile maybe an hour or so ago. In the silence, Beck noticed a faint glow from its collarbone, which made him perk in interest. Abruptly, the brush rustled from behind and snatched his attention away once more. Oh, right. He let two of the stupid hunters go.
"Wake up." He didn't realize he started to speak until the choppy words were rasped into the air. Not waiting for any response more than the creature's groggy stirring, Beck pressed his cheek against a gauze-bound forearm again and added in an amused tone, "You should get going unless you want those hunters to catch up with you."