03-18-2019, 03:50 AM
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Time crawled by so painfully slow when he was alone. Despite his affinity towards the dark and all the quiet that it carried, Beck grew to despise the night. He couldn't sleep -- that would defy the essence of a restless spirit, after all. The little feline sought to make the most out of his insomniac curse, however, spending his hours working. His work varied from organizing his collection of classic films alphabetically then by release date then by the color of their cases, or his most recent taxidermy project, or staring at medical books until their paragraphs and diagrams were ingrained into his blurred vision, or cuddling with Audrey, or sharpening his knives... his nightwork hardly varied from his erratic daytime schedule, minus the time slots designated for pestering the locals.
But tonight, all he had the motivation to do was lie on his wounded back and close his eyes in an effort to relax for once. It would be a feat if he could manage the assumedly simple task. And yet his ears still swiveled in annoyance at the sounds of his loyal flytrap gnawing away at its leftover dinner, and the crickets outside, and the soft splashes outside from creatures lurking beneath the swamp's waters. Eventually, he lulled himself into a near-stupor. His chest heaved one shallow wheeze before he shut off his unneeded breathing entirely, and his apparition faded as less energy was focused on maintaining it. His weakened state wasn't sleeping, but it was something.
A voice from outside alerted him and the exhausted ghost jolted upright, although his mind was too shrouded by haze to piece together what had been said. Who would dare wander out to his lousy boat in the middle of the night? Wobbling as he stood, Beck limped from his accumulated nest of blankets to the door. He warily pushed it open with his ears flattened. Only to be greeted by the taller form of the general. Still fairly dazed, the poltergeist leaned on the rotten doorframe, glossy eyes a dim source of light as he studied Crow. "Don'tcha know how to knock?" he finally said after sucking in a breath. Beck slumped, almost defeatedly, and his apparition flickered before he added, "What d'ya want?"
But tonight, all he had the motivation to do was lie on his wounded back and close his eyes in an effort to relax for once. It would be a feat if he could manage the assumedly simple task. And yet his ears still swiveled in annoyance at the sounds of his loyal flytrap gnawing away at its leftover dinner, and the crickets outside, and the soft splashes outside from creatures lurking beneath the swamp's waters. Eventually, he lulled himself into a near-stupor. His chest heaved one shallow wheeze before he shut off his unneeded breathing entirely, and his apparition faded as less energy was focused on maintaining it. His weakened state wasn't sleeping, but it was something.
A voice from outside alerted him and the exhausted ghost jolted upright, although his mind was too shrouded by haze to piece together what had been said. Who would dare wander out to his lousy boat in the middle of the night? Wobbling as he stood, Beck limped from his accumulated nest of blankets to the door. He warily pushed it open with his ears flattened. Only to be greeted by the taller form of the general. Still fairly dazed, the poltergeist leaned on the rotten doorframe, glossy eyes a dim source of light as he studied Crow. "Don'tcha know how to knock?" he finally said after sucking in a breath. Beck slumped, almost defeatedly, and his apparition flickered before he added, "What d'ya want?"