07-22-2019, 10:47 PM
[align=center]
An obstacle situated itself in the little ghost's path. He raised his head in faux attention, yet his glossy eyes neglected to peer up into Crow's green ones. His well-worn name failed to stir any response more than a subtle twitch of his crooked nose. The name "Beck" didn't mean anything, truthfully. The identity was already lost to time, stowed away in the reaper's pocket without an epitaph for the next century to gaze upon.
Somewhere deep within his hazed psyche, the entity recognized the vocalized string of syllables as a prompt. A question? Maybe. His useless breathing stilled as he scavenged an empty mind for the correct reaction. The tang of copper lingered in his nose and mouth -- oh, they were concerned about blood. His thoughts dragged slowly, like defeated beasts neck-deep in quicksand. If the obstacle identified his latest stain as real blood, he would never be able to get home. Beck stiffly opened his jaws, unknowingly releasing the scruff of the severed head as he merely gawked for a moment, distracted by a memorized film clip. "Corn syrup," he raspily mumbled. The infamous words of Billy Loomis were all that managed to spill past bruised lips, stolen from the silver screen. Corn syrup meant the blood plastering his front was fake; it meant there was nothing to worry about. It would persuade the obstacle into leaving.
The young poltergeist recovered the captain's head without further explanation, movement unnatural and forced as he moved a shaky paw to sidestep past both Moth and Crow. Undoubtedly, he would not succeed in limping further forward as the moment of faint lucidity slipped from his grasp, rendering his senses too muddled to prevent those present from intervening.
[ feel free to powerplay -- beck's catatonic and won't respond to anything anyway ]
Somewhere deep within his hazed psyche, the entity recognized the vocalized string of syllables as a prompt. A question? Maybe. His useless breathing stilled as he scavenged an empty mind for the correct reaction. The tang of copper lingered in his nose and mouth -- oh, they were concerned about blood. His thoughts dragged slowly, like defeated beasts neck-deep in quicksand. If the obstacle identified his latest stain as real blood, he would never be able to get home. Beck stiffly opened his jaws, unknowingly releasing the scruff of the severed head as he merely gawked for a moment, distracted by a memorized film clip. "Corn syrup," he raspily mumbled. The infamous words of Billy Loomis were all that managed to spill past bruised lips, stolen from the silver screen. Corn syrup meant the blood plastering his front was fake; it meant there was nothing to worry about. It would persuade the obstacle into leaving.
The young poltergeist recovered the captain's head without further explanation, movement unnatural and forced as he moved a shaky paw to sidestep past both Moth and Crow. Undoubtedly, he would not succeed in limping further forward as the moment of faint lucidity slipped from his grasp, rendering his senses too muddled to prevent those present from intervening.
[ feel free to powerplay -- beck's catatonic and won't respond to anything anyway ]