[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]Christ.
It'd been a long time since Hellboy had dealt with something like this. Ghosts were not uncommon - nor was the occasional angel or demon like himself, beasts from the other world - but Beck seemed a special breed of supernatural. He was a solid being, first of all, which was out of the ordinary for a spirit. He could be mistaken for a living creature if it wasn't clear that Beck had been a child, stayed a child, for as long as he'd known him. With these concepts in mind, Red could conclude with what otherworldly knowledge he had that the child was some kind of poltergeist, maybe a low-level demon with the mean streak he carried. He could physically manifest in ways that other ghosts couldn't - which made them rather difficult to expel, and for Beck, a little harder to bring back down to Earth.
He wasn't totally there, it was clear. The blank, unknowing stare and muddled voice left Red more sympathetic than angry. He was just a child - and children made mistakes, some worse than others, some catastrophic. Beck was no different even in death. If he was ever destined to mature past his permanent age, it was not certain, but for now he was a scared child and he was, perhaps, experiencing something he wasn't ready to handle or process. Some creatures just did not understand that things died when you killed them. Some did not care. Until he could differentiate as to what category Beck fell under this was a careful and dangerous game.
Red is big, bigger than the obstacles that kept the child and his inner reaper at bay. He is intimidating, perhaps, in that he is Hell incarnate: but when he tries his best and files the stumps of his horns close he almost looks normal from a distance. That's a long way off, he knows, but his attempts to look friendlier than the other beasts from his homeland seemed to work decently thus far. He crouches a bit, a gesture he's offered to struggling individuals before because he's well aware his height tends to be an issue. His tail curls nearly around his leg and he is not another monster, but a friend.
He looks to the others, mouths silently, shhh. He isn't sure he can take care of this, but he can try.
"Hey, hey. What's that you got there?" A fucking bloody head, yeah, but he's trying to bring some sort of self-awareness to the tranced-out feline. His voice is soft even though his vocals are rough with age. A gentle hand - massive, encrusted in stone, capable of smashing through skulls but his - extends out into the distance between them, a question of whether or not Beck might metaphorically take it so he can pull him back to the ground. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you - nobody's gonna hurt you here. C'mere, kid, you're alright."
It'd been a long time since Hellboy had dealt with something like this. Ghosts were not uncommon - nor was the occasional angel or demon like himself, beasts from the other world - but Beck seemed a special breed of supernatural. He was a solid being, first of all, which was out of the ordinary for a spirit. He could be mistaken for a living creature if it wasn't clear that Beck had been a child, stayed a child, for as long as he'd known him. With these concepts in mind, Red could conclude with what otherworldly knowledge he had that the child was some kind of poltergeist, maybe a low-level demon with the mean streak he carried. He could physically manifest in ways that other ghosts couldn't - which made them rather difficult to expel, and for Beck, a little harder to bring back down to Earth.
He wasn't totally there, it was clear. The blank, unknowing stare and muddled voice left Red more sympathetic than angry. He was just a child - and children made mistakes, some worse than others, some catastrophic. Beck was no different even in death. If he was ever destined to mature past his permanent age, it was not certain, but for now he was a scared child and he was, perhaps, experiencing something he wasn't ready to handle or process. Some creatures just did not understand that things died when you killed them. Some did not care. Until he could differentiate as to what category Beck fell under this was a careful and dangerous game.
Red is big, bigger than the obstacles that kept the child and his inner reaper at bay. He is intimidating, perhaps, in that he is Hell incarnate: but when he tries his best and files the stumps of his horns close he almost looks normal from a distance. That's a long way off, he knows, but his attempts to look friendlier than the other beasts from his homeland seemed to work decently thus far. He crouches a bit, a gesture he's offered to struggling individuals before because he's well aware his height tends to be an issue. His tail curls nearly around his leg and he is not another monster, but a friend.
He looks to the others, mouths silently, shhh. He isn't sure he can take care of this, but he can try.
"Hey, hey. What's that you got there?" A fucking bloody head, yeah, but he's trying to bring some sort of self-awareness to the tranced-out feline. His voice is soft even though his vocals are rough with age. A gentle hand - massive, encrusted in stone, capable of smashing through skulls but his - extends out into the distance between them, a question of whether or not Beck might metaphorically take it so he can pull him back to the ground. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you - nobody's gonna hurt you here. C'mere, kid, you're alright."
[div style="text-align:center;font-size:10pt;line-height:9pt;color:black;font-weight:bold;font-family:verdana;"]IF YOUR FORTRESS IS UNDER SIEGE,
YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN TO ME
YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN TO ME