03-04-2020, 12:21 PM
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Curiosity guided his restless paws to the quaint, dare he say, festive little home. Scoping out different possible replacements for his houseboat proved to be dull, a mournful gloom hovered over the ghost as Beck drifted from unclaimed yard to yard, longing for the secluded and shipwrecked sanctuary he called his haunt for months, maybe even years. Nowhere he sought could he be satisfied with a replacement, his woes and pities sinking further into the abyss.
Lost in thought, he hadn't expected a voice to interrupt his perpetual melancholia; Beck reared his head in identical fashion, blinking in bewilderment at the brightly-furred leopard. "Oh- hi, Feza," the boy replied, shuffling bandaged paws as he glanced behind her at the netting. If he craned his neck, he could just barely discern colorful squiggles scattered among blurred foliage like fuzz on an ugly sweater, undoubtedly the caterpillars she spoke of.
The little poltergeist numbly nodded in response to her question, studying the enclosure. Nose flaring, he crept forward and crouched low to the ground, remaining stub of a tail wagging. His head tilted in interest with his ears swiveling forward. "Did you build this?" he mumbled, strumming a woven thread to test its integrity with a soft twang. Before now, Beck wouldn't have considered Feza a fellow craftsman -- craftscat? A fellow artisan. It made sense, however; where else would all the lingering decorations spawn from if not her own paws? Paws tacky with glitter glue and passionate talent. His scabbed lips curved neatly, up into a taut corner on the right while his missing cheek twitched with what remaining muscles it cut through.
She would be a great new friend. If she wanted to tolerate him, that is.
Lost in thought, he hadn't expected a voice to interrupt his perpetual melancholia; Beck reared his head in identical fashion, blinking in bewilderment at the brightly-furred leopard. "Oh- hi, Feza," the boy replied, shuffling bandaged paws as he glanced behind her at the netting. If he craned his neck, he could just barely discern colorful squiggles scattered among blurred foliage like fuzz on an ugly sweater, undoubtedly the caterpillars she spoke of.
The little poltergeist numbly nodded in response to her question, studying the enclosure. Nose flaring, he crept forward and crouched low to the ground, remaining stub of a tail wagging. His head tilted in interest with his ears swiveling forward. "Did you build this?" he mumbled, strumming a woven thread to test its integrity with a soft twang. Before now, Beck wouldn't have considered Feza a fellow craftsman -- craftscat? A fellow artisan. It made sense, however; where else would all the lingering decorations spawn from if not her own paws? Paws tacky with glitter glue and passionate talent. His scabbed lips curved neatly, up into a taut corner on the right while his missing cheek twitched with what remaining muscles it cut through.
She would be a great new friend. If she wanted to tolerate him, that is.