05-09-2018, 10:17 PM
History never stopped repeated itself, and Beck never learned no matter how many times he ended up bruised and beaten at the end of it. Countless times he had been hunted, somehow managing to wriggle out of their vengeful grip before they could sentence him to death and crafting a game out of survival. His luck ran out by the time matters were taken into their own hands. Being burned at the stake or taken to the gallows or even tortured in the public's eye would have been better than his violent demise and abandoned grave. At least then whatever remained of him would have been remembered. Needless to say, he knew what it was like to be hated and considered a disposable pest, he was practically an expert on it by now. Bastille wasn't different from any of them; the only change was that Beck wasn't aware of his grudge.
Fish scales flickered up to breach the creek's surface, revealing that one of the bass was missing its eyes and sockets entirely, while the other's fins split at odd angles. His unbeating heart dropped into blood-drained guts at the observation, shifting irritably as he awkwardly stumbled back to his paws, tripping over his gangly limbs in an attempt to stall his pointless search. Despite the hackles lining his prominent spine bristling and exposing a glimpse of the ragged wound they were arranged to hide, Beck spat at the deformed fish in childish manner, sticking his blue-stained tongue out with frustration evident in his scowl. How was his clan supposed to defend themselves if they didn't have any clean water to drink? The poltergeist turned to leave, kicking away a clod of pebbles to sate his rising tantrum, yet he only managed a single step before his mind was hijacked.
It was the simplest way to subdue the entity, if not the quickest. His mind wasn't just contained within a replicated brain; his entire being was an extension of his conscience, and without control over his own mind, he was effectively useless. Scraped knees buckled like a wobbly fawn's, Beck toppling thanks to a lack of muscle control and slumping against the mud with much less than a soft thud. Whether or not he could process his environment was a puzzle to even him, his apparition steadily distorting into shadowed obscurity until he forced himself to get a grip and preserve his materialization. A much easier task in theory, and the poltergeist hardly registered Bastille's earth-breaking footsteps as he inched closer. When he spoke, the only sign Beck could faintly hear him came in the form of a growling whimper trembling past scarred lips, a ferocious and damaged whine similar to a cornered animal's. He was stupid, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have let them attack him again -- through Bastille's influence or not, whatever consciousness left free from the other's grasp rapidly descended into the repressed memories of pain impaling through his shallow chest. Sneering faces all too bitterly eager to throw and kick him to the earth only to yank him up again with bruising hands wringing his neck. Freezing water burning his nose and lungs as a heavy boot drove an arrowhead further into his back and pinned him down until his vision rolled into black. Beck's freckled face contorted into an expression of hidden terror, honey-brown eyes peeled wide open and staring through nothing.
[align=center]»――➤Fish scales flickered up to breach the creek's surface, revealing that one of the bass was missing its eyes and sockets entirely, while the other's fins split at odd angles. His unbeating heart dropped into blood-drained guts at the observation, shifting irritably as he awkwardly stumbled back to his paws, tripping over his gangly limbs in an attempt to stall his pointless search. Despite the hackles lining his prominent spine bristling and exposing a glimpse of the ragged wound they were arranged to hide, Beck spat at the deformed fish in childish manner, sticking his blue-stained tongue out with frustration evident in his scowl. How was his clan supposed to defend themselves if they didn't have any clean water to drink? The poltergeist turned to leave, kicking away a clod of pebbles to sate his rising tantrum, yet he only managed a single step before his mind was hijacked.
It was the simplest way to subdue the entity, if not the quickest. His mind wasn't just contained within a replicated brain; his entire being was an extension of his conscience, and without control over his own mind, he was effectively useless. Scraped knees buckled like a wobbly fawn's, Beck toppling thanks to a lack of muscle control and slumping against the mud with much less than a soft thud. Whether or not he could process his environment was a puzzle to even him, his apparition steadily distorting into shadowed obscurity until he forced himself to get a grip and preserve his materialization. A much easier task in theory, and the poltergeist hardly registered Bastille's earth-breaking footsteps as he inched closer. When he spoke, the only sign Beck could faintly hear him came in the form of a growling whimper trembling past scarred lips, a ferocious and damaged whine similar to a cornered animal's. He was stupid, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have let them attack him again -- through Bastille's influence or not, whatever consciousness left free from the other's grasp rapidly descended into the repressed memories of pain impaling through his shallow chest. Sneering faces all too bitterly eager to throw and kick him to the earth only to yank him up again with bruising hands wringing his neck. Freezing water burning his nose and lungs as a heavy boot drove an arrowhead further into his back and pinned him down until his vision rolled into black. Beck's freckled face contorted into an expression of hidden terror, honey-brown eyes peeled wide open and staring through nothing.