TAKE CHANCES [open - PUBLIC HUMILIATION]

One minute he was about to die a second time of boredom, the next, he was being dragged away kicking and fighting by a pregnant feline. It was an upgrade from drowing in his own childish dissatisfaction, up until he was thrown into the ShadowClan camp and chained to the earth. All in all, not the worst he, a spirit violently executed centuries ago, had endured. Truth be told, however, he had no recollection of whatever events leading to his predicament. Unbeknownst to Beck, a volatile half of him so tediously repressed and so foolishly forgotten saw an opportunity to wear down on the barricade locking him away and out of control, and seized it, momentarily possessing Beck's will and leaving the boy vulnerable to enemy clutches outside of safe territory.

Even as Sekhmet lugged him to her camp, the internal power struggle continued, one half forcing the other to be subdued despite Beck's thrashing as iron was clasped around wrist and neck. Fortunately for their entertainment, the precious metal was known for being able to scorch demonic entities such as himself, a fine ring of his physical apparition beginning to burn upon contact with the iron, his wrist and neck sizzling as the metal seared what felt like his very being. Yet the poltergeist didn't seem to notice, merely gritting his teeth to bite back a yelp of pain as he struggled to break away, the iron locking his materialization in place, rendering his choice to give up his tangibility useless. The voice of the victorious half cackled in his ears, but was immediately interrupted by a slap to the face and abandoned the boy's mind for now, finally allowing Beck to regain full control. His freckled features twisted with feral disgust at the rotten fruit, instinctively reaching a paw to backhand wipe away his cheek. Tugging himself away from the ShadowClanners in vain, his legs buckled into an awkward tangle of limbs, head pinned to the ground. His notched ear perked as the word humiliation was announced, and despite his common sense, snarled at Sekhmet with a sharkish sneer, "That all ya got? A bunch of fruit? I've seen better at this before." With his words, the chained feline attempted to throw himself at Sekhmet, claws outstretched to nick or snag onto anything at this point, his momentum abruptly cut off by the iron tight around his still burning throat, and he was yanked back down with a strangled wheeze.

/ y ikes late to my own thread

Stinging pain radiated through his cheek at the blow, accompanying the sensation of having his very apparition burned by metal. As if he hadn't already been executed with a humiliating death already, strung upside down to a branch and abandoned to succumb to blood loss, now there were fruits being tossed at him - how fan-fucking-tastic. With a snarl warping his unnervingly youthful features, he turned his attention to the chains rather than the captor, barely even able to wrap his paw around one to attempt breaking any weak links before recoiling, an already blistering burn marring a dark paw pad. He hardly even noticed being pelted on his injured hips, despite the large wound clearly from a set of jaws aiming to break bone. Now, the projectiles smacking against his face, however, were very much registered, and only served to anger his volatile temper even more, forcefullt wiping away the faint red with his free paw as he hissed back at them. This method of humiliation was archaic, and he himself had witnessed the dehumanizing act back in his life, hiding in the outskirts of a crowd, standing on his tiptoes, and trying to catch a glimpse of what all the noise was about. He assured himself he could tough it out, like he always did - until being hung up was suggested. Beck yanked at the iron tethering him to the ground with renewed vigor, claws scrabbling in a panic. "No! Just let me go - I didn't do anything!" the boy pleaded, stub of a tail tucking in fear. He hadn't even been present in the raid, simply too lazy to drag himself over to the musty old jungle, and figuring he wouldn't be of use anyways. He was merely a pawn now, manipulated by politics and war, captured for nothing other than cheap points for attempting to damage the opponent. Why, oh why, was he the one always caught up in this? He just wanted to have a peaceful afterlife, yet selfish creatures prevented even that.

The wicked grin twisting her face was enough to confirm that Beck shouldn't of spoken at all, that he shouldn't of allowed any emotion to slip in his expression. He winced as his frigid nose was softly touched, pressing his snout against the ground to recoil from the ShadowClan leader. Auburn eyes glowered up at her smirking form, glinting with all the hatred he could muster, even with his apparition trembling with memories. Oh, how she would of loved to see the ligature scars around his ankles, unnoticeable beneath a thin layer of fur. Beck strained to follow her gaze to the nearby tree, his habitual breathing quickening into hysterical wheezing despite attempts to hide his obvious fear. His attention was snapped back as Sekhmet spoke once more. Offer her something? His panicked features scowled in disgust, ears inclined backwards as he frantically searched for the next words to stay. She wanted him to offer something? Well, he would offer something alright.

Working up the chemically-tainted saliva in his maw, he spat at the shadowkeeper's feet, offering her nothing but a sign of disrespect. His spit, still containing traces of the drain cleaner ingested so long ago, burned into the soil, leaving ago dark blemish upon the earth. In his foolish act of defiance, the poltergeist sneered up at her with a smug glare, bloodless lips curling to bare teeth.

/ now would be great! ;0

If he hadn't been in a situation where his dignity was at stake, Beck would of collasped into a fit of echoing giggles, as if several shrill voices were snickering at once. The key word was if. Her collected grin prevented any form of victory to swell in his chest. One could say that the boy visibly trembled and kicked as he was dragged through the coarse grass to underneath the tree, and that Beck wasn't even fully fighting anymore, paralyzed from wretched memories of being lifted up by a tattered shirt's collar, helplessly clawing at the gloved hand holding him up like a disobedient whelp. The thin line between reality and past events was far too easily blurred by such a simple memento flooding his attention, and it was only when something snapped against his windpipe, did he vaguely register his surroundings.

Physics proved that the real method of death served by the gallows was breaking the neck, the victim's own weight shattering vertebrae as the support holding them up was removed. If Beck were a flesh-and-blood creature that was given the chance to grow up, then surely, the feline's head would be crooked at a disturbing angle from the momentum of being yanked upwards by such a fragile skeletal structure. But no crack of dislocation or fracture ever occured; Beck was too light. While most of that could be accounted for the fact he was nothing more than a materialization powerful enough to maintain a tangible illusion, the boy had always been scrawny and emaciated. The lack of any muscle or fat tissue on his wiry frame suggested that in life, Beck scrapped any long by stealing his meals from market displays, if he was lucky. This was painfully obvious as the shackle-turned-noose slipped up from the base of his throat to catch onto his jawbone, earning a strangled yelp from the poltergeist as more feigned skin was exposed to the precious metal, already singing his demonic being. It took a moment for his panicked mind to realize that the ground wasn't underneath his darkened paw pads anymore, yet he quickly turned to struggling, thrashing his head around in an attempt to further slip from the iron cuff, the chain rattling as he dangled.