I'M JUST WALKING IN CIRCLES / selby

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    Twitching ears flattened against his head at the outburst. His enlarged pupils flit around for anything to focus on besides the tabby before him, settling on the scarring grooves striping his forearms. Only halfheartedly listening to Selby's lecture, Beck traced the varying scars in sheepish silence, an absent-minded action. Why couldn't the sawbone understand? He never will. His paw ran along his wrist, stopped by the cold iron of the hell-forged shackle encircling it. His brow creased. He didn't deserve for everything to be easier. The stubborn reminders of his death were his fault, weren't they? Undoubtedly twisted into a fabled moral, warning children of the cruel fate following equally cruel actions. The chemical-laden ghost withdrew his roaming paw, turning over the other to gaze upon the ragged pad burnt by salt so many years ago. Beck's expression remained distantly numb, Selby's words piercing through his brain fog.

    When he finally spoke, his voice faltered into a rattling croak. "Okay," the boy paused, his bloodied chest deflating with a sigh before he gave a crooked grin, "But only if ya hang out with me for the day." An offer surely the worrisome Selby couldn't refuse. Probably. Maybe he would reject his obvious plea for company. After all, who wanted to spend their afternoon with the undead? Beck's dopey smile wavered at this thought and his lifeless gaze returned to his arm. Mumbling under his breath, he idly picked at the persistent stitching of the dog bite that sentenced him to death. "Ya don't have to if ya don't wanna, though."