Scott took a bold step towards the ghostly figure. "What the hell do you mean, 'Fox Hunt,' you old coot?" he snarled, baring fangs.
Man, thought Timothy, he really likes being like this...
The ghost's only response was a deep resonant chuckle, as he faded slowly from view. Scott leapt at him, swinging wildly with his claws, but the ghost had vanished. Eerily, the chuckling continued.
"Oh, come now, little kit, you can do better than that," whispered the old ghost's voice, and then there was nothing...
David was taking things in stride -- provided that the stride in question was a panicked run for safety. He scrambled at the door, desperately trying to open it, but it remained steadfastly locked.
Saul, comforting a trembling, wide-eyed Timothy as though it were second nature to him -- which, considering the length of their former relationship, it probably was -- glanced at David. "Come on, lad, we heard th' door lock not two minutes ago!" As soon as the word "lock" escaped his lips, the quartet heard a *snap* of deadbolts being pulled back, and David resumed tugging on the door. Scott, frustrated at having missed his prey, growled at David. "It was the interior locks, ya stupid rabbit." Timothy took a step towards David. "Come on, man, we're gonna have to find another way out of here." David looked up -- and instinct took over. His new lapine instincts informed him that he was in a room with three predators, and he'd best flee. Not in so many words, of course...