He had no idea of much of anything, really, but that was beside the point. Laying flat on his back in a sparsely decorated room in front of a standing mirror, he'd taken a moment to try and sort out just what he did know.
I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost and I'm... somewhere.
Less than helpful. Patting down his jacket he didn't find much- some odds and ends, trinkets and baubles he wasn't sure what to make of. No reflection so he couldn't get a better look at himself. A thing he didn't know he knew until he had picked himself up and tried to look and the information just swam up out of the foggy recesses of his mind. Right. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but...looking for clues? Yes, that felt right.
He investigated the room, the hall, the bathroom, the room across the hall. All of them seemed somewhat familiar, but nothing was being jostled loose, and he didn't find any real signs of current habitation. Bits and bobs that always seemed to be left in the wake of moving, but no names or pictures or anything else that might give him names or faces to go off of.
The downstairs looked like a bomb had gone off. It had been cleaned up, clearly in the middle of repairs, but there were still bare studs and subfloor exposed. He skirted a sawhorse and stacks of supplies to slip out the door onto the main thoroughfare, brow furrowing as he looked one way then the other. It was... somewhat familiar. Like he building he'd come to awareness in, he knew he'd seen it before, but that was all the recollection he could seem to pull.]
Right- [It felt strange to turn and glance, presumably to see if anything looked familiar nearby to start with, and not find... someone standing there at his shoulder. Something about the wrongness of that settled in, and he gave himself a faint shake as if in defiance of the sensation.] Right then, nothing for it but to see what's what.
[Surely he'd find something that would jog his memories. Or find someone who could see him. Unaware that he'd already been spotted, the little feline already darting away to share their news.]
[ On a typical overcast day in Port Townsend, the last thing the Cat King expects is one of his scouts to come scurrying into the Cannery to tell him of a ghost bouncing back through a mirror and landing on the floor of the apartment above the Tongue and Tail butcher shop both alone and seemingly with no real drive to get back.
The Cat was fiddling with something shiny he'd traded with the crow for in exchange for a temporary transformation spell that would make him human again, but he fast lost interest in it in the wake of the news. It's all pretty confusing, if he's honest. Why would Charles be here without Edwin, why is Edwin not storming through the mirror to come and collect him, why come here in the first place, and why was he reportedly looking around like he'd never seen here before?
He'd have to be a much stronger Cat than he is to resist this particular little mystery and, unafraid of getting his own paws dirty, he disappears in a burst of purple magic to rematerialize in a familiar alleyway — the one in which he'd last seen one of the ghost boys, actually, funny how that happens — and steps out of it to see the very tangible evidence of this strange story; Edwin's loyal little attack-dog, standing with his hands on his backpack straps, looking like he's trying to decide in which direction to go. ]
Lost?
[ He calls as he comes into the street at large, head tilting and a smile on his face that he certainly means to look warm, but probably looks a little mean, too. He's wearing a similar leather ensemble to what he was wearing when he last saw Edwin, only a little less rigid, a little more dressed down. He was trying to look good, then, after all; this has caught him off guard. But in the best kind of way. He's weirdly excited to talk to Charles without the buffer of Edwin inevitably taking over. ]
Don't tell me you can't remember your way around this place - it's like four main streets and a beachfront. Don't you live in a city?
[He hadn't gone far yet. Knew from the way it almost itched to be still too long that he was more the sort to like action, to be moving. But he needed to be thorough here. Which meant he had to try and slow down even a bit. But while the street and it's storefronts, the people walking it all seemed to register as familiar, there wasn't much more than that drifting to the surface yet.
The voice speaking up is familiar too- and he's not sure how he knows they're talking to him, how he knows that they can see him, but turning to see strange eyes focused on him, and that smile that's just a little too sharp to be entirely genial cinches it.
He's not sure what to make of them. Or of the sudden rush of jealousy that writhes to life inside his ribcage like a thicket of thorns. Jealous? Why was he jealous of the stranger? He blinked, once, then twice as he takes in what they're saying- confirming that he should know where he was. As well as another detail that he leapt on.]
I live in a city? [It feels right as he says it, even if his stubborn memory refuses to shake out anything more than that sense of correctness. No name, no skyline, no familiar landmarks. What a pain. One thumb working over the canvas of the strap in his grasp, an unconscious little gesture of uncertain thought.] We know each other then, I take it?
[ Ah, and there it is; that thumb worrying the fabric and the general feeling of held back energy so similar to how Charles had been shifting his weight from foot to foot in the Cannery when he'd first come into audience with the King, before Edwin had ordered him around and brought him to heel. He looks like he's longing for that now, the firm direction of someone who always knows what the next action to take is... So this whole not knowing where he is thing wasn't fake, then. Charles is smart, he's sure, (though not smart enough to accept Edwin's confession, but that's a whole other thing) but he's certainly not smart enough to pull off a prank like this. What would be the point, anyway? What purpose does this serve for a boy who's very reason for lingering in the afterlife was being at the side of someone very specific who is also very much not here? ]
We do. You solved a few cases here some months ago. I helped.
[ It's not entirely a lie, but it does settle strangely on his tongue nonetheless. He's not sure Edwin — or Charles, for that matter — would agree that what he did was help, even if it did assist their psychic in banishing the town witch. ]
So. You've lost your memory, huh? No point asking how, since I guess that falls into the realms of the problem itself, but... [ He takes an easy, lazy step forward, wondering if Charles is still on the back foot about him despite apparently not remembering who he is. Will he meet with Charles eager to find a face that knows him, or will he meet the business end of a cricket bat? ] That's pretty impressive. Casting a curse on a ghost is no joke.
[ A little up and down with his eyes. Because he can't resist. ]
I'm the Cat King of Port Townsend. Which is where you are. A loooong long way from London, little ghost.
Cases? [Like a dog with a bone, he almost visibly perks for the information being offered.] Like a detective?
[Despite his uncertainty, the idea feels so right that it earns a bright, crooked grin in response.]
That's brills. And you helped, you said? So like a consultant or s'mmat? [Didn't detectives always have people like that? Contacts and consultants?
There was still that confusing tangle in him, that jealousy, but without a proper source, as off-kilter as knowing nothing was making him, relief at someone being able to see him let alone know him was winning over the uncertain feeling. Though the Cat would likely see the faint signs of it like a quiet question in the edges of his smile. But, it also didn't seem that he was feeling aggressive either in the moment.]
'Bout sums it up. [He's not repeating every little detail that the Cat is giving him, but he's definitely listening, gathering up the names and information to ponder later. Port Townsend. London. Some sort of curse.]
Cats have kings? [He tilted his head at that, considering the idea. It sounded familiar again, but vaguely so.] Always seemed a bit too independent for that sorta thing, cats. But then you'd know better than me.
I'd introduce myself but- [A tilt of his head and a tap of a finger against a temple with a wry cast to his grin.] Well. Suppose you don't need it if you know me anyways!
[He wasn't going to think on how nervous it was making him as the surprise of waking without memories was starting to ease off. It was so easy though to smother that unease under a smile and a bright tone. Like muscle memory.]
[ God, that smile is charming. And the way he perks up like that, the way he clearly still has some reservations (smart) but is eager to cling to something, anything that feels even remotely familiar... It's mesmerising. It's addictive. The Cat wonders when was the last time someone looked at him like they needed him, like he could help, like he was anything other than a nuisance. But he doesn't think about it too long. There's other more pressing issues at hand, such as:
Laughing, softly, at Charles' almost endearing little run around. It's silly how caught out by that handsome face he is, though he should be accustomed to letting his enchanted senses get the better of him since he absolutely fumbled the bag with Edwin after being entranced by nothing but his eyes in the first place... He vows that, given this second chance to at least make Charles see his merit as a consultant — as he said — and not simply to write him off as a trouble-maker and let threats be the only currency traded between them... He'll do better this time. If he keeps Charles safe, even helps him to get his memory back, perhaps even Edwin will have reason enough to thank him, in whatever archaic Edwardian way debts are repaid. Though, he has some ideas for worthy payment of his own. ]
Yeah, no need to tell me who you are, Charles. I know all about you.
[ Not entirely true, but his Cats had been keeping an eye on Charles too, technically, since he was almost always with Edwin when they were running around his Kingdom. ]
And it seems I have a lot to re-teach you about me, if you've forgotten that Cat Kings even exist. You're lucky I don't offend easily when it's a pretty face doing the mis-step, or I'd have to punish you for that. Rudeness to a King in their own Kingdom is a pretty big faux-pas. [ Thoughts of bracelets and little neon pocket dimensions flash in his mind, and what was that he just decided about fucking up a good thing by getting carried away? He reels it back in: ] But I guess you've got a good excuse.
Do you want to ask me something? I can tell you what I know. I'm here to help. [ He throws his arms wide, magnanimously. ] Like you said, a consultant.
[This feels... safe enough. There's that strange jealousy still, but no sense of actual malice. Alone as he was, he only had instinct and gut feeling to go on. Which was... something he got a sense he'd done before. A lot. But whatever the case, the Cat King, while clearly an odd sort, didn't ping him as someone that meant him harm. But at the same time there was something in his mannerisms that twigged the idea that sometimes? He might just be trouble.
But then, he felt that the same could probably be said of him.
Charles.
Something eased in his posture, some thread of tension unraveling subtly as the name was offered. Familiar again. His, he didn't need any confirmation of that. It was a bit grounding to at least have that.]
I'd think total amnesia's a fair excuse yeah, [A lift of brows, unable to help but preen a bit at the compliment offered.] Good to know I've got a good face. Thought as much, but hard to double-check on account of the whole reflection thing.
[He did make a quiet mental note to tread carefully. The Cat might have been joking with him, but he wasn't sure how real the potential for offense here was if he accidentally tread on his proverbial tail, let alone what the other might do about said offenses.]
Mate, I know I'm a ghost, and what you told me so far. That's a lot of questions, [It didn't sound nearly as harrowing as it actually felt to admit that, or realize the depths of just how much he'd forgotten. He just chuckled with a sheepish sort of shrug, hands finally leaving the straps of his bag to hook thumbs in belt loops, a bit less of an uneasy sort of posture.] But to start, you said you're the Cat King, but what do I call you? Like s'there a name, or do you just get called 'Your Majesty' by everyone?
[ It's a very good thing that Charles moves on quickly from the comment about not being able to see his own reflection, because the Cat's instincts have him stringing together a lavish little description of what, exactly, he looks like to form on the tip of his tongue before the conversation moves on. And, he reasons, once the comment has slunk back down his throat, that it's probably for the best. Glazing someone in Charles' vulnerable state on their attractive qualities won't do either of them any favours — and the Cat doesn't need further reasons to remind himself how objectively attractive this little ghost is.
And then he says that and the Cat actually has to close his eyes and wonder if the universe is testing him. ]
Cat, is usually what you call me. [ Well, he's heard some other choice phrases from Charles' mouth when he thinks no Cats are watching — whiskers, prick — but he doesn't feel the need to remind him of those just yet. ] But I wouldn't be opposed to you showing a little more respect more regularly. Your highness, your majesty... I'm not fussy on the title, just the honesty behind it. If you're saying it to be sarcastic, don't bother.
[ That sounds fair, right? And it puts Charles in the clear standing that this cat, though flirty and relatively easy-going and very obviously willing to help this poor lost ghost, is not a King to be taken lightly. But he also isn't worth beating away with a cricket bat. Not for no reason, at least.
And that makes him think. If Charles isn't immediately mistrusting of him, then that means that he must not remember why. He remembers he's a ghost, but not why he chose to linger. He's forgotten Edwin. Immediately he feels like he should tell him, but he also feels a strange disconnect with that better judgement; because if he tells him, Charles will want to find him, will want to return to where Edwin is and find out all these things from him instead. Which would be better, in the long run, but would put the Cat in the same position he always finds himself in: left behind to lick his wounds in the cannery alone.
Well, that particular reveal can wait a little, right? It's not lying if he merely doesn't say anything. Right? ]
Cat? [Without distrust or jealousy behind it, the moniker doesn't carry nearly the same sort of disrespect out of his mouth.] Sounds pretty casual for a monarch. Must've got on well enough, if you were lettin' me call you that and all, yeah?
[Oh if only he knew.
But at the same time, he noted the clear preference inherent in what the Cat was telling him about the options too. And that made him wonder. Did the Cat just not correct him before? It was hard to say right now with so little to go off of though, so he merely kept that as something to consider later.
And with how much he was missing? That he had no memories of Edwin didn't stand out overmuch yet. He had no idea how much of that sense of void was from missing one particular person in particular rather than everything else. It would become all the more apparent as memories filtered back in, but... that was surely a problem for future Cat King. It wouldn't cause any trouble later on to avoid talking about that particular subject with this particular ghost, right?]
But yeah, like I was saying... problem here is there's so much I don't know that I'm not even sure where to start. So whatever you can tell me'd be aces, Your Majesty.
[ It doesn't feel right on his tongue to say it, but he never had any particular ill will toward Charles — he thought it was pretty funny, actually, the way Charles couldn't quite place his ire toward the Cat and chalked it up to his protective nature alone, without quite checking in to why he might be feeling so protective over someone trying to catch Edwin's eye — and figures that without that little snag in their introduction to one another, they might have even struck up a common bond. He's certainly fun to be around, for a start, and Charles has always seemed to enjoy things that are fun and easy...
Oh, this is a terrible idea and he knows it. And yet, with most things that seem to be a terrible idea, he can't quite stop himself from going along with it anyway, like watching a slow car crash unfold while knowing that at least one of those cars is one you'll have to pay for, but hoping that you might get a consolation prize for your trouble.
The consolation prize of Edwin's yappy little attack dog willingly calling him by a title befitting a monarch. That's a good start. The Cat lets a visible shudder of enjoyment rack through him before he's stepping in to take Charles' arm in his own. He isn't sure if 'remembering you're a ghost' includes remembering that you can't typically feel touch but can feel it from a supernatural creature or not, but either way it works in his favour; either Charles is pleasantly surprised by the contact, or soothed by familiar touch. He guides him out into the street at large, then turns to face the remains of the butchers shop the ghost had emerged from, though it's difficult to recognise it as such with all its signage buffed away, ready to be replaced. ]
I don't know how you ended up here, but this place means something to you. You stayed here when you were working on a case. Upstairs, in the apartment to the right. You and the rest of your team.
[ The Cat will tell him outright — not everything, but enough — if the hint doesn't jog his memory, but often with things like this it's better not to force too much too soon lest the subject go mad from trying too hard. Though, he thinks with a little smirk, if there's any ghost who should be more than accustomed to trying leagues harder than anyone has before, it's Charles Rowland. ]
[There's something he's missing. Some subtext that isn't sliding into place that sits strangely in this otherwise friendly interaction like a puzzle piece pressed into a spot not quite it's match.
Charles doesn't like it. Everything in him is pressing towards this interaction going well, and the incongruency is something he's keenly aware of in the moment, especially as he can't cotton onto just what was causing it. It didn't seem to read as dangerous, or like the Cat meant him harm, but it still had some little quietly buried part of him pacing and tense all the same.
He found it incredibly easy though to smile regardless of that niggling uncertainty, bright and sunny like there was nothing wrong in the world except there was, there was, what was the world without especially as the Cat was taking his arm. The touch was... surprising, but not. The Cat would likely be able to see the quick play in his eyes as his mind searched, found that it seemed correct that he could be touched, at least by this particular person, small details being shaken free by experience. Like an extension of Charles' incessant need to look with his hands, as if his mind refused to conceive of a memory without him doing something related to it in some way.]
Thought it seemed familiar... first thing I remember is just laying there in front of the mirror. Think I... jumped through? [Even as he said it, the idea solidified out of the fog as something correct. A small scrap of information, but Charles was relieved to have it all the same. Some sign that this wasn't permanent.] Not a clue where I jumped from, but one thing at a time, yeah?
We had a team though? [Another thing that sounded correct, another thing that settled right in his mind as he leaned to bump shoulders with the Cat in that affectionate way of his, almost rambunctious but still gentle enough not to be overly jostling.] Sounds like we've got a proper agency going! What kinda case was it?
[ That little shoulder bump is actually pretty surprising, but more surprising than the affectionate roughhousing is the way it makes the Cat feel... It encourages a sort of throb of hunger in him, to think that this is what Charles and his friends do with one another while solving a mystery, that they stand close and smile at each other and figure things out and laugh and talk and... God. It's so mundane, so plain, so normal... and yet the Cat burns with stupid jealousy at just the thought of it alone, the thought that he will probably never have something like this for his own, the idea that it is so close and yet entirely out of his reach. Well, except for right now, of course.
He gives Charles a little bump back in return, trying to mute his grin by focusing on the upstairs window of the building rather than on that blinding grin. ]
A nasty fucking witch was stealing little girls and feeding them to her pet snake to keep herself young. Real fairytale shit. But, then you turned up: little girl saved, snake slain, witch defeated.
[ If only it had been that easy or that quick, but Charles deserves to feel the thrill of a win when he doesn't have much else to go on. And it's still not a lie; all of those things did, indeed, happen... just perhaps not in that order or by such simple succession. ]
And I'm guessing you jumped through from the Agency office back in London. [ A pause, and he looks almost amused with his next thought, and can't resist the tease: ] You can hear yourself speaking, right? Surely you remember you're from England, right, mate?
[That gets a brief gawp as Charles processes the information, brows lofting as no... that sounds right. That all sounds familiar. The next smile turned the Cat's way is brilliant, the ghost feeling delight at the idea of being able to do something even half as heroic, half as good as what that suggested.
And he could feel it was so desperately important for him to be that kind of person.]
Here I was thinkin' like... finding lost family or knicked stuff. You're talking full on heroics!
[The teasing just has him rolling his eyes, smile turning to a wry smirk as he slings an arm casually over the Cat's shoulders, half-hanging by that grasp in a friendly sort of way.] Sure right, make fun of the amnesiac teenager, I see how it is.
[Maybe the jealous niggle was just that they were competitive in some way. So far the interaction, while odd, seemed fine. But a thought did occur that had him settling somewhat, head tilting in thought.]
But if I was at the office... and I came here, then how come no one else followed, yeah? Seems odd, don't it?
Well, you're good at playing the hero, I'll give you that.
[ That smile is just too much, but along with the arm over his shoulders and the easy way Charles slips into a joking rhythm with him, it's almost suffocating. Is this what Charles is like with the people he hangs around with, when he's decided he likes someone instead of deciding he'd rather knock their whiskers off than give them a chance? The Cat knows he's done very little to deserve Charles' time or attention, but under the comfortable weight of it now, he's starting to think he should have put in a truckload more effort, if it feels this good. Or maybe he's just incredibly lonely and will settle for anything. ]
There must be something wrong with the mirror. I'll get some cats to take a look, make sure everyone in the office is alright.
[ The moment he says that, two cats scamper down the street and into the propped-open front door of the Tongue & Tail, as if summoned by just his simple words, with no spell or anything like that; the true might of a Cat King. ]
I don't recommend trying to hop back through without checking its safe first, or until you remember how. Mirror jumping can be dangerous, especially if you don't know what you're doing. But don't worry. [ He smiles, warm and welcoming, but always with that little dangerous sparkle in his eyes. ] I'll look after you. You'll be safe here.
Cheers, [A considering beat.] Granted if you helped that means you're not so bad at the hero thing yourself, hm?
[Charles did like to claim to be good with people. And in a lot of ways that could be true, charismatic thing that he was, so very good at being friendly and warm to others. As much a survival tactic as it was just how he was wired, that inclination to people-please, that want to be well-liked.
The idea of something wrong with a mirror struck him as a problem, but then the Cat was already on top of it, the idea of sending some scouts out to check around, to let everyone, whoever everyone was, know he was okay was reassuring. And the way the pair of cats came darting down and into the former butcher's shop just had Charles letting out a low, impressed whistle.]
So like all cats are your subjects? Is that like... are you the King for the whole world's worth or is it like... countries or something? Is it all kinds of cats or only the little ones?
[There's no real disrespect meant there, just the sort of curiosity any teen boy might have in the face of something new and magical.
He's still not sure what to make of that little gleam of menace in the Cat's yellow eyes. He's been nothing but nice, but it stayed. Maybe it was just something that translated differently between a cat's face and a human's. Or something else. But whatever consideration there is, the Cat is kindly offering to help him out, which is more important. Just because he looks like some sort of trouble doesn't mean he's going to be.] Good lookin' out. 'Preciate the help, Your Majesty.
[ A hero, huh... God, if only Charles knew how wrong that estimation was. If only he could remember how the Cat much prefers the safety of his throne to putting any real effort in to showing active heroism. Even his help was second hand, merely giving Crystal the tools she needed to take Esther down, not getting his own paws dirty even for a moment... It twists in him, the same way it's been twisting since the boys left Port Townsend, since he's been up keeping the little spot of flowers out by the library erected in memory of Edwin's respectful little friend...
He can't even lie and agree with Charles, so he says nothing. ]
All cats in Port Townsend, domestic size only.
[ It's kind of endearing to have Charles so excited about him. Edwin was curious, but never curious enough to ask, and the Cat was never brave enough to tell him all that much unprompted. This is kind of sweet, the way Charles seems infinitely impressed by even the slightest show of power, like an infant seeing a magic card trick for the first time. Like an eager puppy. Playfully, he summons some purple fire in his palm, and in the smoke rises the shape of a domestic cat walking calmly along in midair. He lets it dwindle there, idly doing cat things while he continues to explain. ]
Larger cats have their own hierarchy, but we still have mutual respect. And some areas of rule are bigger, some are smaller. A state, a town, a city... It depends on the King, and how they choose to rule it. [ He snaps his fingers, and the little magic trick dissipates into the air. ] For example, The Cat Monarch of London is an asshole, and if you ever meet him, you can tell him that from me.
[It's probably for the best that at the moment, Charles doesn't know enough about the Cat to realize he's avoiding answering about that. It just comes across as the feline monarch focusing on the rapidfire questions, and given he seemed so indulgent in replying, Charles is eagerly soaking up the information.
Nodding slowly as he was listening, gaze brightening as the Cat showed off, lifted a hand to summon that little illusory cat in the smoke midair.]
That's so wicked... [Murmured without even thinking about it, lifting his free hand to wiggle fingertips at the little smoke cat, curious to see if it would try and pounce at them. Still listening to what he was being told, but Charles always did pay better attention when there was something to do, like fiddling with a little magic trick cat. When it was diffused, he glanced up at the Cat, unable to help the raise of brows.]
He's an ass? A posh one or just the normal sort? [A tilt of his head, considering.] I'll tell'm either way, but if he's posh I don't know if I'll ever run into him.
Ha! Not a posh one. He's a gangster. Fucking terrible hospitality, and his earls are thugs.
[ The Cat is choosing, rather strategically, to not mention any of his personal experiences with said Cat Monarch or his earls, because that would involve cutting a little too close to discussing his frankly piss-poor standards when it came to taking lovers, and why he's sworn off other Cats for all of his remaining lives. Charles doesn't need to know any of that, not when he's got such a seemingly good opinion of him now. Not when he thinks he's capable of being a hero. ]
But they wouldn't scare you, puppy. They're all bark, no bite, but you're braver than that.
[ It's so easy to compliment Charles like this, when he's eager and interested and hanging off of the Cat's every word because he has very little else to go on. And it almost makes the Cat regret that he got rid of the illusion so quickly, because of just how entranced the ghost was with it. Well, no matter. He's got plenty other tricks up his sleeves. ]
Just watch out for cat scratches, won't you? They burn if you get unlucky enough to be caught by one, but— [ He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence. ] I'm on my best behaviour. I promise. I only scratch those who ask for it. [ His smile twisting at the corner a little, becoming more a smirk. ] Or those who say please~
[Something about that descriptor just tugged at memories in a way that had something other than amusement flickering behind the warm, cheerful sort of air the ghost was carrying himself with. It was so blink and you miss it though, it was hard to say if even Charles himself had realized it had happened, mouth twisting in an expression of distaste that was both entirely honest, and entirely playful in equal respect.]
A bunch of right twats then, noted.
[Puppy sounds like something that should be rude, and yet the Cat makes the teasing nickname sound playful more than anything. Especially with the compliments that accompany, something a bit pleased in the smile turned the feline's way. He didn't have the memories to back it, but the comparison to a dog, loyal, steadfast, a little rambunctious... that fit.]
Puppy? Does that mean the whole cats and dogs rivalry's a load of tosh then, or something else? [And it's easy to see the click of his thoughts along, all but pouncing on another question that pops up.] Do dogs have monarchs too? Or is that just a cat thing?
[Despite the levity of the current interaction, he does pause when the Cat decides to warn him about the scratches. Brows furrowing slightly as he nods, before the expression eases, especially at that flirty little addendum and smirk.] Well, good lookin' out! I'll keep that in mind.
[Pay no attention to the slight darkening tinge along the outer edges of his ears there.]
[ Ah, he almost forgot about Charles' powerful sense of justice, that knee-jerk reaction to do the right thing — the instinct that makes him a hero, and makes him so fascinated to find out why. Edwin had a similar instinct in him, to protect and save and shed light on ghosts whose stories might not otherwise be solved or even known if it weren't for the Dead Boy Detectives... but he had another motive, didn't he? To beg for leniency, to do enough good that he might not be a shoo-in for another Hell visit when the time came. The Cat can't help but wonder, then, if there's another reason behind Charles' do good'ing. If, perhaps, there's something else powering that urge to protect, to lift up the ones who need him to stand in the way of incoming blows.
Well, he can't exactly ask him now, can he? Will truth magic even work on a ghost with no memory? Why the hell does he want to try it so bad, suddenly? ]
Mmmm... [ He hums, shrugging. ] I wouldn't say tosh. [ Because he would never say tosh, you weird little Brit. ] We have a little healthy rivalry. The cat and dog thing is just a little too hard a trope to pass up, I think. You've got a lot of dog like qualities that drive me mad and entice me in equal amounts.
[ Because he saw that little softening of Charles' expression at being flirted with, and he's all too aware of how flirting with Edwin went, but because of the whole... obsession thing, and Charles' subsequent jealousy, he never really got a chance to see how Charles might have reacted to it. No time like the present, really, with no previous bad impressions to get in the way. ]
Y'just said it, mate. [Sorry, it was dumb but it was right there.] Suppose that makes sense. Nice to see when it works though. Cats and dogs bein' pals.
[Was that... why he felt that weird niggle of jealousy under everything? Some weird cat and dog rivalry element being projected because the Cat saw some canine qualities in him? Well... he'd said it could be healthy rivalries so that could be it.
And pay no attention to his ears going even redder as his smile widens a bit, brows lifting as he casts a considering glance the Cat's way.]
That so? Well then, why don't we take a little walkabout. You can show me what's good around, and maybe tell me what's got you so enticed, Your Majesty.
[The flirtation was... he did like it. He liked the shape of it, liked the way it sat to hear it. There was something under that though, some sort of nervous energy that he wasn't certain he cared for the shape of. Was it just nerves? Had he never flirted with the Cat like this before? The shape of the interaction felt somewhat familiar, a back and forth sort of banter. Surely he'd flirted like this before. Surely it was just nerves because of his memories mucking things up.]
[ God, he's infuriating. And cute. And it's so fucking easy to flirt with him and watch him respond positively to it, to watch the little flood of colour reach his ears when he's sure that any ghost more capable of controlling their corporeal form might have been able to keep that particular reaction under wraps at least a little better than this. He wants to touch his face, feel if he's getting hot, and God, fuck, this is such a bad idea, and yet the Cat can't stop himself. ]
That's a fine way to ask for an audience with the King. [ He says, a little snooty, but nevertheless he's reaffirming that hold on Charles' arm so that the ghost is firmly at his side as he starts to encourage him to turn away from the shop, and begin walking down the main road toward the center of town. ] But, lucky for you, I like you enough to let it slide. Even if your attempts to get me to stroke your ego are pretty transparent.
[ He smirks. There's a lot he could say here about dogs and how they like to be praised, but pinning that particular trait solely on dogs makes his own interest in it feel a little subpar, so he keeps it to himself for now. ]
I guess a little stroking would make me feel better if I lost all my memories, but you won't get me to roll over that easily. Praise loses all its weight when it's not earned.
[ He's laying on the innuendo pretty impressively now, but.. Well, he can't help it. And besides, stroking could just as easily be literal. He is a cat, after all. ]
[Charles has the impression that he gets away with a lot of shit because he's got a cute face and a charming personality. He doesn't really have any drive to abuse that notion though, just laughing at the snooty tone, especially accompanied with that cinch of the grasp to his arm.]
Am I really trying that? Here I am, not a memory in my head, and you're telling me that asking you about myself is ego stroking? [It was entirely playful in the moment, even as they started walking, letting the Cat dictate the direction for now. If he saw something that jogged a memory he'd pause but until then, this was a cat-directed tour.
And pay no attention to that glance as Charles is trying to decide if that innuendo is there, or if he's just taking the Cat King's feline tendencies a bit too out of joint. It's fine. He totally doesn't know which he'd rather be true here.
Except he kind of does and he's not entirely sure how to feel about it yet. He was the kind to banter and flirt, that felt right and normal but... how far did that go? And with who?]
Uh-uh, don't try to make out like I'm being unreasonable here.
[ The playfulness is getting to his head, making him feel overeager and dizzy with it as he pulls Charles along, across the street and down into the line of storefronts that makes up the main street of Port Townsend. Tragic Mick's is coming up on the left, but he won't say anything about it until Charles does for now. He wants to know if this whole amnesia thing is triggered by visual stimuli. Preferably before he takes Charles back to the safety of his cannery and gets a cricket bat to the face for his trouble. ]
You asked me to tell you why I'm enticed with you, not just random titbits about what kind of guy you are in general. [ He wags a finger in a pantomime of a telling off, but the way he's smiling through it kind of ruins any impact it could have had. ] If you want general knowledge, I can give that. It's just less fun than flirting.
[ A casual little shrug, because he figures he might as well call it what it is. ]
[The problem is, too much here is familiar for any one thing to stand out yet. Too much background static as he's led along, interested gaze skipping curiously over shopfronts, over the faces of people they wandered past, even if he knew they wouldn't see them. It was admittedly a little frustrating that nothing was jogging anything stronger than 'yeah I've been here' but he tried to reassure himself that it was surely just because he'd only just gotten here. That maybe once he'd gotten used to it again that the more familiar things would stand out more. Or something. He wasn't sure how amnesia worked.]
You're the one who brought it up first, [Pointed out entirely reasonably, utterly unrepentant in the face of that playful sort of telling off.] Shoulda known a nosy git like me'd jump on it.
[ And there goes that praise — so rightfully earned, so easily won from a Cat so eager to give it. But he doesn't let it linger too much too soon. He's learned his lesson with Edwin, that too fast a speed for someone who doesn't know how fast they're comfortable going can often have the opposite effect. Better to ease Charles into it, give him enough of a taste that he can chase it if he wants to, or that he at least welcomes it's return when he gets it again. ]
That's another point I like about you, though. You're fair. And you're nosy. People say that like it's a bad thing, but I think curiosity never hurt anyone, despite what everyone tries to say otherwise. Take it from a Cat.
[ Do not take it from this Cat, Charles, he's been burned by his own curiosity more times than is forgivable for a creature who keeps doing the same thing he should have learned by now to avoid. ]
And it's a good quality for a detective to have. Which, speaking of. [ He nods up at the antiquities shop to their left, since Charles clearly isn't having any kind of natural reaction to it on his own. ] What do you think? Ring any bells?
[The praise, accompanied by teasing nickname or no? Had Charles' smile brightening all the same. He won't be admitting to the Cat that earning it did make it better, but it did. But then it's entirely possible that his companion could tell.
Whatever the case, the other was continuing on, and while he was amused at the commentary on his incessant curiosity, something tense in him eased at the idea that he was fair. It seemed... important. He wanted needed to be good, to be fair and brave, didn't he? What drove that he didn't know, but surely it was only sensible. It wasn't like people typically wanted to be utter tossers.
Regardless, he was pulled from that consideration as the Cat pointed out the shop directly, and obligingly Charles took a look at it.]
I... yeah, but I think everything's kinda ringing bells right now is the problem. Too much familiar but nothing's really shaking out anything specific yet. S'all [A see-saw wave of a hand] kinda foggy?
[Thick fog over dark water. He wasn't sure why that idea just had something in him curling unpleasantly, but he shoved it aside drowned it to worry about later. It was so simple to keep the unease at the imagery his mind was supplying to conceptualize his amnesia hidden behind the easy sort of smile. Far too simple.]
Foggy... [ The Cat murmurs, considering, tilting his head to join Charles in his surveillance of the little junk shop. It's looking so much less full of life now, years down the line, than it had when the Cat had first arrived here. In some ways, the Cat wishes there were things he could forget as easily as Charles has now. He doesn't, wouldn't, wish for total amnesia, but some kind of blurring at the edges of painful memories would be nice, at the very least. Instead, the Cat has a cruelly perfect sort of memory for the amount of years he's been alive. Perhaps that's why his loneliness eats away at him like a sore; it's so easy for him to recall everything that's been lost.
And, speaking of lost... ]
Well, then, you clearly need some sort of lighthouse.
[ Edwin would, of course, be the ideal option here, but since the Cat is doing as he told himself he would when Edwin left Port Townsend and resolutely not thinking about Edwin, he opts for the next best thing. Or, at least, the next best thing available to him; himself.
He tries to think of what Edwin would do in this situation. ]
I'll guide you through it. You came here to look for something to solve a case. The owner is a guy who used to be a Walrus. Kind of depressing, hence the name. He didn't have what you needed, but he gave you a consolation prize. Do you remember what that was?
[It was easier to shove away the unpleasantness as the Cat's attention turned towards the shop too. The musing about a lighthouse made... some sense- some sort of guiding light in the fog, building off the fog imagery Charles had brought up.
The offer of guidance made it make all the more sense, Charles blinking slightly as the Cat spoke on, giving him a little bit of information, prompting him to see if maybe it would shake something new free. And it again felt familiar, the ghost humming a thoughtful sound, brows furrowing. Free hand coming up as if he could maybe pluck the answer out of the air, like once again he had to touch the idea before it was real.] I... I could hold it. Not big. Sounded like the ocean though. Y'know how like you hold up one of those spinny shells to your ear? But it wasn't-
[A start as the pieces shifted, slid together, his entire countenance perking as a brilliant smile was cast the Cat's way.] A jar! With a little lighthouse in it!
[ God, is this what helping feels like? Is this why the two of them do it? Does the delight and relief of assisting in someone finding what they're looking for always feel like this?.. Well, no, is the answer. The Cat played a pretty integral part in 'helping' Edwin realise exactly who he was attracted to with that little transformation stunt, after all, and that didn't feel good at all. The opposite, actually. But he's not thinking about Edwin, now, is he?
He smiles back, trying not to look at Charles' mouth and failing. Something about how easily the expression fits on his face and how good it feels to see it directed at him when he's only really ever seen Charles scowling at him has an addictive quality to it, one he would normally warn himself off of, but... It's been a while since the boys left, and without a witch to pester him, it's been surprisingly lonely around here. More so than usual. He can have this, just for now, can't he? He's already forcing himself to not think of Edwin, what's one more ghost to add to the mix? ]
That's it. A little Port Townsend souvenir that sounds like the sea when you shake it. [ Fuck, it's hard not to call him a good boy. ] Good boy. [ Welp, never mind. It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, said in that low-pitched voice he uses when it's not clear if he's flirting, teasing, or being genuine. Or all three. It's anyone's guess which is his intention now. ]
So you can remember things yourself, given a little prompting. Maybe we should play some word association, see what's stuck in there, underneath all the fog. [ He gestures with his head for them to carry on walking, down toward the beachfront, where the houses get a little more sparse and the sea air a little more brisk. ]
Not really a surprising bit of praise, given the whole teasing dog allusions the Cat had been making about him earlier. But it still had scarlet creeping up his collar, eyes widening ever so slightly. Ghost didn't need to blush, but without the memory of years of experience in his current form, Charles had forgotten that emotion could still be reflected like that.
He glanced down the street, unable to stop the way his grin endured, something quietly pleased warming it now.]
Relief to know there's till things knockin' around to be remembered, [He'd had a brief moment while coming back to awareness where nothing had been there. Just the fog. And it had been... unpleasant, to say the least. Made him uneasy. So the little hints that there was something to be recovered? Absolutely reassuring as he was more than happy to follow the Cat's lead to continue their walk.] Word association... that's the one where you swap words, yeah? What they make you think of or whatever?
Aw... [ He coos, turning his head to send Charles a faux-empathetic pout... and then he sees the flush to his cheeks, and if he hadn't already made the decision to throw inhibitions off the dock and into the surf, that would have been enough to convince him to do it now. He's so used to ghosts falling back on an unaffected state, controlling themselves to the point where their power remains mysterious — half the reason the Cat finds them so fascinating, can't quite stop staring at them, even when they're not two devastatingly attractive ghost detectives storming into his Kingdom — but Charles is beautifully unaware of his own strength like this, and it's making him want to ease his claws under his fraying edges to see what else he can't control. ]
Don't say it like that. We'll get you there, eventually. It's not a memory wipe. If it was, you'd have no familiarity at all, just emptiness. The fact you know you've been here, the fact you recognise me, the little lighthouse trinket? All good signs. You'll remember everything sooner or later.
[ A little gentle reassurance, a little hush puppy you can trust me, a little quiet soothing to make sure this dog continues following where he leads, keeps hanging on his every word. Yet again, he can't help but think that it makes sense why Edwin likes this position; it feels good to be looked on like this.
But yes, you usually swap one word at a time for whatever the first word made you think of, but I don't like to play by the rules. Where's the fun in doing what everyone else does? He takes them toward the small slope leading toward the gift shop, and the viewing platform for the lighthouse, but turns to smile almost invitingly at Charles before they come level with it. ]
Want to? We can think of a safe word if you want to tap out and stop playing.
[And in some ways, Charles didn't always keep those little signals under control. It made people more comfortable talking to him if they saw little signs of 'life' if they were alive themselves, and the newly dead were similarly comforted even if in both cases neither usually picked up on what was soothing them so. And it made him feel a bit more like himself sometimes, to allow himself to feel a facsimile of a blush, or the soft huff of a surprised breath, the shift of pupils in response to light. Little touches. Little human touches. Only to be shoved aside when it was time for business, for the business end of a cricket bat.
This was just more of that. More of a peek under the typical control he kept, one he was entirely unaware of unlike the usual.
And it just meant that the Cat would likely see a faint bit of a shift, some ease in the set of Charles' shoulders at the reassurance offered. Like the hound the monarch was mentally comparing him with, Charles is predictable in staying with the person who'd helped when he was lost, offered out a hand and kind words. And if left alone, he'd pace and whine and stare out the window, convinced that the world had ended, that he must have done something wrong for his person to be gone.]
A safeword? Mate, what kind of rules do you play with here in the States? [He laughs all the same, a little uncertain but still game.] Just stop if I say stop, yeah? No need to get fancy with it.
[ He sulks a bit, because he can't help it, and equally can't help playing it up as part of the effect. ]
Alright, spoil my fun. But remind me to give you the talk later about why 'stop' is a shitty word to use if you actually want someone to stop.
[ He doesn't elaborate, not yet at least, because the last thing he needs is to get carried away thinking about the effectiveness of a useful safe word in any situation with Charles. It's the last thing Charles needs at this moment, too, he supposes. There are much more pressing things at hand. ]
Hmmm. Alright.
[ He nods at the looming lighthouse with its light out in the clear morning, but still standing bright against the colourless sky. He remembers watching Charles and his little psychic girlfriend talking as they leaned on the railing, Charles' expression tight and eyebrows set, looking curiously stubborn. The Cat had been more focused on Edwin at that time, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder what had got the little ghost so twisted up. ]
[It's fine. Charles is definitely not going to think about the uses he has vague knowledge of for a safeword, especially not when faced with the Cat. The strangely handsome, flirty, charming Cat. He was fairly inexperienced but you spend long enough alive and well... you do hear things. Edges of his ears pink, collar flush, he was quite glad when the Cat's attention turned away from that subject however lightly it had been brushed on.
The mention of the Lighthouse had him turning his gaze towards it, brow furrowing.]
Fine. [Not what he'd expected to slip past his lips given they'd only just talked about the enchanted souvenir jar mere minutes earlier. Brow furrowing as he considered the answer, uncertain what it meant, or why it had an uncomfortable sort of squirm accompanying it. It made him feel the opposite of fine, as a matter of fact.]
[ In a similar way, the Cat is choosing not to think too deeply on the fact that Charles seems to have a lot more understanding of what 'a boy can do with another boy' than Edwin had, and while it's not really all that surprising given that Charles is from roughly seventy years in Edwin's future, it still leads to a lot of interesting questions regarding the depth of his knowledge, and by extension, his interests. Charles being bisexual, at the very least, isn't a shock... but this readiness to flirt back is, and the Cat can't help but wonder if it's the amnesia greasing the tyres, or if it's something else.
Either way, he's not going to ask, because he has a funny feeling that if he does, this fun might end. And that isn't something he's wiling to accept right now. So, he tucks those deliberations neatly into the back of his mind, to ponder later, perhaps when the shine of this situation has dulled and he's become bored and wants a little roughness to his interactions instead of that admiring little smile. If such a time ever comes.
Charles' response has the Cat raising his eyebrows a little. Fine? What kind of answer is that?? He thinks back to when he'd seen Charles up there again, and wonders if Charles' memory is recalling it too, however abstractly it can recall anything in its current state. Was Crystal asking him if he was alright, and had he responded the way he's doing now - saying he's fine but looking anything but?
Well, best to play the game and find out, though he might come to regret this. ]
[Given the era he'd grown in, the counterculture he was clearly involved in from his aesthetic choices, it was likely not a surprising idea that he'd maybe done a little messing around, with girls and guys, at least in a light, casual sort of way. That he was so ready to flirt with the Cat without the memories of said background culture and peer pressure to encourage it spoke to something that was more intrinsic than just a teen following the fads.
The Cat's raised brows just have the teen rolling his eyes in response because he knows, it's a weird answer he knows he's feeling some kind of way about it for reasons he doesn't understand. Whatever the word was tugging on didn't want to tumble into his awareness. His expression smooths back though easily enough as he waits for the next word.]
Protection. [A bit more ready for the uncertainty, it didn't show as much in his expression this time, but it was still there in the question in brown eyes, the faint quirk of his head.]
[ The Cat's expression isn't exactly surprised to hear that one - after all, he'd heard the argument after the Night Nurse, and he'd watched the boys reconcile under that dimly lit awning. He knows full well that Charles relies a little too heavily on masking his more volatile moods... but he'd thought it was anger, for the most part. How on Earth had he and Edwin got so close without Charles being open enough to share the things that made him feel vulnerable?
In the Cat's limited experience, when people want to get to know you, they want to hear how you view yourself first. That's where he's always fallen down, because the guise of a flirty King is easier to rely on, but harder to give any depth to, on account of the fact that it's only real when he's living it, and beyond that? There isn't much to him that he'd want to share. Not for the second time this evening, a little shudder passes through him as he thinks of what this kind of amnesia might feel like. What kind of terrible thing might he tap into if he forgot to mask it?
He brings them to a stop by the railing leading down to the steps of the lighthouse, leaning with his back facing the building, so he can study Charles properly.
There are two ways he could go here. One might make things worse for Charles, and one might make things worse for him. He tries to deliberate on how selfish he's feeling, how magnanimous he could be tempted to be, but the choice is already making it's way out of his mouth without his decision one way or another. ]
[Charles wasn't entirely surprised that the association was bringing up weird feelings even if it wasn't yet giving him any concrete memories. He was dead after all. One didn't tend to die without some sort of unpleasantness to things. He could only guess that the Cat had noticed that discomfiture in him as they wandered towards the steps, had offered that word as a way to maybe bring things back to a more even keel-]
Complicated. [He couldn't help but feel stricken at the idea. Complicated? Why? What about friends was complicated? What about friends had a faint chill zipping through him? Dismissed easily- ghosts didn't feel after all, it was just his head messing with him.
Was... was it him that made things complicated? The Cat's explanations so far made it seem like they were doing good, important things. That he was helping, that he was good. I'll be good please, I'll be good I promise- But what if he wasn't? What if he was somehow fucking it up?]
[ And there, right there, the Cat sees that little flicker of uncertainty that gets him like a harsh pull to the leash. He'd seen it in Edwin, manifesting as a gasp of surprise as a door was opened before him, but here and now with Charles, it's more like a trapdoor being revealed under a sure foot, a rug being pulled, a security blanket lost.
He didn't see what the Night Nurse did, but he heard enough of the resulting explanations and tearful confessions to have a vague idea. This cements some of it, and only makes him more curious for the rest.
But, much as he had when Charles had first confessed to the fog shrouding his thoughts, the Cat gives him an out. He reaches out, to this little ghost who can't feel anything but the touch of another supernatural being, and takes his hand with surprisingly delicate fingers for one so heavy-handed with everything else. His palms are warm, soft, and though Charles is a little chilly (more so than a typical ghost) the Cat doesn't show any negative impression on his face as he pulls a little, pulling Charles closer, like a lighthouse guiding the ship home. ]
Ghosts.
[ Because well, they are complicated, both of them. In a frustratingly addictive kind of way. ]
[It helps. It helps that he's not alone with that uncertainty, that he's not alone with the sudden anxious swirl of thoughts rocketing around his head. Was... was this the sort of person he was? He thought he was more confident. Braver.
Fine. Lies. Protection.
That didn't sound like... who was he lying to? What about? What was he protecting?
But the Cat's presence helps to stymie the spin, especially when that hand reaches out and Charles takes it readily, fingers curling tight against it as if in defiance of the light tremor of them. Allows himself to be drawn closer, leaving damp footprints in the grey stone underfoot that he doesn't really clock.]
Together. [It's a relief to have an association that doesn't feel so fraught, something that feels less like a sharp drop into the dark and more like the warm glow of a lantern in the chill.]
[ There's a subtle little shift in the surrounding air, the crackle of something altering the energy; it's like the smell after rain, like ozone, something so imperceptible that it can easily be missed, but so specifically unique that the Cat can't possibly ignore it. He doesn't need to look down to know Charles is manifesting a haunting. He's seen it a lot, had to deal with it for a few months after first moving in to the cannery, but he's never seen it from a ghost this young, or this seemingly stable. Perhaps there's more under Charles' layers than an afraid teenager, after all.
He smiles a bit at Charles' next word, continuing the pull until the ghost is half a step from his body. He slides a warm thumb down his cold palm, eyes transfixed on his face.
He realises, with a bolt of shock and an aftertaste like dread, that he wants to tell Charles about Edwin. It comes from nowhere inside of him and makes him want to turn his nose away, lash out with his claws to stop such a ridiculous feeling surfacing again... but he still wants it. Even though he knows it will cut all this short, that it's a categorically unselfish idea. He wants it. But why?
He inhales, his smile going a little tight for a second, and then exhales and lets his face relax. ]
[It's gone as quickly as it was noticed. Banished easily by the Cat's touch, by the warmth traced down a chilled palm before Charles even has a chance to realize that anything had happened, before he had a chance to slide further into that uneasy state. The crackle of ozone dissipating on the breeze, the only chill what came from the ocean, from the natural cool of the hand in the Cat's.
He noticed the shift in the other's smile. That slight tension, though it was wiped away quickly, too quickly for Charles to place what might have caused it. But he had seen it which meant something, meant he was keenly aware of the others around him, that even if he might not understand the causes, he was the sort to try and pay attention to the moods of those around him. That could just be because he was a friendly sort. But he had a creeping suspicion that was only part of the reason.
He huffed a soft sound of thin amusement, brows lifting.]
Cat King. [Given his current state, it probably wasn't surprising that was the first association. Now he was curious to see what his companion would do with it, actually.]
[ The Cat raises his eyebrows, a smile curling his mouth as he gestures to himself with his other hand, a pantomime of modest surprise at hearing his own name. The truth of the matter is that it makes perfect sense Charles would connect them both since he is, quite literally, the only thing he knows in this town (and even then, the amount with which he knows him is pretty weak)... but still, the Cat's heart does a ridiculous little jump that he immediately berates himself for. He'd be stupid to read anything into it, he'd be an idiot to think that it means anything beyond simple cause and effect, like Charles won't go back to wanting as little to do with him as possible once he recalls all his memories and realises that the Cat kept the most important piece of his puzzle from him for much longer than he needed to.
He considers his answer for Charles, wondering what delectable adjective he can use to associate with himself-- when a different word strikes him, and so vividly that it almost falls out of his mouth. Lonely. And shaped so perfectly not in the voice of his own mind, but that of Edwin's, the way he'd said it during their last meeting in Port Townsend, before he'd kissed his cheek. Before he left.
He physically bites his own tongue. Then, hastily, turns it into a lascivious lick over his lip, lingering on that little scar on his top lip, as if doing so idly in thought. ]
[Oh Cat. If you only knew how easily Charles attached to others. Maybe not to the same level as with Edwin, but this was not a ghost who kept aloof. While learning the truth would strain things, the time they'd spent getting to know each other would be what made or broke the potential for anything different once the situation was fixed. And if anyone could understand being lonely, clinging to the warmth of another in their orbit in defiance of the cold, well...
The surprise and the playful air earned much the same from Charles, his own eyebrows waggling lightly as he gestured towards the Cat, with an air of yes you, you silly thing. He notices that the other's not quick on the reply, but the shift from what he was wondering if was uncertainty to that more overt sort of flirty charm distracted him, another dusting of darker color highlighting cheekbones as he chuckles in response.]
Proper fit.
[Sorry Cat, were you expecting him to make this easier on you somehow?]
[ It's annoying how easily Charles makes him laugh, and not just the nasty laughter of a tease made at someone's expense, but amused laughter borne of finding someone genuine and earnest, of finding them entirely charming... It feels like a slippery slope, but it also feels good to be under the attention, so the Cat struggles to make himself want anything other than this to simply continue.
He can't exactly say what is on his mind in response to Charles comment, because the only thing taking up enough space in his thoughts is, in fact, Charles himself - and the Cat feels like somehow the ghost might not have the best reaction to it given that he knows so little about himself that thinking on his darker moments almost caused a haunting.
But he doesn't want to leave his thoughts unshared, wants to reiterate the reciprocal reaction here before they inevitably must get back to the actual point of their game... So, he exhales and then bursts into a small plume of violet flame, and left behind is a perfect mirrored replica of Charles himself, standing there looking incredibly smug with half lidded eyes and the easy slouch to his frame the Cat had only ever seen Charles revert to around Edwin. ]
Transformation.
[ He throws his arms open in a ta-daaa kind of motion, watching closely with golden eyes to see how this particular trick will perform. ]
[Charles immediately felt even better at winning that laugh from the Cat, positively beaming. Concerns from before? Definitely all the quieter, because how could he be a bad person if making someone else happy pleased him this much?
He wasn't sure what the Cat was planning when he hesitated, like he was preparing something. That soft exhale before the fire did earn a start from the ghost. But then it was the same as when he'd conjured the little smoke cat, wasn't it?
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. No reflection meant no real sense of his own looks yet, but the clothing matched, that and the sense of familiarity enough to have realization dawning in wide eyes as he took in the sight of the Cat like this, only taking a step back to better take it all in.]
Wicked! [Interest in something new definitely bolstered his clear, eager delight in this fancy new trick that was being shown off. Whatever he might think about himself, Charles was much more keen on praising what he figured was a friend's cool magic.]
Issat like real or illusion? [What was that about a game? Charles was immediately distracted, one hand lightly reaching out as if he might give a light tweak to hair before he seemed to catch up with himself, dropping it back again.] Can you turn into whoever you want? Or like make up an appearance?
[ The Cat's mouth curls like it always does, but using Charles' lips to do it, the end result is something more foxlike than any of the animal analogies either of them typically inhabit. He looks pleased, though, at the core of it, to have someone react positively to his skills for a change (though, he can hardly blame Edwin's shock the last time he'd made the terrible choice of taking on this form, and opened his intended's eyes to the truth sitting right under his clever nose)...
He watches Charles' hand come up and drop, as if instinctually listening to some chiding voice telling him not to be rude. Well, that won't do, will it? The Cat starts to move in this taller body, movements still graceful and sultry, in a small circle around the original. He tilts his head so that the earring catches the light, he purses his lips to tighten the cheeks, he trails a leather gloved hand up Charles' lapel and then over his shoulder, continuing around over his back as he goes. ]
I can be whoever you want me to be.
[ Is his usual response, and it falls out of him almost automatically. It only dawns that it wasn't what Charles asked once it's in the air between them, and he's glad of his position behind the ghost so that it disguises the slight widening of his eyes before he retracts: ]
I can look like anything, anyone. As long as it has human a human or animal shape. Technically it's a glamour, but I feel everything like it's my own body, so it has to be something that's at least capable of being alive, even if the inspiration isn't. [ He smiles at his ghost boy as he comes back around to face him. ] I can't transform into a motorbike or a chest of gold, or anything like that. But I can be the amalgamation of all your favourite parts of different people in one body.
[ The Cat wonders what that would look like for Charles, if he could remember. But then, if he could remember, there's no way he'd ask for it, is there? ]
[It's... strange to see the Cat's grin on his face. Despite not really knowing his own appearance well at the moment, Charles gets the distinct impression that he doesn't tend to smile like that. Nor does he feel he has the feline grace that the other is moving with when he starts circling in that strange, playful manner. But then, he wasn't the Cat King, so it made sense. Eyes wide as he watched the shift of expression, wondering if it was something the Cat was doing on purpose. It had to be. And if that didn't just have a bit more color creeping into his face as he was keenly aware of that trailing touch once the Cat vanished from his sightline.]
That's... that's pretty wild, mate. So... that means the human shape you were in before's like... your favorite then? [Tilting his head to study the Cat with a curious smile.] Given you're a Cat King and all I'm guessing human's not the default for that.
[Not that he was judging. The Cat could look like what he pleased, and really? The shape he'd shown up in? Definitely attractive. Charles hadn't been lying when he'd called him fit.]
[ As the Cat returns to where he was, he leans against the railing before the lighthouse, his arms on the very top while his spine creates a tempting little line that almost looks like the sort of line a body might create while trying to tempt in another... but surely Charles won't read anything into that, given that this is his own body he's looking at, and the slim line of his chest and hips is really only attractive to the one currently manipulating said body to look that way. Right? ]
A favourite, yeah. Like a default setting. I can use a little magic to look a different way—
[ He raises one gloved hand, and Charles' form dematerialises to reform as one similar to his previous form, but rounder and softer; feminine curves unmistakeable under the soft fabric of the Cat's shirt, a little more length to the hair, a fuller lip. When the Cat King speaks again, her voice is higher, but still with that telltale lilt that makes it clear this is the same Cat as before... if the constant stare of those golden eyes didn't give that much away already. ]
If I feel like it. Or if whoever I'm talking to prefers one option over the other.
[ It's earnest, but the tone in her voice sounds like she's setting a challenge, or perhaps asking a question. ]
[It's an odd thing. Charles can objectively look at himself (or well, the Cat masquerading as him) and know he was attractive. It didn't strike him as a new revelation, but as something he'd been aware of before. Had it been something he made use of? Charisma got a person far when the smiles and banter came from a handsome face after all. And that seemed right too, which made him a little nervous as he didn't know yet why he was familiar with that sort of tactic. Surely if he was friends with people who were so interested in doing good that they'd formed a detective agency, he wasn't doing it to be a prat.
But what if he'd pulled the wool over their eyes too?
Luckily though, the Cat didn't seem to be lingering in the shape overlong, returning to the shape they seemed to prefer-
Or something close enough to it. Female rather than male, but still obviously the Cat. Charles' brows lifted as he took in the differences, curiosity and interest blended once again.]
Prefers... [Charles blinked, gaze back on those big golden eyes again, considering the idea now that it was presented.]
I... well, you're a real stunner like this, but I think you knew that already, [Said easily with a smile and a tilt of his head.] But... I meant it when I called you fit before too, yeah?
[Where did that leave him? He wasn't sure. He also wasn't sure why something about saying it, at least the second part of the admission, made him feel exposed in some way.]
[ That kind of seals it, and so the Cat lets the form drop, reverting to his initial form. But not before giving Charles a satisfied smirk at the easy, oh so easy, compliment. ]
Mmhmmm... [ He hums, less a considering noise and more the sound of someone who's just had their question answered. He knew Charles had had a little fling with their resident psychic — according to the reports from his cats, at least — and he knew Charles didn't reciprocate Edwin's feelings in any meaningful way despite throwing a host of jealous looks around when anyone else got too close, but had been flirting back pretty successfully earlier when the Cat had been laying it on thick... ]
Bisexuality isn't a crime, you know. I don't know how much you've forgotten, but no-one's about to push you in a locker for thinking I'm hot both ways any more. Things have changed a lot since you were alive. It's not perfect, but it's easier.
[ He wonders if something happened in Charles' life to make him lean towards girls, or if he was doing it out of habit. The idea that he might possibly not be attracted to Edwin doesn't compute in the Cat's mind, so that's out. Even though the Cat wants to ask so badly about it, but doing so would mean bringing up Edwin, and reminding himself that he wants to, that it would more than likely fix this, that Charles would have something familiar and comforting to guide him through this instead of the Cat's heavy-handed paws. ]
C'mon, let's keep going. [ He says, starting to walk onwards down the steps to the beach. And then, because his curiosity is making his tongue feel light and sharp in his mouth, and he needs to sate it before he says something ridiculous, he asks: ]
Do you remember anything about your human life, or has the curse taken everything? [ He could get away with feigning concern and magical speculation on the parameters of how this curse has affected Charles with a question like that. But not with what he asks next: ] Do you remember how many girls you've kissed? How many boys?
[Oh if only the Cat knew. If only he knew how Charles' absolutely burned for Edwin in every way. It was such a part of him, such a vital element that it didn't even strike him as strange. As natural as the sun in the sky. And like the sun, that fire was the reason he existed, at this point.
But then he'd known so few examples of love in his life, was it any surprise that he hadn't realized the potential in that intensity, until Edwin's shaky confession had held up a mirror and let him see the shape of things for the first time?
And where did that leave him now, with all that fire but uncertain where to direct it?
Unaware of the Cat's inner turmoil, especially with his comments about sexuality to chew on, Charles was more than willing to follow the prompting, falling into step alongside his companion as their steps turned them towards the beach. Considering the question that followed, a sensible enough one with what happened, even if the addition had him chuckling faintly.]
I... don't remember, nah. S'all just fog and water. Sometimes you'll bring something up or I'll see something and it'll seem right. Or a bit of memory shakes out. [A vague gesture with a hand, as if he knew that wasn't especially helpful, but it was what he had. But he gives himself a centering shake and a wry smile.]
A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Your Majesty, [As if he was a gentleman, the very idea, his teasing smirk seemed to say.] But the idea of kissin' either... feels familiar, yeah.
Mmm. Boring. What's the point in doing anything naughty if you don't brag about it afterwards? [ Heaving a dramatic sigh. ] Well, it's a good thing you remember you're dead, at least. That would have been an awkward conversation, and I couldn't have done much to open your eyes to anything of your life before. I met you post beating heart, I'm sorry to say.
[ The apology sounds tongue in cheek, but it feels oddly genuine when he says it. While the Cat can often joke and tease, he very rarely actually lies; he withholds information, sure, he dodges the truth as gracefully as one might expect a feline body would.. but lying doesn't come easily to him. It sits strangely in his mouth, makes his magic feel wild, makes his awareness feel shaken. Even if the truth will actively do him harm, hurt him, make things worse... If Charles asked what was missing, what the no doubt empty feeling in him is because of, why it feels comfortable but wrong to walk beside the Cat, the Cat would tell him. He knows he would. And he hates that.
And now, as he tells Charles that he's sorry he didn't meet him when he was alive, he's not lying about that either. He wonders if he was the type of boy who was nice to cats, despite clearly preferring dogs.
But, he does know something, doesn't he? He knows Charles chose to stay here, in the world that he was taken from, to instead stay by Edwin's side and to promise to stay there even if it took the press of claws and teeth to keep him so. There must have been something in life that made Charles feel like he needed a second chance, if he gave up on an afterlife for this. Perhaps it's better he doesn't remember. ]
I think you and your little detective team came down here once or twice.
[ He says, as he starts to pick his way along the stony beach, toward the shoreline that loops back around to the docklands, to the cannery. ]
Looking for some giant fish, or something. Nothing to do with me, though I might've helped if you'd asked. Cats are good at fishing.
Cause it's exciting, obviously. [Said with a cheeky little grin, entirely unapologetic.
The apology, joking as the tone was, sounded genuine enough. A casual air painted over actual emotion was a thing Charles was finding familiar in some way, beyond simply knowing people who operated like that. With his own knee-jerk response to things being to smile, to be chipper and make jokes himself despite the situation he'd found himself in, he could only imagine how often he did that himself.]
Aces, means you can't bust out any embarrassing little kid pictures yeah?
[And the prompting was helpful. He had a sense of familiarity in looking around the stretch of beach, but the confirmation did encourage him to be a bit more mindful in his examination of their surroundings. Pausing when he spotted a little bit of seaglass, stooping to pluck it up before continuing to follow, turning it thoughtfully between fingers.]
Remember there was some seaglass that was important. Not sure why, but it seems that way.
[A tilt of his head, considering.]
Cats are good at fishin' yeah, but isn't it a thing that you're not fans of water?
[ The Cat doesn't stop for Charles' perusal of the beach, but his ears do perk up at the mention of sea glass. He'd seen that little interaction for himself, rather than through the eyes of his cats; where Niko had given Edwin some sea glass for courage, just after Edwin had been staring at Charles without realising it, when the realisation dawned on him. That had been the day he'd transformed into Charles to tease him, hadn't it?
He doesn't like to think about it. It was a massive faux pas, but it was also potentially the first push to the snowball effect of Edwin's feelings for Charles coming to a head (even though he almost definitely had feelings for him before that) and thinking about it makes the Cat feel... weird. Not angry, not upset, but weird.
He chooses instead to latch on to the latter part of Charles' comment, since it's always so much easier to indulge in talking about himself. ]
I'm not a fan, sure, but I live on the docklands of a coastal town — I'd be in a sorry fucking state if I couldn't handle a bit of water, don't you think?
[ He asks, meandering closer to the water's edge so he can kick a few pebbles into the rolling tide, as if to prove his resilience to the stuff. ]
It's mostly domesticated house cats who fear water. Once you've been a stray for long enough, you stop being so worried about things you don't understand.
[The sea glass goes into his pocket for the moment, along with the other little bits he'd found there almost without thinking. Clearly a habit of some sort if he pondered it, but for the moment his attention was more on the Cat than the little habit as he lengthened his stride enough to catch up with him.
Not that it was hard- he hadn't been running away, he just hadn't stopped.]
I mean... could be like... exposure therapy? That's a thing.
[Charles hummed thoughtfully at the second part though. That... sounded right. He wasn't sure how he knew, but it did, so he just nodded his understanding.]
Makes sense though. Stray cat's got loads more to worry about than a bit of water, yeah? World's a scary place, 'specially when you're little.
[ Oh, but that makes him smile. Helplessly charmed by the idea of Charles showing any kind of empathy such as that to stray cats, the Cat King feels his opinion of Charles sliding from a place that's already pretty positive, toward an even more affectionate one. God, he's so easy; all it takes, really, is a handsome face, enough mystery to keep him keen, and a reluctance to be mean to animals. It's no wonder he falls so hard, so fast and so often. ]
Little, huh?
[ He asks, then snaps his fingers and reappears a moment later as a sleek black cat, tail high in the air, golden eyes like a sunset framed against the blue of the water behind him as he splashes his paws in the white surf. ]
There's nothing little about a cat, puppy. You should watch your mouth.
Oi, I didn't mean anything by it! [He didn't sound upset by the chiding, especially not with the trick of that transformation to distract him. He didn't hesitate to shift to an easy crouch to be more on the Cat's current level.]
Little's just about size. Nothin' bad about being cat-sized. Makes it loads easier to sneak around, and get into all sorts of places people don't want you gettin' into, I'm sure.
[And unable to help but to grin and give a teasing response to the last bit-]
[ Little, to the Cat, doesn't even come close to any word that could be used to describe a cat's size. Little is for mice, and rodents, and things that scurry about unseen because people would rather pretend they don't exist. Cats aren't like that; if it wasn't for the strange subset of humans that find them untrustworthy for whatever reason, cats would be almost universally well liked.
But Charles has a point. Being this size does make it sufficiently easier to get himself into trouble, and is even a pretty stellar way to get himself back out of it again, too. And perhaps it's that thought that inspires him to narrow his golden eyes as he turns around with soggy little paws to study the ghost crouched nearby, on his level in what the Cat assumes Charles thought would be a placating way... but which the Cat only sees as an opportunity.
He lunges forward, pouncing at the form of the ghost until he's hooked claws into his coat and is anchoring himself up onto his shoulders, sitting proudly as though he were made to sit there. ]
I spend enough time already watching your pretty little mouth, I don't need any more encouragement.
[ And it's true. Of all Charles' most attractive features, that stupidly charming smile is is most enticing, and the one the Cat can summon with perfect clarity in his mind despite the limited number of times he's seen it directed his way. ]
Now, come on — the cannery is just down the beach once you hit the docks. You can get us both there, as penance for your insolence to a King.
[A matter of perspective, perhaps. To a cat, they were just the right size and everything else was smaller or larger. To Charles, human that he was, his own size in the world was his reference.
Whatever he'd been expecting, while he started for the sudden movement, he didn't recoil or try to block the Cat as he launches his way, scrabbling up onto his shoulders with that quick grace that only a feline ever seemed to pull off. Blinking a moment as he processed the feel of the little furry weight against his shoulders, shifting his posture ever so slightly to make sure they were a stable perch for his companion, he let out a short laugh, bringing up a curled knuckle just low enough to be an offer of a chin rub if the Cat wanted it.]
As Your Majesty commands, [Teasing to be sure, but not a disrespectful sort.] I'd bow but-
[He'd been about to joke about the move dislodging the Cat, but something about the idea of bowing just had him making a light face as he pushed to his feet to carry them along at an easy sort of amble.]
[ The Cat accepts the raised hand, rubbing his whiskers once against the sharp angle of Charles' knuckle before gently nipping at it with his smaller teeth - not enough to hurt, but enough to be a playful warning. Be careful what beasts you try to pet, and all. He wonders if Charles has ever paid the price for this kind of blind trust that animals will accept a soft hand if it's offered with patience... Or if his annoyingly charming face served him well even in that regard. ]
No, you're not. Kind of the rebellious type, but you probably figured that out from the way you're dressed, right? No respectable teenager has patches on their coat.
[ Probably a wild generalisation, but the Cat doesn't need to know Charles inside and out to know that he was the type to buck the trend. It's probably why he works so well with Edwin, after all; one of them rigid and the other fluid, making for a perfect team. Ugh, it's so gross how made for each other they are. But he's not thinking about that, is he? It makes him feel weird. Even though, technically, he's doing all he can to keep Charles safe while he waits for more information about what's happened to the ghost boys. ]
Besides, I don't think there'd be any appeal in seeing you bow. [ He focuses back in on the boy under his paws, curling his tail in to play cheekily at the slope of his cheek, tickling under his nose, as he lowers his voice to murmur through a purr into his ear: ] I'd prefer to see you on your knees.
[His smile warms a bit at the acceptance of that little warm chin against his knuckle, and it's clear this isn't the first time he's been bitten for an attempt like this- while the Cat's nip is gentle, he hadn't known it would be, so how still his hand remains under the needle teeth is certainly telling.
Fair play. It seems to say in an unspoken manner.]
You're not wrong there. Not sure what all they're for entirely at the moment, aside from the obvious ones, but you don't plaster yourself in pins and patches if you're hopin' to be a respectable sort, yeah?
[And that held the sort of comfortable ease to it that told Charles he was entirely correct. That he and the Cat were both right that he was much more the rebellious sort than one to fall in line just because it was expected of him.
And he was in general aware of the Cat King's presence. Mostly for the idea that he didn't want to accidentally send him tipping one way or the other, or anything like that, but it meant he was instantly aware of the shift in posture, the curl of the tail that was soft as it skimmed over skin.
Though he had a sense that he'd flirted before, teasing, playful, easy, there was a distinct sense of newness to the soft-purred comment offered by the Cat in the moment, and for all he was a ghost and thus had no circulation to speak of, the feline would be rewarded with the way his ears tinged pink, the flush straight up from his collar as he let out a startled little huff of sound in response to the idea.]
I-I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you aren't I? [Managed after a startled moment, gaze flicking towards the Cat with a lift of brows, something... curious in his expression. Maybe a little interested.] Seems like you're trouble too.
[ It's too maddening to think about how things might have gone if he'd focused in on Charles over Edwin, or else been more strategic in his approach, maybe even lured the two of them in rather than just the one... Maddening because this is fun and easy, and could have been a reality if he'd just taken a moment or two to think before wading in.
The fact that Charles is bisexual isn't really a surprise, after all, but the fact he's not side-stepping this heavy-handed attention kind of is. Of course he doesn't have the memory of Edwin to keep him within his restraints, so the Cat supposes that is doing a lot of the heavy lifting... but there's interest in the way Charles looks at him, attraction clear in the way he holds himself as well as the fact that Charles said as much without mincing words. If he wanted to, the Cat is almost certain he could tempt Charles into a make-out session at the very least before all of this is over. It's crazy how badly he wants to try, and frustrating how loudly the alarm bells are ringing in his head telling him that's a fucking stupid idea.
At the moment, the ghost boys aren't Not talking to him, but they're also an ocean away and very much doing their own thing... so it's take what you can while you have the chance to, or leave yourself open for uncertain potential in the future. Being a hedonistic cat by nature, the Cat King knows which option he will more than likely lean into if pushed any further. He should almost definitely, then, stop flirting with Charles. ]
Trouble? Hardly. I won't ever do anything you don't want me to, I can promise you that.
[ He should, but he won't. He needles his paws back and forth on Charles' shoulder, claws picking at the wool of his coat, tail still dancing teasingly across his cheek. ]
But I won't say no to you keeping an eye on me. I like the idea of you looking.
I never said trouble was a bad thing. [Pointed out breezily, entirely unaware of the moral struggle the poor Cat was going through on his shoulder, leaving Charles entirely unworried about the idea of flirting. He was, at his core a people pleaser, had a deep want for affection and companionship, so this little interaction? Was hitting just right in this moment when he was so very unmoored and alone otherwise. It was a lot easier to not focus on that when he had someone to tease.] But I'll keep an eye on you then, yeah? Since you seem so keen on the idea and all.
[As if he'd mind doing it. Something about the back and forth here was... well strange, for the fact that Charles had no real idea of himself or of the Cat beyond this brief period. But on the other hand it was so easy to fall into the pattern as they walked on, a simple enough path to follow, even memoryless as he was in the moment. Whatever else, he found he was enjoying the playful conversation, and in a period of such uncertainty he was going to grab hold of that with both hands.
If things weren't as they seemed later? Well he'd figure that out when he got there. For now the idea of keeping an eye on this troublemaker of a Cat suited him right down to the ground.]
[ The Cat sinks lower into his feline shoulders to get closer to Charles' ear, claws digging in for purchase as he does but taking care not to pierce ghostly flesh, just the coat. ]
With all due respect, Charles, you don't know what trouble is. You didn't even know your own name until I called you it, and I could've picked anything to call you.
[ He isn't sure why he's putting up such a fight, but something about Charles readily accepting the Cat King's bullshit without actually knowing what that bullshit entails makes him feel... not bad, exactly, but definitely not good either. Weird. Weird, but in a kind of curious way that makes him want to prise eager paws under the lid keeping the contents unknown. He wants to know if Charles would still feel like this if he knew the truth, if he'd flirt so easily knowing the hand the Cat unwittingly played in getting them captured and subsequently tortured, if he knew how bone-deep the Cat's loneliness actually goes.
But, he doesn't let any of that unrest show on his face, because as Charles rounds the corner of the beach and starts to follow the shoreline inwards, the view of the docks comes into sight. And, well, Charles had said he'd keep an eye on him, so he might as well test that theory.
He leaps from Charles' shoulders with a little chirp, landing softly on the sand and turning to level a challenging glance at the ghost behind him before starting to scamper toward the large unassuming warehouse. ]
But you didn't. Trouble or not, you've been right decent to me, Your Majesty.
[Charles points that out with a cheerful tone, smiling at the little cat on his shoulder as he raises a hand to stroke the side of his furry face, up behind an ear briefly.
He was normally perceptive about people around him, but it was harder to place an emotion on a feline face, so he missed the signs here, especially with the distraction of the docks coming into view. Familiar again, even before his attention was drawn by the loss of the little weight on his shoulders, the sight of that graceful little leap.]
Not gonna lose me that easily! [Charles can't help the laugh as he calls after the Cat before he takes off after him, feeling all the better for the movement, for the little impromptu chase.]
[ God, it's maddeningly good to have Charles consistently reassure him, meeting him with that firm way of seeing the world and taking it at face value, accepting its faults but also accepting that sometimes you just have to roll with them lest you be left with nothing. The Cat wonders if this is how he hooked Edwin in so completely; counteracting his logic with an easy disposition and a charming smile...
Somehow, thinking about this and being annoyed and endeared and flustered by it in equal amounts makes the Cat run faster, as though scarpering away from the train of thought that reminds him that soon enough his cats will report back with the situation on the mirror-labyrinth, or Edwin will come storming into the Cannery, or his own better judgement will suffocate his selfishness and have him pushing Charles through the mirror he'd recently installed in the corner of his throne room himself -- just to get him out of his mind, back into the waiting arms of his little agency.
He streaks across the sand, staying in sight of the ghost but nowhere near close enough to catch, until he leaps up the small walkway leading onto the dock and scurries into the Cannery through the plastic strip curtains shrouding the open doorway.
When Charles arrives, the Cat will be in human form again, stretched out on the seat of his throne as if he's been there for hours, perhaps even filing a claw and yawning dramatically. ]
[The Cat would be able to hear the teen chasing after him- there was no way he could outstrip a cat on the run, but that didn't stop him darting pell-mell across the sand in pursuit, laughter echoing after like another sort of chase. Charging up the walkway, he's not surprised to see the Cat had already vanished from sight, the sway of plastic giving a clear enough hint where the feline went. So Charles thought nothing of darting in after, reeling back to a stop once he spotted the other on his throne, walking at a bit more of a sane pace now with bright eyes and a sunny sort of smile on his face.
The cannery was familiar- again Charles had the sense of deja vu but no concrete facts shaking free. Probably for the best for the Cat in the moment. Spotting that yawn, it startled another laugh from him, brows lifting as hands set against his hips.]
Oh, you're still here? I thought you'd given up and gone back.
[ To Edwin, is what he'd been about to say, the words that were lingering at the tip of his tongue, but he catches them just before they escape, and disguises the mishap with a playful little purse of his lips. Though, thinking of Charles going back... his eyes catch on the ornate standing mirror in the corner of the room, surveying it warily, as if he'll see what's wrong with the mirror network through simple surveillance. Everything looks the same from here, at least. He wonders how his Cats have been fairing, getting reconnaissance for him.
He slides his eyes back to Charles in the meantime, tapping a claw idly against the armrest of his throne. ]
[Whatever else Charles had to say in the moment? Was lost to the Cat King's perception, muffled like he'd plunged his head underwater. Something about the flash of reflection in the mirror stayed, even as his gaze turned back, a liquid ripple across reality as his eyes met Charles' and his surroundings seemed to slide out of his attention, those silvery ripples remaining just at the edges of his periphery as it resolved to somewhere different.
A small back garden, a simple space, with a sturdy looking oak tree, a smattering of herbs growing to one side of a small toolshed. The boy who lived their- Charles for certain, for all the Cat King had never seen him before at such a young age, knew that there was a gap in the fence behind the shed- not large enough for him to slip through, but large enough for another. And it was them that he was waiting for in the dimming light of dusk, crouched in the grass with an open tin of tuna he'd smuggled out of the pantry.
Soon enough, a figure slunk from around the shed. Mad Bastard, the rest of the neighborhood called this particular ginger cat. A menace that attacked anyone that so much looked at him funny, that feared nothing- he'd even beaten the tar out of the Smith's huge bruiser of a dog when they'd set it on him. A sturdy thing, practically a brick of muscle in a fur coat, magnificent in a ruinous sort of way, with one ear ragged, tail kinked, single remaining eye reflecting the light from the kitchen window as it was surveying the yard, stopping when the boy was spotted.]
Hey there mate... thought you might like a snack on your way through, yeah? [Charles couldn't help but smile as he spoke softly, the expression revealing the gap where a front tooth should be as he was carefully easing down so he could hold the tuna can towards the cat. He misjudged the distance though- once the cat decided his hand, offering food or no, was too close, there was a lash with a paw before he was darting across the garden before the boy could even yelp or drop the can in surprise, looking after as the cat vanished into the hydrangeas as a few droplets of blood welled on the side of his thumb.]
Fair enough.
[The perception of time shifts- the Cat King is aware that much time hasn't passed, but flashes of other meetings flicker through his mind. As the weeks pass, the cat doesn't change it's pattern, refuses to be put off of it's preferred path by an overeager boy. Charles learns the acceptable range where he can reach to leave the tuna out, and sometimes the cat deigns to eat, other times it doesn't, driven by some assessment that the boy isn't privy to. Slowly, the distance he's allowed to reach shortens little by little, though occasionally he misjudges the distance and is corrected by a swat of claws, or the flash of teeth, but he doesn't shout, or retaliate. Just hissing out a sound of surprised pain, a sheepish little laugh. 'I get it, some bloke getting all up in my business I'd scratch'm too' He'd comment, or something like it in a wry tone as he watched the cat bound away.
Another day, this memory a bit clearer than the smear of timeline of the moments before. Spring evening chilled, the small boy likely would have retreated inside, if not for the sound of shouting coming from the other side of the door he'd sat with his back against. Shouting was nothing new, but as his father's tone had grown more sharp and ugly, his mother had urged him out into the garden with a tense smile and an urge to play for a bit before shutting him out. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but it sounded like his father had worked himself up into quite the fury over something. He can't help the faint flinch as something shatters, gaze fixing on the spill of light from the kitchen window over the darkening grass. And like a specter, the cat slinks into view, lamp-like single eye fixing on him as it stops, assessing the situation and the new noise from inside the house.]
Hey there Havoc. Don't got any tuna for you tonight mate, I'll get you double next time, yeah? [Charles kept his voice quieter than normal, but the swivel of a torn ear swiveling his way hinted that he'd been heard. He honestly expected the cat to move on without some treat to encourage it to stay, especially with the racket going on inside. But he still held out a hand in a soft, slow sort of manner, holding his breath as he did. Remembering something he'd read in a book about how some animals took eye contact as a challenge, he averted his gaze, letting it go just to the left of the cat who considered him a moment, utterly silent. A few moments after he felt the faint cold of a nose sniffing against a bandaged knuckle, followed by a light bump of a furry head against the side of his wrist. Startling him enough to have wide eyes meeting the cat's single eye before the feline darted off with a flick of it's crooked tail into the darkness again, leaving Charles with a cautious smile on his face.]
Knew you weren't all teeth.
[The yard doesn't seem quite so small. The sounds of his father's anger are still echoing in the evening air, but they seem almost muted, unable to reach Charles in this single moment. The memory slides away, but the Cat King is still in that strange liminal space, with the sense that there's more to be seen in this particular tale.]
[ Eager to get rid of him? The Cat has to laugh, because if only Charles knew how thoroughly false even the idea of that is, he'd laugh too. But the Cat's mirth doesn't last long, suffocated quickly before it's had a chance to start by the sudden reverie that overwhelms his senses completely. For a moment, instinct has him certain that there is some kind of ambush taking place — that whatever had happened to Charles, whatever had forced him to return here and had stolen his memories, is catching up with him and has therefore dragged the one getting close to him, protecting him (however loose the Cat's ability to protect anyone is) into the mess alongside him. Panic sets in, claws digging in to the arms of his throne as he's sat up straight, but soon enough the scene around them starts to flicker and chance, and rather than feeling fear at being somewhere else against his will, curiosity rears its head in him, replacing that more cowardly instinct, as the Cat's eyes fall easily upon the small boy before him.
Of course he recognises him. Even without the earring or the chain or the kohl dusted eyes or his familiar outfit, the dark curling hair and the little peak to his ears is instantly familiar, but neither as familiar as his dark eyes when they widen as the cat comes in to focus slinking through the fence. Thoughts of how and why he's being shown this fall away as he takes a step closer, watching as the Cat is clearly tempted by the offered tuna, but knows better than any pampered house cat to accept a bribe and lets his claws do the talking. The Cat can remember that anger himself, has seen it and even felt it so many times... but he's very rarely seen anyone react the way young Charles does — not with anger, but with understanding.
Children, especially boys, often favour dogs because it's easier to get them to like you. Cats require finer methods, careful planning, dedication that most kids deem too much effort, especially when the cat in question has grown past kittenhood. It makes the Cat king wonder why he keeps trying, even as time wears on, even as Charles gets little success for his attempts...
By the time the clearer memory comes around, the Cat still doesn't have an answer, but the beginning sprouts of one starts to form when he hears the shouting pressed behind a closed door, when he sees the boy shivering and hurt, when he sees the Cat recognise that fear and relate to it, and bump up against his hand.
He remembers to breathe about the same time as the memory slips away, exhaling a slow breath of quiet understanding into the strange void around him. ]
[It's a strange sort of awareness in that moment- the Cat is aware of the passage of actual time around him, dim though it might be like looking at something through a gossamer curtain. He can likely just hear the soft echo of a voice, likely Charles' as the ghost teen seems to realize that his companion's attention is elsewhere. But he's also aware of the passage of time between the snatches of memory that flicker like a film reel. More of those little moments where trust is built on the back of little gestures, quiet patience. A lot of teeth and claws and hissing. Havoc has good reason not to trust humans after all, and one stubborn little boy isn't about to fix that in a day. He seems though to recognize that. Never seems to get frustrated when there's a backslide, even if on occasion there's something a bit quietly sad when he watches the ginger cat dart away, a new streak of red on a hand or wrist. And where others would undoubtedly start trying to coax the cat inside to keep, whether the house or the shed, this didn't even seem to occur to Charles.
The cat doesn't always leave immediately once the tuna can is empty now. Sometimes he'll settle near Charles, allow a finger or two to brush against thick fur. Other times he'll take over a spot in the garden while Charles is reading a comic, crushing some of the oregano under his furry bulk as he sunned himself and listened to the boy narrate the story to him in a soft, pleased sort of tone. Even when Charles started leaving the tuna and sitting back elsewhere in the garden himself, the cat would occasionally approach, allowing a brief pet, or even, on occasion, butting his head against a calf or knee before darting away to wherever he'd meant to go in the first place.
They cross paths in the neighborhood too- despite trying to stay near home, his mother often urges him out the door into the back garden or out into the neighborhood at large. And so he'll spot Havoc as he wanders. Sometimes the cat will stop, stare at him a long moment with a twitch of an ear, before bounding along on his way. On occasion, the cat will approach, earning a caught breath from Charles, as they walk together. No more than a block or two here and there, typically only if the cat is close enough as it is- Charles jokes that they 'just happen' to be going the same way. Walking to school in the rain, he tilts his umbrella to cover the cat, despite the way it gets his own shoulder sodden.
As time passed they sat together in the garden more, the cat lingering closer to Charles so long as he wasn't overly rambunctious about things. Flopped on his back in the fall leaves, basking in the afternoon sun, Charles had more of his focus on the puzzle cube in his hands than the cat that was sat near him, chatting idly to him, a running commentary usually, though occasionally he'd pause as if the cat was responding, or ask his opinion on something playfully. And even at his closest, where Havoc would normally allow a few fingers to stroke over fur, he kept at least a few inches distance between them. So the boy was... surprised when he felt the faint bump of warmth against the side of his leg. A cautious glance showing the cat sitting, his back to the boy, but leaning slightly against his side. A faint flicker of an ear in his direction, as if to remind the boy not to get too excited about it, but it didn't stop the smile that crawled over his face. A smile that only broadened when eventually he heard just under the rustle of autumn leaves and the chatter of his own voice, the faintest rasp of a purr.
The rituals continue. Small interactions, little crossings of paths as the days grow shorter and colder. Charles still spends most of his time in the garden, at least when his father is home, though with extra layers in concession to the chill. Uses the snow along the cat's preferred path for snow forts and snowballs once he notices how it shows those little pawprints- if his mother knew the cat was coming into the yard she'd complain to his father, and who knew what he'd do to Havoc. That front tooth was grown in by now, a gap in a different spot showing the passage of time on the next happy smile at the ginger cat when he deigned to accept the snow fort as an acceptable place to eat his snack and sit out of the wind for a little bit.
There came a time though, when the cat didn't appear. When the boy waiting was forced to go back inside, tuna can unopened in his pocket. He didn't worry at first- Havoc would occasionally vanish for a day or two, only to return at his leisure. But even then, Charles might spot him elsewhere in the neighborhood, in the bushes, or slinking through an alley. Hear others complaining about their run-ins with the Mad Bastard. But days passed, and there was no sign. No gleam of a single lamp-like eye from foliage, or flash of orange between buildings. No mention of him menacing the neighborhood. No sign of him slinking through the back garden.
Weeks passed. Charles spent time in the garden as usual, gaze occasionally sliding to where he knew the gap in the fence was. Fingers tapping uncertainly against the unopened can in his jacket pocket. He knew what had likely happened. Havoc wasn't a young cat- he'd been a neighborhood staple for longer than Charles had been alive, and aside from that, he was a stray with all the freedoms and risks that came with it. All it took was one bad incident...]
Guess you decided to go find someplace warmer, yeah? [Charles was young sure, but he knew that wasn't the case, clear enough in some underlying element to that light tone of the murmur as he absently ran his thumb along the side of his index finger, feeling the faint texture of a scar courtesy of one ginger menace there.] Good on you, mate.
[The moment faded, the strange visual ripple sweeping over everything again- only a few minutes had passed near as the Cat could tell, awareness of the world around him coming back into clear focus as Charles was leaning in closer, brow knit with concern as he clicked fingers together, trying to catch the Cat's attention. From the blank but clearly worried sort of confusion to his tone and expression, it was clear that while the Cat had seen all of that? Charles had no idea about any of it.]
[ Boys Charles' age should be playing with their friends, not sitting in their own back garden with something to pass the time, talking to a cat that won't talk back, especially not in the freezing cold of late autumn when it gets dark so fast and the chill sinks in to little bones and stays there. But sometimes, as the Cat King well knows, there is safety to be had in discomfort rather than facing the fear of something trampling over a space you once thought of as yours.
His cats had shown him the gist of the conversation Charles had with Edwin and even the one he had with Crystal regarding his father, and Charles hadn't exactly been graphic with the details, but seeing it first hand like this puts it into perspective. After all, it takes common ground to garner trust in an animal so hurt by the world and the people in it. Often, like finds like in those circumstances, and Charles might not have a missing eye or a chipped ear, but the Cat King would bet that beneath his sweater or the long legs of his trousers he might have more than one or two bruises mottling his skin.
The inevitable loss hits him as painfully as if he were feeling it personally, as if he knew this cat or knew this boy beyond simply watching what they've been through. Strays aren't forever, just as cats aren't, and it's all the Cat King can do to hope that that angry ginger tom inspired the same kind of sympathy in Death when she came to pick him up, perhaps even made him a Cat King like she had presumably done for him. Didn't the Cat Boss of London have a brief spell as a ginger once?
He's broken from wondering, from the reverie completely, by Charles' clicking fingers in front of his face, and he blinks quickly to dispel the last lingering trails of mist from his vision. ]
What? [ He furrows his brow, coming back to his own mind slowly, like wading through syrup. ] What happened? Did you- [ He frowns a little harder. ] You didn't see that?
Blimey, there you are, [Charles drew back a little bit just to give the Cat his space back, the hand that had been in his face giving a relieved pat to his shoulder instead now that he was aware of his surroundings, talking to him again.] Not sure what you mean- you were talkin' to me, looked around and then just... nothin, yeah? Were starin' off, didn't answer a couple minutes there.
[He was admittedly concerned, but he also knew that he didn't know anything about this situation.] That... a cat thing, or a weird thing?
[He highly doubted that it was anything expected, not with the way the Cat was responding now, the confusion in his questions, the frown on his face. But then, who knew? Wasn't that a thing, people noticing cats staring off into the middle distance sometimes and not knowing just what they were looking at? He was fairly certain at least.]
[ He answers, a little darkness entering his expression because that right there? That felt like some kind of magic — and the only reason the Cat knows that is because it's unlike anything he's ever felt before, and magic doesn't typically work on him, so putting two and two together... It must be something powerful. Or he's losing it. ]
I was thinking about the mirror you came through and the fact that no-one's followed you here. The network must still be fucked up, because my Cats haven't come back with any update, either. But for a second I saw...
[ He squints, looking around the warehouse for a moment like he might see the remnants of the memory sneaking behind a stack of shelving. Then, he looks back at Charles. This couldn't be some elaborate prank, could it? What would anyone get out of something like that? ]
I saw... Your memories. I think. One of them, at least.
[Charles can't help the worry that creeps into his own expression, shadowing the draw of his brows as he studies the Cat, but finds nothing overtly different or unusual about him. He's about to ask about if the cats that had been sent to scout were alright, if the Cat even had a way to know one way or another before his continued comment drew more immediate focus.]
One of mine? [Why did his smile feel so strained to keep up at the idea of that? Surely it was a good thing, the Cat could clue him in on another of his memories, maybe it would shake something else loose. And yet... something about it just had a nervousness coiling in his chest. The tension wasn't visible in his expression of course, muscle memory, even the ghostly sort made it so easy for him to smile like nothing was wrong and he was just curious even when he didn't know why he needed to do it.] Anything good? Or interestin'?
[ The Cat notices that little flicker in Charles' smile, like a man straining from supporting a weight from caving in for much too long. He narrows his eyes a bit. No, Charles definitely isn't pranking him. That's genuine fear, a muscle-memory reaction of Charles' body responding without his brain explaining why, to the thought of someone knowing something about him without him making the decision to divulge it. The Cat can relate, but no-one has ever got close enough to him to know anything about him, so it's an unfounded fear either way. Still. Doesn't mean he doesn't see how Charles' face changes, albeit minutely. ]
Kinda. It was about... cats.
[ He scrunches up his nose a bit, then gets up off his throne and hops down off the pallet, stalking the same way an animal might stalk prey likely to startle from sudden movements — with slow, even footsteps — across to the mirror. ]
Which is odd for more than one reason. Magic doesn't work on me, so whatever's fucking with you shouldn't have any impact on me. Which means it's not magic. Or it is, but it's really really powerful. And what's more, it's aware of my connection to you.
[ He looks back at Charles, then, having seen nothing strange in the mirror just yet. ]
After all, of all the memories you have, why show me one involving cats?
[It wasn't enough to trigger any remembrance in him, but somehow that wasn't really a surprise. It was so vague that it could be a lot of things. That didn't stop that strange sort of unease, but that was practically constant at the moment, which given his loss of memories? Was hardly surprising.
There was something familiar about following the Cat as he moves, falling in at his shoulder as he prowls over to the mirror. Like a bird dog waiting for prey to be flushed, curious, alert in the moment. It wasn't the Cat who he'd trail like this, he knew that even if his memory wouldn't shake who but it was similar enough to ground him some, even as the mirror offered up no more secrets, looking for the moment like a normal mirror, like nothing strange was happening at all.]
D'you think it's like... actively watchin' or is this more... just kinda a side-effect of whatever was done? [Neither was especially good, for a variety of reasons, but Charles disliked the idea of being under the direct attention of something like this way more than the alternative.]
[ The Cat makes a face, not a grimace or a frown, but something somewhere in the middle. He can tell Charles' instinct is to deliberate, to discuss and puzzle out this mystery, because that's all he's known for the last thirty-whatever years at Edwin's side. He and Edwin could do this little back and forth, share ideas and come to a solution they've built together down to their excellent ghost detective teamwork.
But the Cat is not Edwin. The Cat doesn't do teamwork, because the Cat doesn't do teams. He doesn't do friends, or even partnerships. The fact that it's all down to the simple reason that he's never had the opportunity to try goes unheeded in his mind, focusing instead on the sheer lack between them. There's no great mind to puzzle out magical intention here, just a Cat who knows what to avoid and a foolish puppy of a ghost who will follow him around because he doesn't know any better. ]
If this was the same mirror you got barfed out of, I'd say it's a side effect. But this is a totally different mirror in a totally different place, on the other side of town.
[ Look at him, hypothesising anyway despite his reluctance. Anyone ever heard of a Cat detective? ]
My cannery is on a ley line. Magic is more potent here. [ He looks back to the mirror, raising his hand, tapping his four fingers on its surface one after the other - like he'd seen Edwin do in an effort to help himself think. Perhaps it'll help him, too. ] So whatever it is that's here will be more powerful too.
[Cats are clever! If any animal would be an excellent detective, it'd be a cat, if they didn't get distracted by a tasty snack and a nap, that was.
Charles on some level kind of wanted to press again for more information about the memory the Cat had seen. But at the same time there was a part of him that railed against the idea, which startled the urge from something he'd act immediately on. And in the moment, they also had a more pressing concern in the fact that this strange magic had affected the Cat, if most magic didn't work on him as he claimed. The memory could keep for now.]
No shot? [Charles, in typical Charles fashion was slinking closer to give a curious little tap to the mirror himself, but nothing about it seemed odd. Just a mirror reflecting only the Cat, no strange ripples to vision or anything odd.] Maybe that's why it affected you? Or why it could, anyways...
[But if it wasn't a side-effect that suggested something with more intent and awareness.] Might not be a bad idea to move it for now, until we know what's causin' this and how much it's aware of, yeah?
[ The Cat looks at Charles' reflection in the mirror as he comes close enough to touch it. There's no reaction, there's no rippling, there's no change. Nothing happens that even remotely calls back to the experience he'd had earlier, of his consciousness being plucked up and evenly placed somewhere else, in the midst of Charles' memories.
Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was some dormant Cat King ability coming to fruition after hundreds of years. Or maybe there really is something in the mirror system acting out. This is magic he knows very little about, and that - more than anything - makes him nod when Charles suggests moving the thing. ]
I dunno why I keep it here anyway.
[ He says, immediately tasting sourness on his tongue at the barefaced lie. He kept it there on the off chance that Edwin or Charles might hop through it someday, might see reason enough to come visit or ask for his assistance with something. He kept it there out of hope, and as a reminder. And that reality rests heavy on his mind as he raises a hand with the intention to summon a burst of flame and disappear the mirror from sight.
In the mean time, perhaps in an effort to delay or halt the Cat King's efforts of hiding it, the mirror ripples rather violently and springs forth a memory completely unbeknownst to the monarch.
In it, the Cat - looking somewhat different than he does now, with pale brown hair and rather archaic looking clothing - is peering into an ornate balcony window covered with a gauzy curtain, at a beautiful woman with pale skin and dark hair twisted up into a high knot on her head as she sits by a dressing table, nodding minutely to a man in her doorway. Only when he leaves and shuts the door behind him does the Cat enter, and she receives him delighted, pressing a kiss to his cheek, taking his hand and holding his fingers tight. But her smile falters as his does, as he tells her this has to be the last time, that he can't stand in the way of her future, her duty, that she has to marry her betrothed and that running away together is impossible. The princess scowls, shaking her head, and the Cat's heart breaks to see her unhappy, even as he reminds her of who - what - he is, that he can't give her what she wants.
The image flickers. The hand holding hers never changes, but hers seems to wither in his; snapshots of times throughout her life when he saw her, unable to leave her completely, always finding himself at her side around the time of her birthday, there the day after the birth of her first child and the three that followed, there for her when she buried her youngest when he didn't survive the war that wrecked her country, when her husband the King made foolish and selfish decisions that benefited the few rather than the many. He was there, too, when the physician told her her time was limited, and he was there in a moment of blissful peace, like a young and beautiful spectre, when her hair had turned white and her heart began to fail from one too many breaks. He kissed her then, softly on the hand as he always had, and told her he loved her. He didn't see her die, but there was a pale brown tabby asleep at her graveside for weeks - perhaps even months - afterwards. ]
[The newest case had seemed straightforward at first. A librarian noting the vanishing of one of her patrons, reaching out to the Dead Boy Detective Agency for assistance in tracking them down. Even she admitted that it was possible that he might have moved on, but something about it didn't seem right to her. So they agreed to look into things.
And they found this was not the only ghost to vanish. One or two was an unfortunate coincidence, but close to a dozen now, that only the ones that they'd found word of, those who had others who noticed their disappearance? That spoke to something larger.
The one thread that bound all the myriad vanished spirits was mention of the Night Market. Not entirely strange- they accepted all sorts there, dead, alive, in-between so long as they obeyed the rules of the place. It was an excellent source of all manner of things, from the mundane to the supernatural. One had to be careful bartering though. It was no Fae thing where consumption bound a person, but anything was up for trade. Most tended towards magical artifacts or trinkets, knowledge and secrets, but some vendors would accept payment in memories. Emotions. Traits or luck, years from a person's life, the color of their hair. Anything had value to someone, and while the rule was the transaction must be willing, that didn't stop someone from having buyer's remorse because they didn't think about what they were trading away.
Normally, Charles wouldn't come here without Edwin. The other was always so much better than him at sussing out the sort of trouble that came from this place, knew more magic, knew more about the supernatural. But he was in the middle of a ritual that couldn't be left unattended, that couldn't be put off, so it was with no small amount of unease that he'd agreed.
Worried or no, Charles couldn't help but be a bit excited. As dangerous as the place could be, the Market was always interesting. So he just made sure his coat was snugged tight around him, that his pack was secure on his shoulder as he cut into the crowd. He tried not to just run into or through people- keeping corporeal for the moment helped with that, but he still had to dodge out of the way of the rare sort who, for some reason despite being able to get to the Night Market, were unable to perceive him. He had his little bundle of things to trade for information, his warnings thanks to Edwin, and knowledge of several ways in and out if things got too dangerous. He was absolutely ready for whatever was to come in this little solo adventure.]
[Courtney used to be a regular at the Goblin Market, when it was something she had access to. She learned early on not to eat or drink anything, not to say 'thank you', not to accept gifts. Knowing that her uncle would ground her for lifetimes to come, for foolishness, kept her from bartering things she couldn't afford to lose, for the most part. She did trade the A+ she got on a book report once. It wasn't worth a lot, but the hobgoblin who bought it said there was a niche market for things like that.
She never cared much about her grades, anyway.
The Night Market isn't quite the same, but it's similar enough that she's at home there. If there is some nefarious trafficking of spirits about, she's not (yet) aware of it. Rather, she's been buying ingredients for a particular spell, and having obtained most of what she needs, she's standing by a pen of vampire pumpkins, which are rolling back and forth in the low light, burbling faintly.
She wants ten. What happens if you carve a face into a vampire pumpkin? Will it bite?
She senses a chill, rather than hearing or seeing him coming, and she looks up in time to see him dodge another patron, one who seems oblivious to his existence. Her nose wrinkles in mild disdain: it just seems rude to trip on a ghost. Failing to perceive them is no excuse.] Eesh. You'd think you'd be hard to miss here.
Some folk sure, just completely ghosted by the lot of ’em… except you!
[His tone is cheerful as he replies, taking refuge near where the stranger was for the moment. Charles enjoyed a crowd, but if he was going to investigate, he also needed to chat people up, right?] Careful now, that sort of attention comes with a bit of responsibility, yeah?
[He'd been about to start in on conversation that would lead that way- easy enough as they were already talking about people's lack of consideration for a ghost and all. But the movement in the little pen they were standing near just drew his attention, and turning to look. Unable to help the way his expression brightened seeing the little gourds rumbling around in little packs.]
Aw! Aw look at these lil lads! [Should he stick his hand down in the pen for one of the closer ones to investigate? No, but then they were so cute he really wanted to see if they were amenable to pets. Which, given his entire lack of blood, was about the only reason that one was bumping his hand, which just had him beaming in delight.] They yours, or are you just a pumpkin aficionado?
Well, I'm not a fan of the idea people are gonna think I'm talking to myself, but whatever. If they're not here for weird, they're gonna be disappointed.
[Folding her arms, she rests her elbows on the edge of the pen.] Yeah, yeah, with great power comes even greater pains in the ass. If you've got a message or something, I'm game. [He looks about Will's age, and that's a little upsetting, imagining what could kill a teenager...
Then again, Will's already lived an entire lifetime in the Twilight Kingdom so he's not a model of normalcy, either.
She chuckles softly at his interest in the pumpkins, shaking her head.] No, I'm shit at growing things. Kind of tempted to buy a couple, though. There's something cute about the way they growl. Like a spicy feral kitten.
Message? Nah, nothin' like that, [He gently gives the pumpkin a nudge to set it rocking back- the thing seems to like that, burbling before rolling back at his hand again to let him catch it and rock it back again like a little game.] Been a lot of ghosts vanishing lately outta London, and this place is the only thing they've all got in common. Came to see what I could find out.
[As if he wasn't just as at risk, what with being a ghost and all.
Another pair of pumpkins came rolling closer, one bumping at the one by Charles' hand, the other doing little hopeful circles within Courtney's reach as if hoping for some attention all it's own.]
I think I'd get that huge one over in the corner- the one that's all bumpy and green? Name 'm Gourdzilla.
[She seems a little relieved by that. She'd do the job if he asked, but she doesn't really want to be Haley Joel Osment to his Bruce Willis, as it were. So yeah, it's also good that he knows he's a ghost. Simplifies things.]
Ghosts vanishing? [Then again, maybe it's not simple, after all.] In a way that suggests they didn't just...go into the light or whatever, I take it?
[Not at the Night Market. Not where memories and souls are up for trade all the time. Courtney leans a little lower and scratches the pumpkin next to her obligingly, fingernails making little tapping noises on its rind.] That could be problematic.
[She chuckles at Gourdzilla, though.] I think this group takes cash, for whatever that's worth. You could go for it. I like the little smooth white ones.
Yup. Not a trace, and the ones with friends we talked to all said the same thing- nothing was different, and none of 'em seemed to be sortin' their unfinished business to move on, [A tilt of his head as he pondered the problem, brows furrowing.] No signs of Death havin' shown, no blue light or even red. Like they just waltzed in here and-
[A lift of a hand to imitate a puff of smoke along with a soft sound effect.]
Hmm... I could... [He considered the big pumpkin, humming thoughtfully.] It not having a mouth does mean it can't chew on the first editions, so Edwin won't have any reason to kill me over it...
I mean...there are a dozen different types of summoning spells you can use to command a spirit to do your dirty work, but people don't usually use human spirits for that. [Most of them aren't as, um, versatile as a demon. It's a possibility, but not a super likely one, she judges.
And it wouldn't explain why they disappeared here, of all places.] Not sure I like the sound of that.
[A snort of amusement.] I'm told they don't bite. It might roll across your feet and try to trip you up, that's about it.
[Charles hemmed at the idea, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he shook his head.] Nah. Like you're sayin, there's loads of better options. Takes a lot more juice than it's worth to press a ghost into service like that, unless they've got some specific skill you're looking to use. And none of these ones were anything like that. Pretty mundane bunch other than the hedge witch, Maryanne.
[Charles liked the idea even less than Courtney did, and it was something to think about, but he was also somewhat relieved that it was a highly unlikely thing in this case.]
Yeah? They get underfoot, well then he's got experience dealin' with me, [Charles chuckled, nodding at the thought.] Y'know, I think I will. The idea's growin' on me.
[And it would be an excellent in on chatting up the owner of this particular setup- he'd spotted her on the other side of the pen, smoking her pipe as she haggled with what looked to be a sprite of some sort over a small strawberry with a multitude of blinking eyes in a tiny glass jar.]
Charlie Row [As close to his actual name as he'd dare giving out- this wasn't the Fae, but there were enough around, let alone other sorts who could do some damage with a name, that he and Edwin just went by close alternatives here. Whatever the case his smile was genuine as he held a hand Courtney's way.] Of the Dead Boy Detectives at your service.
[Randomness is worse, in a way. To a witch, that suggests something is grabbing just anyone it can get, collecting energy or souls for some massive undertaking. Ominous.
Also, she can't help but notice a lone ghost boy is kind of sticking his neck out, here. That seems risky. Risky enough that she decides to just...stick around for a little while, as he haggles for his pumpkin.]
Caitlin Crumb. [She answers archly, taking his hand carefully. Her concerns about real names are the same as his, but also her uncle was a rather infamous hunter of wicked sorcerers and powerful vampires, and advertising her connection to him in places like this is like painting a target on her forehead.] Cait for short.
Dead Boy Detectives, huh? How many of you are there?
Cheers, Cait. [And like most ghosts who've been there a while? It's like shaking hands with anyone else. Maybe a touch under the normal body temperature but can't have it all!]
It's me and my best mate Edmund, [He can't help the way his grin brightens as he talks about them, fake names or no.] Normally it'd be the pair of us, he's proper brills at investigating, but he's got a ritual to babysit so it's down to me!
[If Courtney has any sense for people? How bad Charles has it for his partner is blindingly obvious.]
[Impressive. She hasn't known a whole lot of ghosts personally, but she's familiar enough with the lore to make a guess or two. She's also familiar enough with teenage boys in love that she picks up on the subtext right away. For a second, she gives a subtle smirk, but then she's back to business.]
So you're stuck doing the legwork, huh? You're not worried something's going to snatch you up while you're investigating?
Nah, I'll just give 'em a proper swat, really make 'em regret tryin'. [And an idle wriggle of a hand where a little charm bracelet flashes silver just under the edge of a leather glove.] And if that fails, got a tracking charm, so he'll know right where to go.
[Not that this was the only charmed tracker Charles carried, but he wasn't about to say that. And tracking charm or no, he had utter faith in Edwin to find him no matter where he wound up.]
What about you? What's got you hangin' around, aside from the adorable vegetation?
If you say so... [She begins, but then the glimmer of the bracelet catches her eye and she looks like she wants to laugh out loud. She twitches her sleeve aside subtly, and a similar piece of jewelry glistens on her own wrist.]
Ha! See, mine only goes one way. Tells me if my brother's in trouble but he doesn't get any news about me. [The last thing she needs is Will trying to come to her rescue again. He's getting better at looking after himself, but he shouldn't have to consider her in that equation.]
Ritual components for a spell. [She shrugs.] Phalaris grass is hard to come by, even in specialty stores.
[Charles can't help but laugh a little at that coincidence, expression brightening.]
Y'know, I tried to convince Edmund to do it as a two-way, but he just gave me this look yeah? [He does his best to mimic the level of 'really Charles?' that Edwin had managed, but he didn't quite have the stoicism for it, or the eyebrows to really sell it.] Nice though, that your brother's got you lookin' out for him.
[It always cheered Charles up to see families where the members cared about each other.]
Phalaris grass? [A soft little hum as he tilted his head, considering.] I think my partner had us harvestin' that a bit back- had to go back a bunch of times, so he could get some during the full moon, waning, waxing, new, all that. Something about the moon changing the properties? Would likely consider some of that a fair trade for helping me canvas the place for what's happenin' to our missing ghosts.
[Edwin would not, but he could hardly say no to Charles at the best of times.]
[She laughs again, softly and a little wryly. At least she doesn't get quite that level of sass from Will, most of the time. Big sister is a softer authority figure than a parent, but still authoritative enough to brook no arguments.] I try.
I'm shit at dealing with people in general, but I try.
[Not like her parents put forth a lot of effort to care for him, but that's...complicated. She thinks they like him at least as much as they ever did her, but it's a low bar.]
Yeah, it's--huh. Is your guy a sorcerer or something? That's a lot of work. [If he doesn't consider her tagging along with Charles a fair trade, she could probably share some of her books.] I'm curious what's up, anyway. I was trying to think of a way of following you without being creepy, so I think we have a deal.
Well I dunno about all that! I mean I'm aces at people, and in my opinion you've been doin' good so far with me!
[And was he brightening a bit at the opportunity to talk up Edwin a bit more? Absolutely!]
He's a ghost like me- don't think he even really believed in magic when he was alive, but he practiced loads since then, and he's proper brills at it now!
[Which was... strange, to be sure, not that Charles especially knew- Ghosts tended only to get a little more power than they had in life magically if that, and aside from that, it was often dangerous for them to do things like spells and rituals, as it was so very easy to drain themselves and effectively erase themselves from existence.]
Right Cait! For now we've gotta to around and see if we can't find out where our ghosts liked to go here- if we can figure out a common spot, we might find a good lead.
[A hand in a pocket to dig out a few pictures he had of various ages and eras- photographs taken when the ghosts in question was alive, or copies of portraits, he offered them her way to take a look.]
Or we'll get really lucky and maybe spot one of 'em ourselves.
Getting yanked from the middle of reading peacefully in his chamber and into the middle of a summoning circle is not entirely unprecedented for Loki, but it's not your average Tuesday, either. The first thing he notices is it's clumsy. Someone with more power than sense is pulling on him. He has just enough time to grab an extra book before the world drops out from under him and spills him onto the floor in some kind of basement, and the next thing he notices is it's dark, which is annoying because he was really enjoying his reading.
"Damn it! You couldn't have let me bring a lamp? I was working on something!" He blinks owlishly, and his eyes are definitely going to adjust faster than any human's, but he's still put out.
And then the third thing he notices is that he's not alone in the circle. Well, that's sloppy work, surely? You can only pack so many entities into one spell...
Charles had heard the wizard's chanting of course. Edwin had been carefully peeling away at his warding, with the other pacing behind him keeping watch because there was no way they were letting this prat get the slip on them.
Until there was some sort of flash from one of the upper windows, and Charles felt a strange sort of tug as he too? Was suddenly elsewhere, deposited with no particular ceremony in some sort of circle.
"Oi! Honestly, wanker move innit?" His first assumption was that Edwin had been pulled with him- some sort of ghost trap? But the voice speaking up was unfamiliar even if the complaint was, Charles blinking as he realized he was stuck with a stranger. At least they looked as put out as he did, so this wasn't likely their plan.
And the wizard himself seemed just as bewildered, looking from Charles to Loki as if he's not sure what to make of this before he seemed to recognize the teen, pointing accusingly at him with an outraged look. "You're from the shop! That kid!"
Charles just scoffed, making a rude gesture as he offered a reassuring smile to the other in the circle with him. "Don't worry about him, he's a twat. Me and Edwin'll have you back to your fun in two shakes!"
Several things are happening at once, and they're all unusual enough that Loki is taking a few seconds to process them all. First, it's exceedingly weird for a summoning circle to pull two people in. Second, the entity sharing his space appears to be a teenager--though, perhaps not one who is currently alive.
"More than a little inconsiderate," he agrees with the ghostly youth, looking at him as if he's never seen anything like him before.
Third: their summoner not only recognizes the boy but seems annoyed to see him. From the shop? "I see you two have a history. I would hate to interfere with whatever discussion you're about to have. I could just see myself out?"
He knows better. Seems like Loki himself was the real target here, and while he's no hero, he's disinclined to just leave some kid in the lurch, even if said kid seems remarkably calm about all this.
"Although, actually, I'm curious to hear you out, now," he says to the wizard. "I'm not sure whether you're exceptionally powerful or exceptionally incompetent, having dragged two people into one spell."
It's alright Loki, it's a lot to deal with at once. And honestly, this isn't the first time Charles has been caught in some sort of trap or magic circle before!
"It was only supposed to summon you!" The wizard protested, looking from Loki to Charles as if the secret to why could be gleaned there before his gaze snapped to his book again, skimming over the ritual. "So I could bargain for a boon!"
"My vote's for incompetent," Charles replied easily, brows lifting at that complaint from the wizard, his gaze on Loki now curiously assessing. "A right git too- did you know he's been snatching homeless kids for his shitty immortality spells? S'what's got me and Edwin on him."
"Honestly, if you wanted a boon, trapping someone in a circle isn't usually the best way to make nice. Points for audacity, though."
And actually? He'd be willing to have the chat just on that basis. It takes some balls to summon a notoriously unreliable god to do your bidding. Unfortunately for the sorcerer, Loki's interest in being pleasant stops where harming random homeless children starts.
"Snatching as in catching and killing?" His gaze refocuses on Charles, and any mirth that was there before is gone.
Oh, did the other not like that? Charles wasn't sure what the man had been trying to summon, whether some Fae creature, spirit, or even demon, (that he had been trying to and succeeded in hooking a god hadn't yet occurred to him) it seemed that his fellow captive in the circle was as displeased with the idea of the wizard's extracurriculars as he was.
A sharp nod offered at the question, brows furrowing as he pointed out the amulet held tight in the man's off hand, pulsing with a sickly-feeling sort of energy and the strain of many spirits trying to find a way free. "Been killin' 'em and trappin' their spirits in that nasty bit of kit before Death could show up to help the poor mites move on."
Loki doesn't consider himself particularly ethical, but there are a few lines he doesn't care to cross. Dead children are one of them. Trapping the spirits of murdered children is even worse.
His gaze flicks across the room to where the amulet rests in the sorcerer's hand, then up to the man's face. "That's not how it works," he says quietly. "You can't sacrifice something that isn't yours to give. You may get someone who'll take it, but whatever they offer you back won't last."
"You might make it out of this with your soul intact if you back down now, and let those spirits go. Otherwise, there are entities with a greater sense of justice than me, and they will find you."
The temperature in the room around them is dropping, which is about the only magic Loki can pull off without finding a breach in the summoning circle. It could still be enough to rattle the man or make him drop the amulet, though.
Charles at least felt slightly better that whatever the man had been planning to try and convince his fellow captive in the circle to do? It seemed he wasn't likely to play along with the plot here if that response was any hint. And while he might be a ghost and thus can't typically feel things like temperature, the method of his own death, and the magic source of the chill here had it nipping at him too, even as the sorcerer's breath fogged the air. Which was only partly because of Loki, and partly because of the ghostly teen who prowled along the edges of the circle, dark eyes flicking intently over the runes etched into the floorboards.
"I'd listen to him, he's definitely got the right idea," Charles mused, glancing towards the wizard who was flipping pages with a more irritated air, masking whatever fright had him paling, had his pulse jumping along with a muscle along his jaw as the dropping temperature had hands shaking over vellum. "Whatever's willin' to trade for what you've got? Never ends well."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For catting
He had no idea of much of anything, really, but that was beside the point. Laying flat on his back in a sparsely decorated room in front of a standing mirror, he'd taken a moment to try and sort out just what he did know.
I'm a ghost. I'm a ghost and I'm... somewhere.
Less than helpful. Patting down his jacket he didn't find much- some odds and ends, trinkets and baubles he wasn't sure what to make of. No reflection so he couldn't get a better look at himself. A thing he didn't know he knew until he had picked himself up and tried to look and the information just swam up out of the foggy recesses of his mind. Right. He wasn't sure what to do about it, but...looking for clues? Yes, that felt right.
He investigated the room, the hall, the bathroom, the room across the hall. All of them seemed somewhat familiar, but nothing was being jostled loose, and he didn't find any real signs of current habitation. Bits and bobs that always seemed to be left in the wake of moving, but no names or pictures or anything else that might give him names or faces to go off of.
The downstairs looked like a bomb had gone off. It had been cleaned up, clearly in the middle of repairs, but there were still bare studs and subfloor exposed. He skirted a sawhorse and stacks of supplies to slip out the door onto the main thoroughfare, brow furrowing as he looked one way then the other. It was... somewhat familiar. Like he building he'd come to awareness in, he knew he'd seen it before, but that was all the recollection he could seem to pull.]
Right- [It felt strange to turn and glance, presumably to see if anything looked familiar nearby to start with, and not find... someone standing there at his shoulder. Something about the wrongness of that settled in, and he gave himself a faint shake as if in defiance of the sensation.] Right then, nothing for it but to see what's what.
[Surely he'd find something that would jog his memories. Or find someone who could see him. Unaware that he'd already been spotted, the little feline already darting away to share their news.]
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The Cat was fiddling with something shiny he'd traded with the crow for in exchange for a temporary transformation spell that would make him human again, but he fast lost interest in it in the wake of the news. It's all pretty confusing, if he's honest. Why would Charles be here without Edwin, why is Edwin not storming through the mirror to come and collect him, why come here in the first place, and why was he reportedly looking around like he'd never seen here before?
He'd have to be a much stronger Cat than he is to resist this particular little mystery and, unafraid of getting his own paws dirty, he disappears in a burst of purple magic to rematerialize in a familiar alleyway — the one in which he'd last seen one of the ghost boys, actually, funny how that happens — and steps out of it to see the very tangible evidence of this strange story; Edwin's loyal little attack-dog, standing with his hands on his backpack straps, looking like he's trying to decide in which direction to go. ]
Lost?
[ He calls as he comes into the street at large, head tilting and a smile on his face that he certainly means to look warm, but probably looks a little mean, too. He's wearing a similar leather ensemble to what he was wearing when he last saw Edwin, only a little less rigid, a little more dressed down. He was trying to look good, then, after all; this has caught him off guard. But in the best kind of way. He's weirdly excited to talk to Charles without the buffer of Edwin inevitably taking over. ]
Don't tell me you can't remember your way around this place - it's like four main streets and a beachfront. Don't you live in a city?
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The voice speaking up is familiar too- and he's not sure how he knows they're talking to him, how he knows that they can see him, but turning to see strange eyes focused on him, and that smile that's just a little too sharp to be entirely genial cinches it.
He's not sure what to make of them. Or of the sudden rush of jealousy that writhes to life inside his ribcage like a thicket of thorns. Jealous? Why was he jealous of the stranger? He blinked, once, then twice as he takes in what they're saying- confirming that he should know where he was. As well as another detail that he leapt on.]
I live in a city? [It feels right as he says it, even if his stubborn memory refuses to shake out anything more than that sense of correctness. No name, no skyline, no familiar landmarks. What a pain. One thumb working over the canvas of the strap in his grasp, an unconscious little gesture of uncertain thought.] We know each other then, I take it?
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We do. You solved a few cases here some months ago. I helped.
[ It's not entirely a lie, but it does settle strangely on his tongue nonetheless. He's not sure Edwin — or Charles, for that matter — would agree that what he did was help, even if it did assist their psychic in banishing the town witch. ]
So. You've lost your memory, huh? No point asking how, since I guess that falls into the realms of the problem itself, but... [ He takes an easy, lazy step forward, wondering if Charles is still on the back foot about him despite apparently not remembering who he is. Will he meet with Charles eager to find a face that knows him, or will he meet the business end of a cricket bat? ] That's pretty impressive. Casting a curse on a ghost is no joke.
[ A little up and down with his eyes. Because he can't resist. ]
I'm the Cat King of Port Townsend. Which is where you are. A loooong long way from London, little ghost.
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[Despite his uncertainty, the idea feels so right that it earns a bright, crooked grin in response.]
That's brills. And you helped, you said? So like a consultant or s'mmat? [Didn't detectives always have people like that? Contacts and consultants?
There was still that confusing tangle in him, that jealousy, but without a proper source, as off-kilter as knowing nothing was making him, relief at someone being able to see him let alone know him was winning over the uncertain feeling. Though the Cat would likely see the faint signs of it like a quiet question in the edges of his smile. But, it also didn't seem that he was feeling aggressive either in the moment.]
'Bout sums it up. [He's not repeating every little detail that the Cat is giving him, but he's definitely listening, gathering up the names and information to ponder later. Port Townsend. London. Some sort of curse.]
Cats have kings? [He tilted his head at that, considering the idea. It sounded familiar again, but vaguely so.] Always seemed a bit too independent for that sorta thing, cats. But then you'd know better than me.
I'd introduce myself but- [A tilt of his head and a tap of a finger against a temple with a wry cast to his grin.] Well. Suppose you don't need it if you know me anyways!
[He wasn't going to think on how nervous it was making him as the surprise of waking without memories was starting to ease off. It was so easy though to smother that unease under a smile and a bright tone. Like muscle memory.]
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Laughing, softly, at Charles' almost endearing little run around. It's silly how caught out by that handsome face he is, though he should be accustomed to letting his enchanted senses get the better of him since he absolutely fumbled the bag with Edwin after being entranced by nothing but his eyes in the first place... He vows that, given this second chance to at least make Charles see his merit as a consultant — as he said — and not simply to write him off as a trouble-maker and let threats be the only currency traded between them... He'll do better this time. If he keeps Charles safe, even helps him to get his memory back, perhaps even Edwin will have reason enough to thank him, in whatever archaic Edwardian way debts are repaid. Though, he has some ideas for worthy payment of his own. ]
Yeah, no need to tell me who you are, Charles. I know all about you.
[ Not entirely true, but his Cats had been keeping an eye on Charles too, technically, since he was almost always with Edwin when they were running around his Kingdom. ]
And it seems I have a lot to re-teach you about me, if you've forgotten that Cat Kings even exist. You're lucky I don't offend easily when it's a pretty face doing the mis-step, or I'd have to punish you for that. Rudeness to a King in their own Kingdom is a pretty big faux-pas. [ Thoughts of bracelets and little neon pocket dimensions flash in his mind, and what was that he just decided about fucking up a good thing by getting carried away? He reels it back in: ] But I guess you've got a good excuse.
Do you want to ask me something? I can tell you what I know. I'm here to help. [ He throws his arms wide, magnanimously. ] Like you said, a consultant.
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But then, he felt that the same could probably be said of him.
Charles.
Something eased in his posture, some thread of tension unraveling subtly as the name was offered. Familiar again. His, he didn't need any confirmation of that. It was a bit grounding to at least have that.]
I'd think total amnesia's a fair excuse yeah, [A lift of brows, unable to help but preen a bit at the compliment offered.] Good to know I've got a good face. Thought as much, but hard to double-check on account of the whole reflection thing.
[He did make a quiet mental note to tread carefully. The Cat might have been joking with him, but he wasn't sure how real the potential for offense here was if he accidentally tread on his proverbial tail, let alone what the other might do about said offenses.]
Mate, I know I'm a ghost, and what you told me so far. That's a lot of questions, [It didn't sound nearly as harrowing as it actually felt to admit that, or realize the depths of just how much he'd forgotten. He just chuckled with a sheepish sort of shrug, hands finally leaving the straps of his bag to hook thumbs in belt loops, a bit less of an uneasy sort of posture.] But to start, you said you're the Cat King, but what do I call you? Like s'there a name, or do you just get called 'Your Majesty' by everyone?
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And then he says that and the Cat actually has to close his eyes and wonder if the universe is testing him. ]
Cat, is usually what you call me. [ Well, he's heard some other choice phrases from Charles' mouth when he thinks no Cats are watching — whiskers, prick — but he doesn't feel the need to remind him of those just yet. ] But I wouldn't be opposed to you showing a little more respect more regularly. Your highness, your majesty... I'm not fussy on the title, just the honesty behind it. If you're saying it to be sarcastic, don't bother.
[ That sounds fair, right? And it puts Charles in the clear standing that this cat, though flirty and relatively easy-going and very obviously willing to help this poor lost ghost, is not a King to be taken lightly. But he also isn't worth beating away with a cricket bat. Not for no reason, at least.
And that makes him think. If Charles isn't immediately mistrusting of him, then that means that he must not remember why. He remembers he's a ghost, but not why he chose to linger. He's forgotten Edwin. Immediately he feels like he should tell him, but he also feels a strange disconnect with that better judgement; because if he tells him, Charles will want to find him, will want to return to where Edwin is and find out all these things from him instead. Which would be better, in the long run, but would put the Cat in the same position he always finds himself in: left behind to lick his wounds in the cannery alone.
Well, that particular reveal can wait a little, right? It's not lying if he merely doesn't say anything. Right? ]
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[Oh if only he knew.
But at the same time, he noted the clear preference inherent in what the Cat was telling him about the options too. And that made him wonder. Did the Cat just not correct him before? It was hard to say right now with so little to go off of though, so he merely kept that as something to consider later.
And with how much he was missing? That he had no memories of Edwin didn't stand out overmuch yet. He had no idea how much of that sense of void was from missing one particular person in particular rather than everything else. It would become all the more apparent as memories filtered back in, but... that was surely a problem for future Cat King. It wouldn't cause any trouble later on to avoid talking about that particular subject with this particular ghost, right?]
But yeah, like I was saying... problem here is there's so much I don't know that I'm not even sure where to start. So whatever you can tell me'd be aces, Your Majesty.
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[ It doesn't feel right on his tongue to say it, but he never had any particular ill will toward Charles — he thought it was pretty funny, actually, the way Charles couldn't quite place his ire toward the Cat and chalked it up to his protective nature alone, without quite checking in to why he might be feeling so protective over someone trying to catch Edwin's eye — and figures that without that little snag in their introduction to one another, they might have even struck up a common bond. He's certainly fun to be around, for a start, and Charles has always seemed to enjoy things that are fun and easy...
Oh, this is a terrible idea and he knows it. And yet, with most things that seem to be a terrible idea, he can't quite stop himself from going along with it anyway, like watching a slow car crash unfold while knowing that at least one of those cars is one you'll have to pay for, but hoping that you might get a consolation prize for your trouble.
The consolation prize of Edwin's yappy little attack dog willingly calling him by a title befitting a monarch. That's a good start. The Cat lets a visible shudder of enjoyment rack through him before he's stepping in to take Charles' arm in his own. He isn't sure if 'remembering you're a ghost' includes remembering that you can't typically feel touch but can feel it from a supernatural creature or not, but either way it works in his favour; either Charles is pleasantly surprised by the contact, or soothed by familiar touch. He guides him out into the street at large, then turns to face the remains of the butchers shop the ghost had emerged from, though it's difficult to recognise it as such with all its signage buffed away, ready to be replaced. ]
I don't know how you ended up here, but this place means something to you. You stayed here when you were working on a case. Upstairs, in the apartment to the right. You and the rest of your team.
[ The Cat will tell him outright — not everything, but enough — if the hint doesn't jog his memory, but often with things like this it's better not to force too much too soon lest the subject go mad from trying too hard. Though, he thinks with a little smirk, if there's any ghost who should be more than accustomed to trying leagues harder than anyone has before, it's Charles Rowland. ]
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Charles doesn't like it. Everything in him is pressing towards this interaction going well, and the incongruency is something he's keenly aware of in the moment, especially as he can't cotton onto just what was causing it. It didn't seem to read as dangerous, or like the Cat meant him harm, but it still had some little quietly buried part of him pacing and tense all the same.
He found it incredibly easy though to smile regardless of that niggling uncertainty, bright and sunny like there was nothing wrong in the world
except there was, there was, what was the world withoutespecially as the Cat was taking his arm. The touch was... surprising, but not. The Cat would likely be able to see the quick play in his eyes as his mind searched, found that it seemed correct that he could be touched, at least by this particular person, small details being shaken free by experience. Like an extension of Charles' incessant need to look with his hands, as if his mind refused to conceive of a memory without him doing something related to it in some way.]Thought it seemed familiar... first thing I remember is just laying there in front of the mirror. Think I... jumped through? [Even as he said it, the idea solidified out of the fog as something correct. A small scrap of information, but Charles was relieved to have it all the same. Some sign that this wasn't permanent.] Not a clue where I jumped from, but one thing at a time, yeah?
We had a team though? [Another thing that sounded correct, another thing that settled right in his mind as he leaned to bump shoulders with the Cat in that affectionate way of his, almost rambunctious but still gentle enough not to be overly jostling.] Sounds like we've got a proper agency going! What kinda case was it?
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He gives Charles a little bump back in return, trying to mute his grin by focusing on the upstairs window of the building rather than on that blinding grin. ]
A nasty fucking witch was stealing little girls and feeding them to her pet snake to keep herself young. Real fairytale shit. But, then you turned up: little girl saved, snake slain, witch defeated.
[ If only it had been that easy or that quick, but Charles deserves to feel the thrill of a win when he doesn't have much else to go on. And it's still not a lie; all of those things did, indeed, happen... just perhaps not in that order or by such simple succession. ]
And I'm guessing you jumped through from the Agency office back in London. [ A pause, and he looks almost amused with his next thought, and can't resist the tease: ] You can hear yourself speaking, right? Surely you remember you're from England, right, mate?
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And he could feel it was so desperately important for him to be that kind of person.]
Here I was thinkin' like... finding lost family or knicked stuff. You're talking full on heroics!
[The teasing just has him rolling his eyes, smile turning to a wry smirk as he slings an arm casually over the Cat's shoulders, half-hanging by that grasp in a friendly sort of way.] Sure right, make fun of the amnesiac teenager, I see how it is.
[Maybe the jealous niggle was just that they were competitive in some way. So far the interaction, while odd, seemed fine. But a thought did occur that had him settling somewhat, head tilting in thought.]
But if I was at the office... and I came here, then how come no one else followed, yeah? Seems odd, don't it?
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[ That smile is just too much, but along with the arm over his shoulders and the easy way Charles slips into a joking rhythm with him, it's almost suffocating. Is this what Charles is like with the people he hangs around with, when he's decided he likes someone instead of deciding he'd rather knock their whiskers off than give them a chance? The Cat knows he's done very little to deserve Charles' time or attention, but under the comfortable weight of it now, he's starting to think he should have put in a truckload more effort, if it feels this good. Or maybe he's just incredibly lonely and will settle for anything. ]
There must be something wrong with the mirror. I'll get some cats to take a look, make sure everyone in the office is alright.
[ The moment he says that, two cats scamper down the street and into the propped-open front door of the Tongue & Tail, as if summoned by just his simple words, with no spell or anything like that; the true might of a Cat King. ]
I don't recommend trying to hop back through without checking its safe first, or until you remember how. Mirror jumping can be dangerous, especially if you don't know what you're doing. But don't worry. [ He smiles, warm and welcoming, but always with that little dangerous sparkle in his eyes. ] I'll look after you. You'll be safe here.
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[Charles did like to claim to be good with people. And in a lot of ways that could be true, charismatic thing that he was, so very good at being friendly and warm to others. As much a survival tactic as it was just how he was wired, that inclination to people-please, that want to be well-liked.
The idea of something wrong with a mirror struck him as a problem, but then the Cat was already on top of it, the idea of sending some scouts out to check around, to let everyone, whoever everyone was, know he was okay was reassuring. And the way the pair of cats came darting down and into the former butcher's shop just had Charles letting out a low, impressed whistle.]
So like all cats are your subjects? Is that like... are you the King for the whole world's worth or is it like... countries or something? Is it all kinds of cats or only the little ones?
[There's no real disrespect meant there, just the sort of curiosity any teen boy might have in the face of something new and magical.
He's still not sure what to make of that little gleam of menace in the Cat's yellow eyes. He's been nothing but nice, but it stayed. Maybe it was just something that translated differently between a cat's face and a human's. Or something else. But whatever consideration there is, the Cat is kindly offering to help him out, which is more important. Just because he looks like some sort of trouble doesn't mean he's going to be.] Good lookin' out. 'Preciate the help, Your Majesty.
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He can't even lie and agree with Charles, so he says nothing. ]
All cats in Port Townsend, domestic size only.
[ It's kind of endearing to have Charles so excited about him. Edwin was curious, but never curious enough to ask, and the Cat was never brave enough to tell him all that much unprompted. This is kind of sweet, the way Charles seems infinitely impressed by even the slightest show of power, like an infant seeing a magic card trick for the first time. Like an eager puppy. Playfully, he summons some purple fire in his palm, and in the smoke rises the shape of a domestic cat walking calmly along in midair. He lets it dwindle there, idly doing cat things while he continues to explain. ]
Larger cats have their own hierarchy, but we still have mutual respect. And some areas of rule are bigger, some are smaller. A state, a town, a city... It depends on the King, and how they choose to rule it. [ He snaps his fingers, and the little magic trick dissipates into the air. ] For example, The Cat Monarch of London is an asshole, and if you ever meet him, you can tell him that from me.
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Nodding slowly as he was listening, gaze brightening as the Cat showed off, lifted a hand to summon that little illusory cat in the smoke midair.]
That's so wicked... [Murmured without even thinking about it, lifting his free hand to wiggle fingertips at the little smoke cat, curious to see if it would try and pounce at them. Still listening to what he was being told, but Charles always did pay better attention when there was something to do, like fiddling with a little magic trick cat. When it was diffused, he glanced up at the Cat, unable to help the raise of brows.]
He's an ass? A posh one or just the normal sort? [A tilt of his head, considering.] I'll tell'm either way, but if he's posh I don't know if I'll ever run into him.
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[ The Cat is choosing, rather strategically, to not mention any of his personal experiences with said Cat Monarch or his earls, because that would involve cutting a little too close to discussing his frankly piss-poor standards when it came to taking lovers, and why he's sworn off other Cats for all of his remaining lives. Charles doesn't need to know any of that, not when he's got such a seemingly good opinion of him now. Not when he thinks he's capable of being a hero. ]
But they wouldn't scare you, puppy. They're all bark, no bite, but you're braver than that.
[ It's so easy to compliment Charles like this, when he's eager and interested and hanging off of the Cat's every word because he has very little else to go on. And it almost makes the Cat regret that he got rid of the illusion so quickly, because of just how entranced the ghost was with it. Well, no matter. He's got plenty other tricks up his sleeves. ]
Just watch out for cat scratches, won't you? They burn if you get unlucky enough to be caught by one, but— [ He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence. ] I'm on my best behaviour. I promise. I only scratch those who ask for it. [ His smile twisting at the corner a little, becoming more a smirk. ] Or those who say please~
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A bunch of right twats then, noted.
[Puppy sounds like something that should be rude, and yet the Cat makes the teasing nickname sound playful more than anything. Especially with the compliments that accompany, something a bit pleased in the smile turned the feline's way. He didn't have the memories to back it, but the comparison to a dog, loyal, steadfast, a little rambunctious... that fit.]
Puppy? Does that mean the whole cats and dogs rivalry's a load of tosh then, or something else? [And it's easy to see the click of his thoughts along, all but pouncing on another question that pops up.] Do dogs have monarchs too? Or is that just a cat thing?
[Despite the levity of the current interaction, he does pause when the Cat decides to warn him about the scratches. Brows furrowing slightly as he nods, before the expression eases, especially at that flirty little addendum and smirk.] Well, good lookin' out! I'll keep that in mind.
[Pay no attention to the slight darkening tinge along the outer edges of his ears there.]
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Well, he can't exactly ask him now, can he? Will truth magic even work on a ghost with no memory? Why the hell does he want to try it so bad, suddenly? ]
Mmmm... [ He hums, shrugging. ] I wouldn't say tosh. [ Because he would never say tosh, you weird little Brit. ] We have a little healthy rivalry. The cat and dog thing is just a little too hard a trope to pass up, I think. You've got a lot of dog like qualities that drive me mad and entice me in equal amounts.
[ Because he saw that little softening of Charles' expression at being flirted with, and he's all too aware of how flirting with Edwin went, but because of the whole... obsession thing, and Charles' subsequent jealousy, he never really got a chance to see how Charles might have reacted to it. No time like the present, really, with no previous bad impressions to get in the way. ]
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[Was that... why he felt that weird niggle of jealousy under everything? Some weird cat and dog rivalry element being projected because the Cat saw some canine qualities in him? Well... he'd said it could be healthy rivalries so that could be it.
And pay no attention to his ears going even redder as his smile widens a bit, brows lifting as he casts a considering glance the Cat's way.]
That so? Well then, why don't we take a little walkabout. You can show me what's good around, and maybe tell me what's got you so enticed, Your Majesty.
[The flirtation was... he did like it. He liked the shape of it, liked the way it sat to hear it. There was something under that though, some sort of nervous energy that he wasn't certain he cared for the shape of. Was it just nerves? Had he never flirted with the Cat like this before? The shape of the interaction felt somewhat familiar, a back and forth sort of banter. Surely he'd flirted like this before. Surely it was just nerves because of his memories mucking things up.]
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That's a fine way to ask for an audience with the King. [ He says, a little snooty, but nevertheless he's reaffirming that hold on Charles' arm so that the ghost is firmly at his side as he starts to encourage him to turn away from the shop, and begin walking down the main road toward the center of town. ] But, lucky for you, I like you enough to let it slide. Even if your attempts to get me to stroke your ego are pretty transparent.
[ He smirks. There's a lot he could say here about dogs and how they like to be praised, but pinning that particular trait solely on dogs makes his own interest in it feel a little subpar, so he keeps it to himself for now. ]
I guess a little stroking would make me feel better if I lost all my memories, but you won't get me to roll over that easily. Praise loses all its weight when it's not earned.
[ He's laying on the innuendo pretty impressively now, but.. Well, he can't help it. And besides, stroking could just as easily be literal. He is a cat, after all. ]
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Am I really trying that? Here I am, not a memory in my head, and you're telling me that asking you about myself is ego stroking? [It was entirely playful in the moment, even as they started walking, letting the Cat dictate the direction for now. If he saw something that jogged a memory he'd pause but until then, this was a cat-directed tour.
And pay no attention to that glance as Charles is trying to decide if that innuendo is there, or if he's just taking the Cat King's feline tendencies a bit too out of joint. It's fine. He totally doesn't know which he'd rather be true here.
Except he kind of does and he's not entirely sure how to feel about it yet. He was the kind to banter and flirt, that felt right and normal but... how far did that go? And with who?]
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[ The playfulness is getting to his head, making him feel overeager and dizzy with it as he pulls Charles along, across the street and down into the line of storefronts that makes up the main street of Port Townsend. Tragic Mick's is coming up on the left, but he won't say anything about it until Charles does for now. He wants to know if this whole amnesia thing is triggered by visual stimuli. Preferably before he takes Charles back to the safety of his cannery and gets a cricket bat to the face for his trouble. ]
You asked me to tell you why I'm enticed with you, not just random titbits about what kind of guy you are in general. [ He wags a finger in a pantomime of a telling off, but the way he's smiling through it kind of ruins any impact it could have had. ] If you want general knowledge, I can give that. It's just less fun than flirting.
[ A casual little shrug, because he figures he might as well call it what it is. ]
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You're the one who brought it up first, [Pointed out entirely reasonably, utterly unrepentant in the face of that playful sort of telling off.] Shoulda known a nosy git like me'd jump on it.
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[ And there goes that praise — so rightfully earned, so easily won from a Cat so eager to give it. But he doesn't let it linger too much too soon. He's learned his lesson with Edwin, that too fast a speed for someone who doesn't know how fast they're comfortable going can often have the opposite effect. Better to ease Charles into it, give him enough of a taste that he can chase it if he wants to, or that he at least welcomes it's return when he gets it again. ]
That's another point I like about you, though. You're fair. And you're nosy. People say that like it's a bad thing, but I think curiosity never hurt anyone, despite what everyone tries to say otherwise. Take it from a Cat.
[ Do not take it from this Cat, Charles, he's been burned by his own curiosity more times than is forgivable for a creature who keeps doing the same thing he should have learned by now to avoid. ]
And it's a good quality for a detective to have. Which, speaking of. [ He nods up at the antiquities shop to their left, since Charles clearly isn't having any kind of natural reaction to it on his own. ] What do you think? Ring any bells?
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Whatever the case, the other was continuing on, and while he was amused at the commentary on his incessant curiosity, something tense in him eased at the idea that he was fair. It seemed... important. He wanted
neededto be good, to be fair and brave, didn't he? What drove that he didn't know, but surely it was only sensible. It wasn't like people typically wanted to be utter tossers.Regardless, he was pulled from that consideration as the Cat pointed out the shop directly, and obligingly Charles took a look at it.]
I... yeah, but I think everything's kinda ringing bells right now is the problem. Too much familiar but nothing's really shaking out anything specific yet. S'all [A see-saw wave of a hand] kinda foggy?
[Thick fog over dark water. He wasn't sure why that idea just had something in him curling unpleasantly, but he shoved it aside
drowned itto worry about later. It was so simple to keep the unease at the imagery his mind was supplying to conceptualize his amnesia hidden behind the easy sort of smile. Far too simple.]no subject
And, speaking of lost... ]
Well, then, you clearly need some sort of lighthouse.
[ Edwin would, of course, be the ideal option here, but since the Cat is doing as he told himself he would when Edwin left Port Townsend and resolutely not thinking about Edwin, he opts for the next best thing. Or, at least, the next best thing available to him; himself.
He tries to think of what Edwin would do in this situation. ]
I'll guide you through it. You came here to look for something to solve a case. The owner is a guy who used to be a Walrus. Kind of depressing, hence the name. He didn't have what you needed, but he gave you a consolation prize. Do you remember what that was?
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The offer of guidance made it make all the more sense, Charles blinking slightly as the Cat spoke on, giving him a little bit of information, prompting him to see if maybe it would shake something new free. And it again felt familiar, the ghost humming a thoughtful sound, brows furrowing. Free hand coming up as if he could maybe pluck the answer out of the air, like once again he had to touch the idea before it was real.] I... I could hold it. Not big. Sounded like the ocean though. Y'know how like you hold up one of those spinny shells to your ear? But it wasn't-
[A start as the pieces shifted, slid together, his entire countenance perking as a brilliant smile was cast the Cat's way.] A jar! With a little lighthouse in it!
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He smiles back, trying not to look at Charles' mouth and failing. Something about how easily the expression fits on his face and how good it feels to see it directed at him when he's only really ever seen Charles scowling at him has an addictive quality to it, one he would normally warn himself off of, but... It's been a while since the boys left, and without a witch to pester him, it's been surprisingly lonely around here. More so than usual. He can have this, just for now, can't he? He's already forcing himself to not think of Edwin, what's one more ghost to add to the mix? ]
That's it. A little Port Townsend souvenir that sounds like the sea when you shake it. [ Fuck, it's hard not to call him a good boy. ] Good boy. [ Welp, never mind. It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, said in that low-pitched voice he uses when it's not clear if he's flirting, teasing, or being genuine. Or all three. It's anyone's guess which is his intention now. ]
So you can remember things yourself, given a little prompting. Maybe we should play some word association, see what's stuck in there, underneath all the fog. [ He gestures with his head for them to carry on walking, down toward the beachfront, where the houses get a little more sparse and the sea air a little more brisk. ]
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Not really a surprising bit of praise, given the whole teasing dog allusions the Cat had been making about him earlier. But it still had scarlet creeping up his collar, eyes widening ever so slightly. Ghost didn't need to blush, but without the memory of years of experience in his current form, Charles had forgotten that emotion could still be reflected like that.
He glanced down the street, unable to stop the way his grin endured, something quietly pleased warming it now.]
Relief to know there's till things knockin' around to be remembered, [He'd had a brief moment while coming back to awareness where nothing had been there. Just the fog. And it had been... unpleasant, to say the least. Made him uneasy. So the little hints that there was something to be recovered? Absolutely reassuring as he was more than happy to follow the Cat's lead to continue their walk.] Word association... that's the one where you swap words, yeah? What they make you think of or whatever?
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Don't say it like that. We'll get you there, eventually. It's not a memory wipe. If it was, you'd have no familiarity at all, just emptiness. The fact you know you've been here, the fact you recognise me, the little lighthouse trinket? All good signs. You'll remember everything sooner or later.
[ A little gentle reassurance, a little hush puppy you can trust me, a little quiet soothing to make sure this dog continues following where he leads, keeps hanging on his every word. Yet again, he can't help but think that it makes sense why Edwin likes this position; it feels good to be looked on like this.
But yes, you usually swap one word at a time for whatever the first word made you think of, but I don't like to play by the rules. Where's the fun in doing what everyone else does? He takes them toward the small slope leading toward the gift shop, and the viewing platform for the lighthouse, but turns to smile almost invitingly at Charles before they come level with it. ]
Want to? We can think of a safe word if you want to tap out and stop playing.
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This was just more of that. More of a peek under the typical control he kept, one he was entirely unaware of unlike the usual.
And it just meant that the Cat would likely see a faint bit of a shift, some ease in the set of Charles' shoulders at the reassurance offered. Like the hound the monarch was mentally comparing him with, Charles is predictable in staying with the person who'd helped when he was lost, offered out a hand and kind words. And if left alone, he'd pace and whine and stare out the window, convinced that the world had ended, that he must have done something wrong for his person to be gone.]
A safeword? Mate, what kind of rules do you play with here in the States? [He laughs all the same, a little uncertain but still game.] Just stop if I say stop, yeah? No need to get fancy with it.
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Alright, spoil my fun. But remind me to give you the talk later about why 'stop' is a shitty word to use if you actually want someone to stop.
[ He doesn't elaborate, not yet at least, because the last thing he needs is to get carried away thinking about the effectiveness of a useful safe word in any situation with Charles. It's the last thing Charles needs at this moment, too, he supposes. There are much more pressing things at hand. ]
Hmmm. Alright.
[ He nods at the looming lighthouse with its light out in the clear morning, but still standing bright against the colourless sky. He remembers watching Charles and his little psychic girlfriend talking as they leaned on the railing, Charles' expression tight and eyebrows set, looking curiously stubborn. The Cat had been more focused on Edwin at that time, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder what had got the little ghost so twisted up. ]
Lighthouse.
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The mention of the Lighthouse had him turning his gaze towards it, brow furrowing.]
Fine. [Not what he'd expected to slip past his lips given they'd only just talked about the enchanted souvenir jar mere minutes earlier. Brow furrowing as he considered the answer, uncertain what it meant, or why it had an uncomfortable sort of squirm accompanying it. It made him feel the opposite of fine, as a matter of fact.]
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Either way, he's not going to ask, because he has a funny feeling that if he does, this fun might end. And that isn't something he's wiling to accept right now. So, he tucks those deliberations neatly into the back of his mind, to ponder later, perhaps when the shine of this situation has dulled and he's become bored and wants a little roughness to his interactions instead of that admiring little smile. If such a time ever comes.
Charles' response has the Cat raising his eyebrows a little. Fine? What kind of answer is that?? He thinks back to when he'd seen Charles up there again, and wonders if Charles' memory is recalling it too, however abstractly it can recall anything in its current state. Was Crystal asking him if he was alright, and had he responded the way he's doing now - saying he's fine but looking anything but?
Well, best to play the game and find out, though he might come to regret this. ]
Lies.
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The Cat's raised brows just have the teen rolling his eyes in response because he knows, it's a weird answer he knows he's feeling some kind of way about it for reasons he doesn't understand. Whatever the word was tugging on didn't want to tumble into his awareness. His expression smooths back though easily enough as he waits for the next word.]
Protection. [A bit more ready for the uncertainty, it didn't show as much in his expression this time, but it was still there in the question in brown eyes, the faint quirk of his head.]
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In the Cat's limited experience, when people want to get to know you, they want to hear how you view yourself first. That's where he's always fallen down, because the guise of a flirty King is easier to rely on, but harder to give any depth to, on account of the fact that it's only real when he's living it, and beyond that? There isn't much to him that he'd want to share. Not for the second time this evening, a little shudder passes through him as he thinks of what this kind of amnesia might feel like. What kind of terrible thing might he tap into if he forgot to mask it?
He brings them to a stop by the railing leading down to the steps of the lighthouse, leaning with his back facing the building, so he can study Charles properly.
There are two ways he could go here. One might make things worse for Charles, and one might make things worse for him. He tries to deliberate on how selfish he's feeling, how magnanimous he could be tempted to be, but the choice is already making it's way out of his mouth without his decision one way or another. ]
Friends.
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Complicated. [He couldn't help but feel stricken at the idea. Complicated? Why? What about friends was complicated? What about friends had a faint chill zipping through him? Dismissed easily- ghosts didn't feel after all, it was just his head messing with him.
Was... was it him that made things complicated? The Cat's explanations so far made it seem like they were doing good, important things. That he was helping, that he was good.
I'll be good please, I'll be good I promise-But what if he wasn't? What if he was somehow fucking it up?]no subject
He didn't see what the Night Nurse did, but he heard enough of the resulting explanations and tearful confessions to have a vague idea. This cements some of it, and only makes him more curious for the rest.
But, much as he had when Charles had first confessed to the fog shrouding his thoughts, the Cat gives him an out. He reaches out, to this little ghost who can't feel anything but the touch of another supernatural being, and takes his hand with surprisingly delicate fingers for one so heavy-handed with everything else. His palms are warm, soft, and though Charles is a little chilly (more so than a typical ghost) the Cat doesn't show any negative impression on his face as he pulls a little, pulling Charles closer, like a lighthouse guiding the ship home. ]
Ghosts.
[ Because well, they are complicated, both of them. In a frustratingly addictive kind of way. ]
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Fine. Lies. Protection.
That didn't sound like... who was he lying to? What about? What was he protecting?
But the Cat's presence helps to stymie the spin, especially when that hand reaches out and Charles takes it readily, fingers curling tight against it as if in defiance of the light tremor of them. Allows himself to be drawn closer, leaving damp footprints in the grey stone underfoot that he doesn't really clock.]
Together. [It's a relief to have an association that doesn't feel so fraught, something that feels less like a sharp drop into the dark and more like the warm glow of a lantern in the chill.]
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He smiles a bit at Charles' next word, continuing the pull until the ghost is half a step from his body. He slides a warm thumb down his cold palm, eyes transfixed on his face.
He realises, with a bolt of shock and an aftertaste like dread, that he wants to tell Charles about Edwin. It comes from nowhere inside of him and makes him want to turn his nose away, lash out with his claws to stop such a ridiculous feeling surfacing again... but he still wants it. Even though he knows it will cut all this short, that it's a categorically unselfish idea. He wants it. But why?
He inhales, his smile going a little tight for a second, and then exhales and lets his face relax. ]
Port Townsend.
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He noticed the shift in the other's smile. That slight tension, though it was wiped away quickly, too quickly for Charles to place what might have caused it. But he had seen it which meant something, meant he was keenly aware of the others around him, that even if he might not understand the causes, he was the sort to try and pay attention to the moods of those around him. That could just be because he was a friendly sort. But he had a creeping suspicion that was only part of the reason.
He huffed a soft sound of thin amusement, brows lifting.]
Cat King. [Given his current state, it probably wasn't surprising that was the first association. Now he was curious to see what his companion would do with it, actually.]
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He considers his answer for Charles, wondering what delectable adjective he can use to associate with himself-- when a different word strikes him, and so vividly that it almost falls out of his mouth. Lonely. And shaped so perfectly not in the voice of his own mind, but that of Edwin's, the way he'd said it during their last meeting in Port Townsend, before he'd kissed his cheek. Before he left.
He physically bites his own tongue. Then, hastily, turns it into a lascivious lick over his lip, lingering on that little scar on his top lip, as if doing so idly in thought. ]
Attractive.
[ That's better. That's safe. ]
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The surprise and the playful air earned much the same from Charles, his own eyebrows waggling lightly as he gestured towards the Cat, with an air of yes you, you silly thing. He notices that the other's not quick on the reply, but the shift from what he was wondering if was uncertainty to that more overt sort of flirty charm distracted him, another dusting of darker color highlighting cheekbones as he chuckles in response.]
Proper fit.
[Sorry Cat, were you expecting him to make this easier on you somehow?]
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He can't exactly say what is on his mind in response to Charles comment, because the only thing taking up enough space in his thoughts is, in fact, Charles himself - and the Cat feels like somehow the ghost might not have the best reaction to it given that he knows so little about himself that thinking on his darker moments almost caused a haunting.
But he doesn't want to leave his thoughts unshared, wants to reiterate the reciprocal reaction here before they inevitably must get back to the actual point of their game... So, he exhales and then bursts into a small plume of violet flame, and left behind is a perfect mirrored replica of Charles himself, standing there looking incredibly smug with half lidded eyes and the easy slouch to his frame the Cat had only ever seen Charles revert to around Edwin. ]
Transformation.
[ He throws his arms open in a ta-daaa kind of motion, watching closely with golden eyes to see how this particular trick will perform. ]
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He wasn't sure what the Cat was planning when he hesitated, like he was preparing something. That soft exhale before the fire did earn a start from the ghost. But then it was the same as when he'd conjured the little smoke cat, wasn't it?
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. No reflection meant no real sense of his own looks yet, but the clothing matched, that and the sense of familiarity enough to have realization dawning in wide eyes as he took in the sight of the Cat like this, only taking a step back to better take it all in.]
Wicked! [Interest in something new definitely bolstered his clear, eager delight in this fancy new trick that was being shown off. Whatever he might think about himself, Charles was much more keen on praising what he figured was a friend's cool magic.]
Issat like real or illusion? [What was that about a game? Charles was immediately distracted, one hand lightly reaching out as if he might give a light tweak to hair before he seemed to catch up with himself, dropping it back again.] Can you turn into whoever you want? Or like make up an appearance?
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He watches Charles' hand come up and drop, as if instinctually listening to some chiding voice telling him not to be rude. Well, that won't do, will it? The Cat starts to move in this taller body, movements still graceful and sultry, in a small circle around the original. He tilts his head so that the earring catches the light, he purses his lips to tighten the cheeks, he trails a leather gloved hand up Charles' lapel and then over his shoulder, continuing around over his back as he goes. ]
I can be whoever you want me to be.
[ Is his usual response, and it falls out of him almost automatically. It only dawns that it wasn't what Charles asked once it's in the air between them, and he's glad of his position behind the ghost so that it disguises the slight widening of his eyes before he retracts: ]
I can look like anything, anyone. As long as it has human a human or animal shape. Technically it's a glamour, but I feel everything like it's my own body, so it has to be something that's at least capable of being alive, even if the inspiration isn't. [ He smiles at his ghost boy as he comes back around to face him. ] I can't transform into a motorbike or a chest of gold, or anything like that. But I can be the amalgamation of all your favourite parts of different people in one body.
[ The Cat wonders what that would look like for Charles, if he could remember. But then, if he could remember, there's no way he'd ask for it, is there? ]
Tempting, right?
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That's... that's pretty wild, mate. So... that means the human shape you were in before's like... your favorite then? [Tilting his head to study the Cat with a curious smile.] Given you're a Cat King and all I'm guessing human's not the default for that.
[Not that he was judging. The Cat could look like what he pleased, and really? The shape he'd shown up in? Definitely attractive. Charles hadn't been lying when he'd called him fit.]
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A favourite, yeah. Like a default setting. I can use a little magic to look a different way—
[ He raises one gloved hand, and Charles' form dematerialises to reform as one similar to his previous form, but rounder and softer; feminine curves unmistakeable under the soft fabric of the Cat's shirt, a little more length to the hair, a fuller lip. When the Cat King speaks again, her voice is higher, but still with that telltale lilt that makes it clear this is the same Cat as before... if the constant stare of those golden eyes didn't give that much away already. ]
If I feel like it. Or if whoever I'm talking to prefers one option over the other.
[ It's earnest, but the tone in her voice sounds like she's setting a challenge, or perhaps asking a question. ]
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But what if he'd pulled the wool over their eyes too?
Luckily though, the Cat didn't seem to be lingering in the shape overlong, returning to the shape they seemed to prefer-
Or something close enough to it. Female rather than male, but still obviously the Cat. Charles' brows lifted as he took in the differences, curiosity and interest blended once again.]
Prefers... [Charles blinked, gaze back on those big golden eyes again, considering the idea now that it was presented.]
I... well, you're a real stunner like this, but I think you knew that already, [Said easily with a smile and a tilt of his head.] But... I meant it when I called you fit before too, yeah?
[Where did that leave him? He wasn't sure. He also wasn't sure why something about saying it, at least the second part of the admission, made him feel exposed in some way.]
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Mmhmmm... [ He hums, less a considering noise and more the sound of someone who's just had their question answered. He knew Charles had had a little fling with their resident psychic — according to the reports from his cats, at least — and he knew Charles didn't reciprocate Edwin's feelings in any meaningful way despite throwing a host of jealous looks around when anyone else got too close, but had been flirting back pretty successfully earlier when the Cat had been laying it on thick... ]
Bisexuality isn't a crime, you know. I don't know how much you've forgotten, but no-one's about to push you in a locker for thinking I'm hot both ways any more. Things have changed a lot since you were alive. It's not perfect, but it's easier.
[ He wonders if something happened in Charles' life to make him lean towards girls, or if he was doing it out of habit. The idea that he might possibly not be attracted to Edwin doesn't compute in the Cat's mind, so that's out. Even though the Cat wants to ask so badly about it, but doing so would mean bringing up Edwin, and reminding himself that he wants to, that it would more than likely fix this, that Charles would have something familiar and comforting to guide him through this instead of the Cat's heavy-handed paws. ]
C'mon, let's keep going. [ He says, starting to walk onwards down the steps to the beach. And then, because his curiosity is making his tongue feel light and sharp in his mouth, and he needs to sate it before he says something ridiculous, he asks: ]
Do you remember anything about your human life, or has the curse taken everything? [ He could get away with feigning concern and magical speculation on the parameters of how this curse has affected Charles with a question like that. But not with what he asks next: ] Do you remember how many girls you've kissed? How many boys?
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But then he'd known so few examples of love in his life, was it any surprise that he hadn't realized the potential in that intensity, until Edwin's shaky confession had held up a mirror and let him see the shape of things for the first time?
And where did that leave him now, with all that fire but uncertain where to direct it?
Unaware of the Cat's inner turmoil, especially with his comments about sexuality to chew on, Charles was more than willing to follow the prompting, falling into step alongside his companion as their steps turned them towards the beach. Considering the question that followed, a sensible enough one with what happened, even if the addition had him chuckling faintly.]
I... don't remember, nah. S'all just fog and water. Sometimes you'll bring something up or I'll see something and it'll seem right. Or a bit of memory shakes out. [A vague gesture with a hand, as if he knew that wasn't especially helpful, but it was what he had. But he gives himself a centering shake and a wry smile.]
A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Your Majesty, [As if he was a gentleman, the very idea, his teasing smirk seemed to say.] But the idea of kissin' either... feels familiar, yeah.
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[ The apology sounds tongue in cheek, but it feels oddly genuine when he says it. While the Cat can often joke and tease, he very rarely actually lies; he withholds information, sure, he dodges the truth as gracefully as one might expect a feline body would.. but lying doesn't come easily to him. It sits strangely in his mouth, makes his magic feel wild, makes his awareness feel shaken. Even if the truth will actively do him harm, hurt him, make things worse... If Charles asked what was missing, what the no doubt empty feeling in him is because of, why it feels comfortable but wrong to walk beside the Cat, the Cat would tell him. He knows he would. And he hates that.
And now, as he tells Charles that he's sorry he didn't meet him when he was alive, he's not lying about that either. He wonders if he was the type of boy who was nice to cats, despite clearly preferring dogs.
But, he does know something, doesn't he? He knows Charles chose to stay here, in the world that he was taken from, to instead stay by Edwin's side and to promise to stay there even if it took the press of claws and teeth to keep him so. There must have been something in life that made Charles feel like he needed a second chance, if he gave up on an afterlife for this. Perhaps it's better he doesn't remember. ]
I think you and your little detective team came down here once or twice.
[ He says, as he starts to pick his way along the stony beach, toward the shoreline that loops back around to the docklands, to the cannery. ]
Looking for some giant fish, or something. Nothing to do with me, though I might've helped if you'd asked. Cats are good at fishing.
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The apology, joking as the tone was, sounded genuine enough. A casual air painted over actual emotion was a thing Charles was finding familiar in some way, beyond simply knowing people who operated like that. With his own knee-jerk response to things being to smile, to be chipper and make jokes himself despite the situation he'd found himself in, he could only imagine how often he did that himself.]
Aces, means you can't bust out any embarrassing little kid pictures yeah?
[And the prompting was helpful. He had a sense of familiarity in looking around the stretch of beach, but the confirmation did encourage him to be a bit more mindful in his examination of their surroundings. Pausing when he spotted a little bit of seaglass, stooping to pluck it up before continuing to follow, turning it thoughtfully between fingers.]
Remember there was some seaglass that was important. Not sure why, but it seems that way.
[A tilt of his head, considering.]
Cats are good at fishin' yeah, but isn't it a thing that you're not fans of water?
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He doesn't like to think about it. It was a massive faux pas, but it was also potentially the first push to the snowball effect of Edwin's feelings for Charles coming to a head (even though he almost definitely had feelings for him before that) and thinking about it makes the Cat feel... weird. Not angry, not upset, but weird.
He chooses instead to latch on to the latter part of Charles' comment, since it's always so much easier to indulge in talking about himself. ]
I'm not a fan, sure, but I live on the docklands of a coastal town — I'd be in a sorry fucking state if I couldn't handle a bit of water, don't you think?
[ He asks, meandering closer to the water's edge so he can kick a few pebbles into the rolling tide, as if to prove his resilience to the stuff. ]
It's mostly domesticated house cats who fear water. Once you've been a stray for long enough, you stop being so worried about things you don't understand.
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Not that it was hard- he hadn't been running away, he just hadn't stopped.]
I mean... could be like... exposure therapy? That's a thing.
[Charles hummed thoughtfully at the second part though. That... sounded right. He wasn't sure how he knew, but it did, so he just nodded his understanding.]
Makes sense though. Stray cat's got loads more to worry about than a bit of water, yeah? World's a scary place, 'specially when you're little.
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Little, huh?
[ He asks, then snaps his fingers and reappears a moment later as a sleek black cat, tail high in the air, golden eyes like a sunset framed against the blue of the water behind him as he splashes his paws in the white surf. ]
There's nothing little about a cat, puppy. You should watch your mouth.
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Little's just about size. Nothin' bad about being cat-sized. Makes it loads easier to sneak around, and get into all sorts of places people don't want you gettin' into, I'm sure.
[And unable to help but to grin and give a teasing response to the last bit-]
I mean I could, but you could watch it for me.
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But Charles has a point. Being this size does make it sufficiently easier to get himself into trouble, and is even a pretty stellar way to get himself back out of it again, too. And perhaps it's that thought that inspires him to narrow his golden eyes as he turns around with soggy little paws to study the ghost crouched nearby, on his level in what the Cat assumes Charles thought would be a placating way... but which the Cat only sees as an opportunity.
He lunges forward, pouncing at the form of the ghost until he's hooked claws into his coat and is anchoring himself up onto his shoulders, sitting proudly as though he were made to sit there. ]
I spend enough time already watching your pretty little mouth, I don't need any more encouragement.
[ And it's true. Of all Charles' most attractive features, that stupidly charming smile is is most enticing, and the one the Cat can summon with perfect clarity in his mind despite the limited number of times he's seen it directed his way. ]
Now, come on — the cannery is just down the beach once you hit the docks. You can get us both there, as penance for your insolence to a King.
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Whatever he'd been expecting, while he started for the sudden movement, he didn't recoil or try to block the Cat as he launches his way, scrabbling up onto his shoulders with that quick grace that only a feline ever seemed to pull off. Blinking a moment as he processed the feel of the little furry weight against his shoulders, shifting his posture ever so slightly to make sure they were a stable perch for his companion, he let out a short laugh, bringing up a curled knuckle just low enough to be an offer of a chin rub if the Cat wanted it.]
As Your Majesty commands, [Teasing to be sure, but not a disrespectful sort.] I'd bow but-
[He'd been about to joke about the move dislodging the Cat, but something about the idea of bowing just had him making a light face as he pushed to his feet to carry them along at an easy sort of amble.]
Maybe not. Don't think I'm much the bowing sort.
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No, you're not. Kind of the rebellious type, but you probably figured that out from the way you're dressed, right? No respectable teenager has patches on their coat.
[ Probably a wild generalisation, but the Cat doesn't need to know Charles inside and out to know that he was the type to buck the trend. It's probably why he works so well with Edwin, after all; one of them rigid and the other fluid, making for a perfect team. Ugh, it's so gross how made for each other they are. But he's not thinking about that, is he? It makes him feel weird. Even though, technically, he's doing all he can to keep Charles safe while he waits for more information about what's happened to the ghost boys. ]
Besides, I don't think there'd be any appeal in seeing you bow. [ He focuses back in on the boy under his paws, curling his tail in to play cheekily at the slope of his cheek, tickling under his nose, as he lowers his voice to murmur through a purr into his ear: ] I'd prefer to see you on your knees.
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Fair play. It seems to say in an unspoken manner.]
You're not wrong there. Not sure what all they're for entirely at the moment, aside from the obvious ones, but you don't plaster yourself in pins and patches if you're hopin' to be a respectable sort, yeah?
[And that held the sort of comfortable ease to it that told Charles he was entirely correct. That he and the Cat were both right that he was much more the rebellious sort than one to fall in line just because it was expected of him.
And he was in general aware of the Cat King's presence. Mostly for the idea that he didn't want to accidentally send him tipping one way or the other, or anything like that, but it meant he was instantly aware of the shift in posture, the curl of the tail that was soft as it skimmed over skin.
Though he had a sense that he'd flirted before, teasing, playful, easy, there was a distinct sense of newness to the soft-purred comment offered by the Cat in the moment, and for all he was a ghost and thus had no circulation to speak of, the feline would be rewarded with the way his ears tinged pink, the flush straight up from his collar as he let out a startled little huff of sound in response to the idea.]
I-I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you aren't I? [Managed after a startled moment, gaze flicking towards the Cat with a lift of brows, something... curious in his expression. Maybe a little interested.] Seems like you're trouble too.
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The fact that Charles is bisexual isn't really a surprise, after all, but the fact he's not side-stepping this heavy-handed attention kind of is. Of course he doesn't have the memory of Edwin to keep him within his restraints, so the Cat supposes that is doing a lot of the heavy lifting... but there's interest in the way Charles looks at him, attraction clear in the way he holds himself as well as the fact that Charles said as much without mincing words. If he wanted to, the Cat is almost certain he could tempt Charles into a make-out session at the very least before all of this is over. It's crazy how badly he wants to try, and frustrating how loudly the alarm bells are ringing in his head telling him that's a fucking stupid idea.
At the moment, the ghost boys aren't Not talking to him, but they're also an ocean away and very much doing their own thing... so it's take what you can while you have the chance to, or leave yourself open for uncertain potential in the future. Being a hedonistic cat by nature, the Cat King knows which option he will more than likely lean into if pushed any further. He should almost definitely, then, stop flirting with Charles. ]
Trouble? Hardly. I won't ever do anything you don't want me to, I can promise you that.
[ He should, but he won't. He needles his paws back and forth on Charles' shoulder, claws picking at the wool of his coat, tail still dancing teasingly across his cheek. ]
But I won't say no to you keeping an eye on me. I like the idea of you looking.
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[As if he'd mind doing it. Something about the back and forth here was... well strange, for the fact that Charles had no real idea of himself or of the Cat beyond this brief period. But on the other hand it was so easy to fall into the pattern as they walked on, a simple enough path to follow, even memoryless as he was in the moment. Whatever else, he found he was enjoying the playful conversation, and in a period of such uncertainty he was going to grab hold of that with both hands.
If things weren't as they seemed later? Well he'd figure that out when he got there. For now the idea of keeping an eye on this troublemaker of a Cat suited him right down to the ground.]
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With all due respect, Charles, you don't know what trouble is. You didn't even know your own name until I called you it, and I could've picked anything to call you.
[ He isn't sure why he's putting up such a fight, but something about Charles readily accepting the Cat King's bullshit without actually knowing what that bullshit entails makes him feel... not bad, exactly, but definitely not good either. Weird. Weird, but in a kind of curious way that makes him want to prise eager paws under the lid keeping the contents unknown. He wants to know if Charles would still feel like this if he knew the truth, if he'd flirt so easily knowing the hand the Cat unwittingly played in getting them captured and subsequently tortured, if he knew how bone-deep the Cat's loneliness actually goes.
But, he doesn't let any of that unrest show on his face, because as Charles rounds the corner of the beach and starts to follow the shoreline inwards, the view of the docks comes into sight. And, well, Charles had said he'd keep an eye on him, so he might as well test that theory.
He leaps from Charles' shoulders with a little chirp, landing softly on the sand and turning to level a challenging glance at the ghost behind him before starting to scamper toward the large unassuming warehouse. ]
Don't get left behind, puppy!
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[Charles points that out with a cheerful tone, smiling at the little cat on his shoulder as he raises a hand to stroke the side of his furry face, up behind an ear briefly.
He was normally perceptive about people around him, but it was harder to place an emotion on a feline face, so he missed the signs here, especially with the distraction of the docks coming into view. Familiar again, even before his attention was drawn by the loss of the little weight on his shoulders, the sight of that graceful little leap.]
Not gonna lose me that easily! [Charles can't help the laugh as he calls after the Cat before he takes off after him, feeling all the better for the movement, for the little impromptu chase.]
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Somehow, thinking about this and being annoyed and endeared and flustered by it in equal amounts makes the Cat run faster, as though scarpering away from the train of thought that reminds him that soon enough his cats will report back with the situation on the mirror-labyrinth, or Edwin will come storming into the Cannery, or his own better judgement will suffocate his selfishness and have him pushing Charles through the mirror he'd recently installed in the corner of his throne room himself -- just to get him out of his mind, back into the waiting arms of his little agency.
He streaks across the sand, staying in sight of the ghost but nowhere near close enough to catch, until he leaps up the small walkway leading onto the dock and scurries into the Cannery through the plastic strip curtains shrouding the open doorway.
When Charles arrives, the Cat will be in human form again, stretched out on the seat of his throne as if he's been there for hours, perhaps even filing a claw and yawning dramatically. ]
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The cannery was familiar- again Charles had the sense of deja vu but no concrete facts shaking free. Probably for the best for the Cat in the moment. Spotting that yawn, it startled another laugh from him, brows lifting as hands set against his hips.]
Oi, I wasn't that slow!
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[ To Edwin, is what he'd been about to say, the words that were lingering at the tip of his tongue, but he catches them just before they escape, and disguises the mishap with a playful little purse of his lips. Though, thinking of Charles going back... his eyes catch on the ornate standing mirror in the corner of the room, surveying it warily, as if he'll see what's wrong with the mirror network through simple surveillance. Everything looks the same from here, at least. He wonders how his Cats have been fairing, getting reconnaissance for him.
He slides his eyes back to Charles in the meantime, tapping a claw idly against the armrest of his throne. ]
So. This place ringing any bells?
time to tl;dr everywhere!
[Whatever else Charles had to say in the moment? Was lost to the Cat King's perception, muffled like he'd plunged his head underwater. Something about the flash of reflection in the mirror stayed, even as his gaze turned back, a liquid ripple across reality as his eyes met Charles' and his surroundings seemed to slide out of his attention, those silvery ripples remaining just at the edges of his periphery as it resolved to somewhere different.
A small back garden, a simple space, with a sturdy looking oak tree, a smattering of herbs growing to one side of a small toolshed. The boy who lived their- Charles for certain, for all the Cat King had never seen him before at such a young age, knew that there was a gap in the fence behind the shed- not large enough for him to slip through, but large enough for another. And it was them that he was waiting for in the dimming light of dusk, crouched in the grass with an open tin of tuna he'd smuggled out of the pantry.
Soon enough, a figure slunk from around the shed. Mad Bastard, the rest of the neighborhood called this particular ginger cat. A menace that attacked anyone that so much looked at him funny, that feared nothing- he'd even beaten the tar out of the Smith's huge bruiser of a dog when they'd set it on him. A sturdy thing, practically a brick of muscle in a fur coat, magnificent in a ruinous sort of way, with one ear ragged, tail kinked, single remaining eye reflecting the light from the kitchen window as it was surveying the yard, stopping when the boy was spotted.]
Hey there mate... thought you might like a snack on your way through, yeah? [Charles couldn't help but smile as he spoke softly, the expression revealing the gap where a front tooth should be as he was carefully easing down so he could hold the tuna can towards the cat. He misjudged the distance though- once the cat decided his hand, offering food or no, was too close, there was a lash with a paw before he was darting across the garden before the boy could even yelp or drop the can in surprise, looking after as the cat vanished into the hydrangeas as a few droplets of blood welled on the side of his thumb.]
Fair enough.
[The perception of time shifts- the Cat King is aware that much time hasn't passed, but flashes of other meetings flicker through his mind. As the weeks pass, the cat doesn't change it's pattern, refuses to be put off of it's preferred path by an overeager boy. Charles learns the acceptable range where he can reach to leave the tuna out, and sometimes the cat deigns to eat, other times it doesn't, driven by some assessment that the boy isn't privy to. Slowly, the distance he's allowed to reach shortens little by little, though occasionally he misjudges the distance and is corrected by a swat of claws, or the flash of teeth, but he doesn't shout, or retaliate. Just hissing out a sound of surprised pain, a sheepish little laugh. 'I get it, some bloke getting all up in my business I'd scratch'm too' He'd comment, or something like it in a wry tone as he watched the cat bound away.
Another day, this memory a bit clearer than the smear of timeline of the moments before. Spring evening chilled, the small boy likely would have retreated inside, if not for the sound of shouting coming from the other side of the door he'd sat with his back against. Shouting was nothing new, but as his father's tone had grown more sharp and ugly, his mother had urged him out into the garden with a tense smile and an urge to play for a bit before shutting him out. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but it sounded like his father had worked himself up into quite the fury over something. He can't help the faint flinch as something shatters, gaze fixing on the spill of light from the kitchen window over the darkening grass. And like a specter, the cat slinks into view, lamp-like single eye fixing on him as it stops, assessing the situation and the new noise from inside the house.]
Hey there Havoc. Don't got any tuna for you tonight mate, I'll get you double next time, yeah? [Charles kept his voice quieter than normal, but the swivel of a torn ear swiveling his way hinted that he'd been heard. He honestly expected the cat to move on without some treat to encourage it to stay, especially with the racket going on inside. But he still held out a hand in a soft, slow sort of manner, holding his breath as he did. Remembering something he'd read in a book about how some animals took eye contact as a challenge, he averted his gaze, letting it go just to the left of the cat who considered him a moment, utterly silent. A few moments after he felt the faint cold of a nose sniffing against a bandaged knuckle, followed by a light bump of a furry head against the side of his wrist. Startling him enough to have wide eyes meeting the cat's single eye before the feline darted off with a flick of it's crooked tail into the darkness again, leaving Charles with a cautious smile on his face.]
Knew you weren't all teeth.
[The yard doesn't seem quite so small. The sounds of his father's anger are still echoing in the evening air, but they seem almost muted, unable to reach Charles in this single moment. The memory slides away, but the Cat King is still in that strange liminal space, with the sense that there's more to be seen in this particular tale.]
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Of course he recognises him. Even without the earring or the chain or the kohl dusted eyes or his familiar outfit, the dark curling hair and the little peak to his ears is instantly familiar, but neither as familiar as his dark eyes when they widen as the cat comes in to focus slinking through the fence. Thoughts of how and why he's being shown this fall away as he takes a step closer, watching as the Cat is clearly tempted by the offered tuna, but knows better than any pampered house cat to accept a bribe and lets his claws do the talking. The Cat can remember that anger himself, has seen it and even felt it so many times... but he's very rarely seen anyone react the way young Charles does — not with anger, but with understanding.
Children, especially boys, often favour dogs because it's easier to get them to like you. Cats require finer methods, careful planning, dedication that most kids deem too much effort, especially when the cat in question has grown past kittenhood. It makes the Cat king wonder why he keeps trying, even as time wears on, even as Charles gets little success for his attempts...
By the time the clearer memory comes around, the Cat still doesn't have an answer, but the beginning sprouts of one starts to form when he hears the shouting pressed behind a closed door, when he sees the boy shivering and hurt, when he sees the Cat recognise that fear and relate to it, and bump up against his hand.
He remembers to breathe about the same time as the memory slips away, exhaling a slow breath of quiet understanding into the strange void around him. ]
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The cat doesn't always leave immediately once the tuna can is empty now. Sometimes he'll settle near Charles, allow a finger or two to brush against thick fur. Other times he'll take over a spot in the garden while Charles is reading a comic, crushing some of the oregano under his furry bulk as he sunned himself and listened to the boy narrate the story to him in a soft, pleased sort of tone. Even when Charles started leaving the tuna and sitting back elsewhere in the garden himself, the cat would occasionally approach, allowing a brief pet, or even, on occasion, butting his head against a calf or knee before darting away to wherever he'd meant to go in the first place.
They cross paths in the neighborhood too- despite trying to stay near home, his mother often urges him out the door into the back garden or out into the neighborhood at large. And so he'll spot Havoc as he wanders. Sometimes the cat will stop, stare at him a long moment with a twitch of an ear, before bounding along on his way. On occasion, the cat will approach, earning a caught breath from Charles, as they walk together. No more than a block or two here and there, typically only if the cat is close enough as it is- Charles jokes that they 'just happen' to be going the same way. Walking to school in the rain, he tilts his umbrella to cover the cat, despite the way it gets his own shoulder sodden.
As time passed they sat together in the garden more, the cat lingering closer to Charles so long as he wasn't overly rambunctious about things. Flopped on his back in the fall leaves, basking in the afternoon sun, Charles had more of his focus on the puzzle cube in his hands than the cat that was sat near him, chatting idly to him, a running commentary usually, though occasionally he'd pause as if the cat was responding, or ask his opinion on something playfully. And even at his closest, where Havoc would normally allow a few fingers to stroke over fur, he kept at least a few inches distance between them. So the boy was... surprised when he felt the faint bump of warmth against the side of his leg. A cautious glance showing the cat sitting, his back to the boy, but leaning slightly against his side. A faint flicker of an ear in his direction, as if to remind the boy not to get too excited about it, but it didn't stop the smile that crawled over his face. A smile that only broadened when eventually he heard just under the rustle of autumn leaves and the chatter of his own voice, the faintest rasp of a purr.
The rituals continue. Small interactions, little crossings of paths as the days grow shorter and colder. Charles still spends most of his time in the garden, at least when his father is home, though with extra layers in concession to the chill. Uses the snow along the cat's preferred path for snow forts and snowballs once he notices how it shows those little pawprints- if his mother knew the cat was coming into the yard she'd complain to his father, and who knew what he'd do to Havoc. That front tooth was grown in by now, a gap in a different spot showing the passage of time on the next happy smile at the ginger cat when he deigned to accept the snow fort as an acceptable place to eat his snack and sit out of the wind for a little bit.
There came a time though, when the cat didn't appear. When the boy waiting was forced to go back inside, tuna can unopened in his pocket. He didn't worry at first- Havoc would occasionally vanish for a day or two, only to return at his leisure. But even then, Charles might spot him elsewhere in the neighborhood, in the bushes, or slinking through an alley. Hear others complaining about their run-ins with the Mad Bastard. But days passed, and there was no sign. No gleam of a single lamp-like eye from foliage, or flash of orange between buildings. No mention of him menacing the neighborhood. No sign of him slinking through the back garden.
Weeks passed. Charles spent time in the garden as usual, gaze occasionally sliding to where he knew the gap in the fence was. Fingers tapping uncertainly against the unopened can in his jacket pocket. He knew what had likely happened. Havoc wasn't a young cat- he'd been a neighborhood staple for longer than Charles had been alive, and aside from that, he was a stray with all the freedoms and risks that came with it. All it took was one bad incident...]
Guess you decided to go find someplace warmer, yeah? [Charles was young sure, but he knew that wasn't the case, clear enough in some underlying element to that light tone of the murmur as he absently ran his thumb along the side of his index finger, feeling the faint texture of a scar courtesy of one ginger menace there.] Good on you, mate.
[The moment faded, the strange visual ripple sweeping over everything again- only a few minutes had passed near as the Cat could tell, awareness of the world around him coming back into clear focus as Charles was leaning in closer, brow knit with concern as he clicked fingers together, trying to catch the Cat's attention. From the blank but clearly worried sort of confusion to his tone and expression, it was clear that while the Cat had seen all of that? Charles had no idea about any of it.]
Oi, you with me there Your Majesty?
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His cats had shown him the gist of the conversation Charles had with Edwin and even the one he had with Crystal regarding his father, and Charles hadn't exactly been graphic with the details, but seeing it first hand like this puts it into perspective. After all, it takes common ground to garner trust in an animal so hurt by the world and the people in it. Often, like finds like in those circumstances, and Charles might not have a missing eye or a chipped ear, but the Cat King would bet that beneath his sweater or the long legs of his trousers he might have more than one or two bruises mottling his skin.
The inevitable loss hits him as painfully as if he were feeling it personally, as if he knew this cat or knew this boy beyond simply watching what they've been through. Strays aren't forever, just as cats aren't, and it's all the Cat King can do to hope that that angry ginger tom inspired the same kind of sympathy in Death when she came to pick him up, perhaps even made him a Cat King like she had presumably done for him. Didn't the Cat Boss of London have a brief spell as a ginger once?
He's broken from wondering, from the reverie completely, by Charles' clicking fingers in front of his face, and he blinks quickly to dispel the last lingering trails of mist from his vision. ]
What? [ He furrows his brow, coming back to his own mind slowly, like wading through syrup. ] What happened? Did you- [ He frowns a little harder. ] You didn't see that?
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[He was admittedly concerned, but he also knew that he didn't know anything about this situation.] That... a cat thing, or a weird thing?
[He highly doubted that it was anything expected, not with the way the Cat was responding now, the confusion in his questions, the frown on his face. But then, who knew? Wasn't that a thing, people noticing cats staring off into the middle distance sometimes and not knowing just what they were looking at? He was fairly certain at least.]
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[ He answers, a little darkness entering his expression because that right there? That felt like some kind of magic — and the only reason the Cat knows that is because it's unlike anything he's ever felt before, and magic doesn't typically work on him, so putting two and two together... It must be something powerful. Or he's losing it. ]
I was thinking about the mirror you came through and the fact that no-one's followed you here. The network must still be fucked up, because my Cats haven't come back with any update, either. But for a second I saw...
[ He squints, looking around the warehouse for a moment like he might see the remnants of the memory sneaking behind a stack of shelving. Then, he looks back at Charles. This couldn't be some elaborate prank, could it? What would anyone get out of something like that? ]
I saw... Your memories. I think. One of them, at least.
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One of mine? [Why did his smile feel so strained to keep up at the idea of that? Surely it was a good thing, the Cat could clue him in on another of his memories, maybe it would shake something else loose. And yet... something about it just had a nervousness coiling in his chest. The tension wasn't visible in his expression of course, muscle memory, even the ghostly sort made it so easy for him to smile like nothing was wrong and he was just curious even when he didn't know why he needed to do it.] Anything good? Or interestin'?
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Kinda. It was about... cats.
[ He scrunches up his nose a bit, then gets up off his throne and hops down off the pallet, stalking the same way an animal might stalk prey likely to startle from sudden movements — with slow, even footsteps — across to the mirror. ]
Which is odd for more than one reason. Magic doesn't work on me, so whatever's fucking with you shouldn't have any impact on me. Which means it's not magic. Or it is, but it's really really powerful. And what's more, it's aware of my connection to you.
[ He looks back at Charles, then, having seen nothing strange in the mirror just yet. ]
After all, of all the memories you have, why show me one involving cats?
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[It wasn't enough to trigger any remembrance in him, but somehow that wasn't really a surprise. It was so vague that it could be a lot of things. That didn't stop that strange sort of unease, but that was practically constant at the moment, which given his loss of memories? Was hardly surprising.
There was something familiar about following the Cat as he moves, falling in at his shoulder as he prowls over to the mirror. Like a bird dog waiting for prey to be flushed, curious, alert in the moment. It wasn't the Cat who he'd trail like this, he knew that even if his memory wouldn't shake who but it was similar enough to ground him some, even as the mirror offered up no more secrets, looking for the moment like a normal mirror, like nothing strange was happening at all.]
D'you think it's like... actively watchin' or is this more... just kinda a side-effect of whatever was done? [Neither was especially good, for a variety of reasons, but Charles disliked the idea of being under the direct attention of something like this way more than the alternative.]
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But the Cat is not Edwin. The Cat doesn't do teamwork, because the Cat doesn't do teams. He doesn't do friends, or even partnerships. The fact that it's all down to the simple reason that he's never had the opportunity to try goes unheeded in his mind, focusing instead on the sheer lack between them. There's no great mind to puzzle out magical intention here, just a Cat who knows what to avoid and a foolish puppy of a ghost who will follow him around because he doesn't know any better. ]
If this was the same mirror you got barfed out of, I'd say it's a side effect. But this is a totally different mirror in a totally different place, on the other side of town.
[ Look at him, hypothesising anyway despite his reluctance. Anyone ever heard of a Cat detective? ]
My cannery is on a ley line. Magic is more potent here. [ He looks back to the mirror, raising his hand, tapping his four fingers on its surface one after the other - like he'd seen Edwin do in an effort to help himself think. Perhaps it'll help him, too. ] So whatever it is that's here will be more powerful too.
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Charles on some level kind of wanted to press again for more information about the memory the Cat had seen. But at the same time there was a part of him that railed against the idea, which startled the urge from something he'd act immediately on. And in the moment, they also had a more pressing concern in the fact that this strange magic had affected the Cat, if most magic didn't work on him as he claimed. The memory could keep for now.]
No shot? [Charles, in typical Charles fashion was slinking closer to give a curious little tap to the mirror himself, but nothing about it seemed odd. Just a mirror reflecting only the Cat, no strange ripples to vision or anything odd.] Maybe that's why it affected you? Or why it could, anyways...
[But if it wasn't a side-effect that suggested something with more intent and awareness.] Might not be a bad idea to move it for now, until we know what's causin' this and how much it's aware of, yeah?
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Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was some dormant Cat King ability coming to fruition after hundreds of years. Or maybe there really is something in the mirror system acting out. This is magic he knows very little about, and that - more than anything - makes him nod when Charles suggests moving the thing. ]
I dunno why I keep it here anyway.
[ He says, immediately tasting sourness on his tongue at the barefaced lie. He kept it there on the off chance that Edwin or Charles might hop through it someday, might see reason enough to come visit or ask for his assistance with something. He kept it there out of hope, and as a reminder. And that reality rests heavy on his mind as he raises a hand with the intention to summon a burst of flame and disappear the mirror from sight.
In the mean time, perhaps in an effort to delay or halt the Cat King's efforts of hiding it, the mirror ripples rather violently and springs forth a memory completely unbeknownst to the monarch.
In it, the Cat - looking somewhat different than he does now, with pale brown hair and rather archaic looking clothing - is peering into an ornate balcony window covered with a gauzy curtain, at a beautiful woman with pale skin and dark hair twisted up into a high knot on her head as she sits by a dressing table, nodding minutely to a man in her doorway. Only when he leaves and shuts the door behind him does the Cat enter, and she receives him delighted, pressing a kiss to his cheek, taking his hand and holding his fingers tight. But her smile falters as his does, as he tells her this has to be the last time, that he can't stand in the way of her future, her duty, that she has to marry her betrothed and that running away together is impossible. The princess scowls, shaking her head, and the Cat's heart breaks to see her unhappy, even as he reminds her of who - what - he is, that he can't give her what she wants.
The image flickers. The hand holding hers never changes, but hers seems to wither in his; snapshots of times throughout her life when he saw her, unable to leave her completely, always finding himself at her side around the time of her birthday, there the day after the birth of her first child and the three that followed, there for her when she buried her youngest when he didn't survive the war that wrecked her country, when her husband the King made foolish and selfish decisions that benefited the few rather than the many. He was there, too, when the physician told her her time was limited, and he was there in a moment of blissful peace, like a young and beautiful spectre, when her hair had turned white and her heart began to fail from one too many breaks. He kissed her then, softly on the hand as he always had, and told her he loved her. He didn't see her die, but there was a pale brown tabby asleep at her graveside for weeks - perhaps even months - afterwards. ]
For sidhean
And they found this was not the only ghost to vanish. One or two was an unfortunate coincidence, but close to a dozen now, that only the ones that they'd found word of, those who had others who noticed their disappearance? That spoke to something larger.
The one thread that bound all the myriad vanished spirits was mention of the Night Market. Not entirely strange- they accepted all sorts there, dead, alive, in-between so long as they obeyed the rules of the place. It was an excellent source of all manner of things, from the mundane to the supernatural. One had to be careful bartering though. It was no Fae thing where consumption bound a person, but anything was up for trade. Most tended towards magical artifacts or trinkets, knowledge and secrets, but some vendors would accept payment in memories. Emotions. Traits or luck, years from a person's life, the color of their hair. Anything had value to someone, and while the rule was the transaction must be willing, that didn't stop someone from having buyer's remorse because they didn't think about what they were trading away.
Normally, Charles wouldn't come here without Edwin. The other was always so much better than him at sussing out the sort of trouble that came from this place, knew more magic, knew more about the supernatural. But he was in the middle of a ritual that couldn't be left unattended, that couldn't be put off, so it was with no small amount of unease that he'd agreed.
Worried or no, Charles couldn't help but be a bit excited. As dangerous as the place could be, the Market was always interesting. So he just made sure his coat was snugged tight around him, that his pack was secure on his shoulder as he cut into the crowd. He tried not to just run into or through people- keeping corporeal for the moment helped with that, but he still had to dodge out of the way of the rare sort who, for some reason despite being able to get to the Night Market, were unable to perceive him. He had his little bundle of things to trade for information, his warnings thanks to Edwin, and knowledge of several ways in and out if things got too dangerous. He was absolutely ready for whatever was to come in this little solo adventure.]
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She never cared much about her grades, anyway.
The Night Market isn't quite the same, but it's similar enough that she's at home there. If there is some nefarious trafficking of spirits about, she's not (yet) aware of it. Rather, she's been buying ingredients for a particular spell, and having obtained most of what she needs, she's standing by a pen of vampire pumpkins, which are rolling back and forth in the low light, burbling faintly.
She wants ten. What happens if you carve a face into a vampire pumpkin? Will it bite?
She senses a chill, rather than hearing or seeing him coming, and she looks up in time to see him dodge another patron, one who seems oblivious to his existence. Her nose wrinkles in mild disdain: it just seems rude to trip on a ghost. Failing to perceive them is no excuse.] Eesh. You'd think you'd be hard to miss here.
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[His tone is cheerful as he replies, taking refuge near where the stranger was for the moment. Charles enjoyed a crowd, but if he was going to investigate, he also needed to chat people up, right?] Careful now, that sort of attention comes with a bit of responsibility, yeah?
[He'd been about to start in on conversation that would lead that way- easy enough as they were already talking about people's lack of consideration for a ghost and all. But the movement in the little pen they were standing near just drew his attention, and turning to look. Unable to help the way his expression brightened seeing the little gourds rumbling around in little packs.]
Aw! Aw look at these lil lads! [Should he stick his hand down in the pen for one of the closer ones to investigate? No, but then they were so cute he really wanted to see if they were amenable to pets. Which, given his entire lack of blood, was about the only reason that one was bumping his hand, which just had him beaming in delight.] They yours, or are you just a pumpkin aficionado?
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[Folding her arms, she rests her elbows on the edge of the pen.] Yeah, yeah, with great power comes even greater pains in the ass. If you've got a message or something, I'm game. [He looks about Will's age, and that's a little upsetting, imagining what could kill a teenager...
Then again, Will's already lived an entire lifetime in the Twilight Kingdom so he's not a model of normalcy, either.
She chuckles softly at his interest in the pumpkins, shaking her head.] No, I'm shit at growing things. Kind of tempted to buy a couple, though. There's something cute about the way they growl. Like a spicy feral kitten.
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[As if he wasn't just as at risk, what with being a ghost and all.
Another pair of pumpkins came rolling closer, one bumping at the one by Charles' hand, the other doing little hopeful circles within Courtney's reach as if hoping for some attention all it's own.]
I think I'd get that huge one over in the corner- the one that's all bumpy and green? Name 'm Gourdzilla.
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Ghosts vanishing? [Then again, maybe it's not simple, after all.] In a way that suggests they didn't just...go into the light or whatever, I take it?
[Not at the Night Market. Not where memories and souls are up for trade all the time. Courtney leans a little lower and scratches the pumpkin next to her obligingly, fingernails making little tapping noises on its rind.] That could be problematic.
[She chuckles at Gourdzilla, though.] I think this group takes cash, for whatever that's worth. You could go for it. I like the little smooth white ones.
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[A lift of a hand to imitate a puff of smoke along with a soft sound effect.]
Hmm... I could... [He considered the big pumpkin, humming thoughtfully.] It not having a mouth does mean it can't chew on the first editions, so Edwin won't have any reason to kill me over it...
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And it wouldn't explain why they disappeared here, of all places.] Not sure I like the sound of that.
[A snort of amusement.] I'm told they don't bite. It might roll across your feet and try to trip you up, that's about it.
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[Charles liked the idea even less than Courtney did, and it was something to think about, but he was also somewhat relieved that it was a highly unlikely thing in this case.]
Yeah? They get underfoot, well then he's got experience dealin' with me, [Charles chuckled, nodding at the thought.] Y'know, I think I will. The idea's growin' on me.
[And it would be an excellent in on chatting up the owner of this particular setup- he'd spotted her on the other side of the pen, smoking her pipe as she haggled with what looked to be a sprite of some sort over a small strawberry with a multitude of blinking eyes in a tiny glass jar.]
Charlie Row [As close to his actual name as he'd dare giving out- this wasn't the Fae, but there were enough around, let alone other sorts who could do some damage with a name, that he and Edwin just went by close alternatives here. Whatever the case his smile was genuine as he held a hand Courtney's way.] Of the Dead Boy Detectives at your service.
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Also, she can't help but notice a lone ghost boy is kind of sticking his neck out, here. That seems risky. Risky enough that she decides to just...stick around for a little while, as he haggles for his pumpkin.]
Caitlin Crumb. [She answers archly, taking his hand carefully. Her concerns about real names are the same as his, but also her uncle was a rather infamous hunter of wicked sorcerers and powerful vampires, and advertising her connection to him in places like this is like painting a target on her forehead.] Cait for short.
Dead Boy Detectives, huh? How many of you are there?
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It's me and my best mate Edmund, [He can't help the way his grin brightens as he talks about them, fake names or no.] Normally it'd be the pair of us, he's proper brills at investigating, but he's got a ritual to babysit so it's down to me!
[If Courtney has any sense for people? How bad Charles has it for his partner is blindingly obvious.]
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So you're stuck doing the legwork, huh? You're not worried something's going to snatch you up while you're investigating?
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[Not that this was the only charmed tracker Charles carried, but he wasn't about to say that. And tracking charm or no, he had utter faith in Edwin to find him no matter where he wound up.]
What about you? What's got you hangin' around, aside from the adorable vegetation?
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Ha! See, mine only goes one way. Tells me if my brother's in trouble but he doesn't get any news about me. [The last thing she needs is Will trying to come to her rescue again. He's getting better at looking after himself, but he shouldn't have to consider her in that equation.]
Ritual components for a spell. [She shrugs.] Phalaris grass is hard to come by, even in specialty stores.
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Y'know, I tried to convince Edmund to do it as a two-way, but he just gave me this look yeah? [He does his best to mimic the level of 'really Charles?' that Edwin had managed, but he didn't quite have the stoicism for it, or the eyebrows to really sell it.] Nice though, that your brother's got you lookin' out for him.
[It always cheered Charles up to see families where the members cared about each other.]
Phalaris grass? [A soft little hum as he tilted his head, considering.] I think my partner had us harvestin' that a bit back- had to go back a bunch of times, so he could get some during the full moon, waning, waxing, new, all that. Something about the moon changing the properties? Would likely consider some of that a fair trade for helping me canvas the place for what's happenin' to our missing ghosts.
[Edwin would not, but he could hardly say no to Charles at the best of times.]
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I'm shit at dealing with people in general, but I try.
[Not like her parents put forth a lot of effort to care for him, but that's...complicated. She thinks they like him at least as much as they ever did her, but it's a low bar.]
Yeah, it's--huh. Is your guy a sorcerer or something? That's a lot of work. [If he doesn't consider her tagging along with Charles a fair trade, she could probably share some of her books.] I'm curious what's up, anyway. I was trying to think of a way of following you without being creepy, so I think we have a deal.
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[And was he brightening a bit at the opportunity to talk up Edwin a bit more? Absolutely!]
He's a ghost like me- don't think he even really believed in magic when he was alive, but he practiced loads since then, and he's proper brills at it now!
[Which was... strange, to be sure, not that Charles especially knew- Ghosts tended only to get a little more power than they had in life magically if that, and aside from that, it was often dangerous for them to do things like spells and rituals, as it was so very easy to drain themselves and effectively erase themselves from existence.]
Right Cait! For now we've gotta to around and see if we can't find out where our ghosts liked to go here- if we can figure out a common spot, we might find a good lead.
[A hand in a pocket to dig out a few pictures he had of various ages and eras- photographs taken when the ghosts in question was alive, or copies of portraits, he offered them her way to take a look.]
Or we'll get really lucky and maybe spot one of 'em ourselves.
#1 Grandad reporting for duty
"Damn it! You couldn't have let me bring a lamp? I was working on something!" He blinks owlishly, and his eyes are definitely going to adjust faster than any human's, but he's still put out.
And then the third thing he notices is that he's not alone in the circle. Well, that's sloppy work, surely? You can only pack so many entities into one spell...
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Until there was some sort of flash from one of the upper windows, and Charles felt a strange sort of tug as he too? Was suddenly elsewhere, deposited with no particular ceremony in some sort of circle.
"Oi! Honestly, wanker move innit?" His first assumption was that Edwin had been pulled with him- some sort of ghost trap? But the voice speaking up was unfamiliar even if the complaint was, Charles blinking as he realized he was stuck with a stranger. At least they looked as put out as he did, so this wasn't likely their plan.
And the wizard himself seemed just as bewildered, looking from Charles to Loki as if he's not sure what to make of this before he seemed to recognize the teen, pointing accusingly at him with an outraged look. "You're from the shop! That kid!"
Charles just scoffed, making a rude gesture as he offered a reassuring smile to the other in the circle with him. "Don't worry about him, he's a twat. Me and Edwin'll have you back to your fun in two shakes!"
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"More than a little inconsiderate," he agrees with the ghostly youth, looking at him as if he's never seen anything like him before.
Third: their summoner not only recognizes the boy but seems annoyed to see him. From the shop? "I see you two have a history. I would hate to interfere with whatever discussion you're about to have. I could just see myself out?"
He knows better. Seems like Loki himself was the real target here, and while he's no hero, he's disinclined to just leave some kid in the lurch, even if said kid seems remarkably calm about all this.
"Although, actually, I'm curious to hear you out, now," he says to the wizard. "I'm not sure whether you're exceptionally powerful or exceptionally incompetent, having dragged two people into one spell."
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"It was only supposed to summon you!" The wizard protested, looking from Loki to Charles as if the secret to why could be gleaned there before his gaze snapped to his book again, skimming over the ritual. "So I could bargain for a boon!"
"My vote's for incompetent," Charles replied easily, brows lifting at that complaint from the wizard, his gaze on Loki now curiously assessing. "A right git too- did you know he's been snatching homeless kids for his shitty immortality spells? S'what's got me and Edwin on him."
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And actually? He'd be willing to have the chat just on that basis. It takes some balls to summon a notoriously unreliable god to do your bidding. Unfortunately for the sorcerer, Loki's interest in being pleasant stops where harming random homeless children starts.
"Snatching as in catching and killing?" His gaze refocuses on Charles, and any mirth that was there before is gone.
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A sharp nod offered at the question, brows furrowing as he pointed out the amulet held tight in the man's off hand, pulsing with a sickly-feeling sort of energy and the strain of many spirits trying to find a way free. "Been killin' 'em and trappin' their spirits in that nasty bit of kit before Death could show up to help the poor mites move on."
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His gaze flicks across the room to where the amulet rests in the sorcerer's hand, then up to the man's face. "That's not how it works," he says quietly. "You can't sacrifice something that isn't yours to give. You may get someone who'll take it, but whatever they offer you back won't last."
"You might make it out of this with your soul intact if you back down now, and let those spirits go. Otherwise, there are entities with a greater sense of justice than me, and they will find you."
The temperature in the room around them is dropping, which is about the only magic Loki can pull off without finding a breach in the summoning circle. It could still be enough to rattle the man or make him drop the amulet, though.
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"I'd listen to him, he's definitely got the right idea," Charles mused, glancing towards the wizard who was flipping pages with a more irritated air, masking whatever fright had him paling, had his pulse jumping along with a muscle along his jaw as the dropping temperature had hands shaking over vellum. "Whatever's willin' to trade for what you've got? Never ends well."