[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.