[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.]
no subject
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?