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.
![[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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time to tl;dr everywhere!
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