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. ]
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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.
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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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time to tl;dr everywhere!
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