[ The Cat doesn't stop for Charles' perusal of the beach, but his ears do perk up at the mention of sea glass. He'd seen that little interaction for himself, rather than through the eyes of his cats; where Niko had given Edwin some sea glass for courage, just after Edwin had been staring at Charles without realising it, when the realisation dawned on him. That had been the day he'd transformed into Charles to tease him, hadn't it?
He doesn't like to think about it. It was a massive faux pas, but it was also potentially the first push to the snowball effect of Edwin's feelings for Charles coming to a head (even though he almost definitely had feelings for him before that) and thinking about it makes the Cat feel... weird. Not angry, not upset, but weird.
He chooses instead to latch on to the latter part of Charles' comment, since it's always so much easier to indulge in talking about himself. ]
I'm not a fan, sure, but I live on the docklands of a coastal town — I'd be in a sorry fucking state if I couldn't handle a bit of water, don't you think?
[ He asks, meandering closer to the water's edge so he can kick a few pebbles into the rolling tide, as if to prove his resilience to the stuff. ]
It's mostly domesticated house cats who fear water. Once you've been a stray for long enough, you stop being so worried about things you don't understand.
[The sea glass goes into his pocket for the moment, along with the other little bits he'd found there almost without thinking. Clearly a habit of some sort if he pondered it, but for the moment his attention was more on the Cat than the little habit as he lengthened his stride enough to catch up with him.
Not that it was hard- he hadn't been running away, he just hadn't stopped.]
I mean... could be like... exposure therapy? That's a thing.
[Charles hummed thoughtfully at the second part though. That... sounded right. He wasn't sure how he knew, but it did, so he just nodded his understanding.]
Makes sense though. Stray cat's got loads more to worry about than a bit of water, yeah? World's a scary place, 'specially when you're little.
[ Oh, but that makes him smile. Helplessly charmed by the idea of Charles showing any kind of empathy such as that to stray cats, the Cat King feels his opinion of Charles sliding from a place that's already pretty positive, toward an even more affectionate one. God, he's so easy; all it takes, really, is a handsome face, enough mystery to keep him keen, and a reluctance to be mean to animals. It's no wonder he falls so hard, so fast and so often. ]
Little, huh?
[ He asks, then snaps his fingers and reappears a moment later as a sleek black cat, tail high in the air, golden eyes like a sunset framed against the blue of the water behind him as he splashes his paws in the white surf. ]
There's nothing little about a cat, puppy. You should watch your mouth.
Oi, I didn't mean anything by it! [He didn't sound upset by the chiding, especially not with the trick of that transformation to distract him. He didn't hesitate to shift to an easy crouch to be more on the Cat's current level.]
Little's just about size. Nothin' bad about being cat-sized. Makes it loads easier to sneak around, and get into all sorts of places people don't want you gettin' into, I'm sure.
[And unable to help but to grin and give a teasing response to the last bit-]
[ Little, to the Cat, doesn't even come close to any word that could be used to describe a cat's size. Little is for mice, and rodents, and things that scurry about unseen because people would rather pretend they don't exist. Cats aren't like that; if it wasn't for the strange subset of humans that find them untrustworthy for whatever reason, cats would be almost universally well liked.
But Charles has a point. Being this size does make it sufficiently easier to get himself into trouble, and is even a pretty stellar way to get himself back out of it again, too. And perhaps it's that thought that inspires him to narrow his golden eyes as he turns around with soggy little paws to study the ghost crouched nearby, on his level in what the Cat assumes Charles thought would be a placating way... but which the Cat only sees as an opportunity.
He lunges forward, pouncing at the form of the ghost until he's hooked claws into his coat and is anchoring himself up onto his shoulders, sitting proudly as though he were made to sit there. ]
I spend enough time already watching your pretty little mouth, I don't need any more encouragement.
[ And it's true. Of all Charles' most attractive features, that stupidly charming smile is is most enticing, and the one the Cat can summon with perfect clarity in his mind despite the limited number of times he's seen it directed his way. ]
Now, come on — the cannery is just down the beach once you hit the docks. You can get us both there, as penance for your insolence to a King.
[A matter of perspective, perhaps. To a cat, they were just the right size and everything else was smaller or larger. To Charles, human that he was, his own size in the world was his reference.
Whatever he'd been expecting, while he started for the sudden movement, he didn't recoil or try to block the Cat as he launches his way, scrabbling up onto his shoulders with that quick grace that only a feline ever seemed to pull off. Blinking a moment as he processed the feel of the little furry weight against his shoulders, shifting his posture ever so slightly to make sure they were a stable perch for his companion, he let out a short laugh, bringing up a curled knuckle just low enough to be an offer of a chin rub if the Cat wanted it.]
As Your Majesty commands, [Teasing to be sure, but not a disrespectful sort.] I'd bow but-
[He'd been about to joke about the move dislodging the Cat, but something about the idea of bowing just had him making a light face as he pushed to his feet to carry them along at an easy sort of amble.]
[ The Cat accepts the raised hand, rubbing his whiskers once against the sharp angle of Charles' knuckle before gently nipping at it with his smaller teeth - not enough to hurt, but enough to be a playful warning. Be careful what beasts you try to pet, and all. He wonders if Charles has ever paid the price for this kind of blind trust that animals will accept a soft hand if it's offered with patience... Or if his annoyingly charming face served him well even in that regard. ]
No, you're not. Kind of the rebellious type, but you probably figured that out from the way you're dressed, right? No respectable teenager has patches on their coat.
[ Probably a wild generalisation, but the Cat doesn't need to know Charles inside and out to know that he was the type to buck the trend. It's probably why he works so well with Edwin, after all; one of them rigid and the other fluid, making for a perfect team. Ugh, it's so gross how made for each other they are. But he's not thinking about that, is he? It makes him feel weird. Even though, technically, he's doing all he can to keep Charles safe while he waits for more information about what's happened to the ghost boys. ]
Besides, I don't think there'd be any appeal in seeing you bow. [ He focuses back in on the boy under his paws, curling his tail in to play cheekily at the slope of his cheek, tickling under his nose, as he lowers his voice to murmur through a purr into his ear: ] I'd prefer to see you on your knees.
[His smile warms a bit at the acceptance of that little warm chin against his knuckle, and it's clear this isn't the first time he's been bitten for an attempt like this- while the Cat's nip is gentle, he hadn't known it would be, so how still his hand remains under the needle teeth is certainly telling.
Fair play. It seems to say in an unspoken manner.]
You're not wrong there. Not sure what all they're for entirely at the moment, aside from the obvious ones, but you don't plaster yourself in pins and patches if you're hopin' to be a respectable sort, yeah?
[And that held the sort of comfortable ease to it that told Charles he was entirely correct. That he and the Cat were both right that he was much more the rebellious sort than one to fall in line just because it was expected of him.
And he was in general aware of the Cat King's presence. Mostly for the idea that he didn't want to accidentally send him tipping one way or the other, or anything like that, but it meant he was instantly aware of the shift in posture, the curl of the tail that was soft as it skimmed over skin.
Though he had a sense that he'd flirted before, teasing, playful, easy, there was a distinct sense of newness to the soft-purred comment offered by the Cat in the moment, and for all he was a ghost and thus had no circulation to speak of, the feline would be rewarded with the way his ears tinged pink, the flush straight up from his collar as he let out a startled little huff of sound in response to the idea.]
I-I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you aren't I? [Managed after a startled moment, gaze flicking towards the Cat with a lift of brows, something... curious in his expression. Maybe a little interested.] Seems like you're trouble too.
[ It's too maddening to think about how things might have gone if he'd focused in on Charles over Edwin, or else been more strategic in his approach, maybe even lured the two of them in rather than just the one... Maddening because this is fun and easy, and could have been a reality if he'd just taken a moment or two to think before wading in.
The fact that Charles is bisexual isn't really a surprise, after all, but the fact he's not side-stepping this heavy-handed attention kind of is. Of course he doesn't have the memory of Edwin to keep him within his restraints, so the Cat supposes that is doing a lot of the heavy lifting... but there's interest in the way Charles looks at him, attraction clear in the way he holds himself as well as the fact that Charles said as much without mincing words. If he wanted to, the Cat is almost certain he could tempt Charles into a make-out session at the very least before all of this is over. It's crazy how badly he wants to try, and frustrating how loudly the alarm bells are ringing in his head telling him that's a fucking stupid idea.
At the moment, the ghost boys aren't Not talking to him, but they're also an ocean away and very much doing their own thing... so it's take what you can while you have the chance to, or leave yourself open for uncertain potential in the future. Being a hedonistic cat by nature, the Cat King knows which option he will more than likely lean into if pushed any further. He should almost definitely, then, stop flirting with Charles. ]
Trouble? Hardly. I won't ever do anything you don't want me to, I can promise you that.
[ He should, but he won't. He needles his paws back and forth on Charles' shoulder, claws picking at the wool of his coat, tail still dancing teasingly across his cheek. ]
But I won't say no to you keeping an eye on me. I like the idea of you looking.
I never said trouble was a bad thing. [Pointed out breezily, entirely unaware of the moral struggle the poor Cat was going through on his shoulder, leaving Charles entirely unworried about the idea of flirting. He was, at his core a people pleaser, had a deep want for affection and companionship, so this little interaction? Was hitting just right in this moment when he was so very unmoored and alone otherwise. It was a lot easier to not focus on that when he had someone to tease.] But I'll keep an eye on you then, yeah? Since you seem so keen on the idea and all.
[As if he'd mind doing it. Something about the back and forth here was... well strange, for the fact that Charles had no real idea of himself or of the Cat beyond this brief period. But on the other hand it was so easy to fall into the pattern as they walked on, a simple enough path to follow, even memoryless as he was in the moment. Whatever else, he found he was enjoying the playful conversation, and in a period of such uncertainty he was going to grab hold of that with both hands.
If things weren't as they seemed later? Well he'd figure that out when he got there. For now the idea of keeping an eye on this troublemaker of a Cat suited him right down to the ground.]
[ The Cat sinks lower into his feline shoulders to get closer to Charles' ear, claws digging in for purchase as he does but taking care not to pierce ghostly flesh, just the coat. ]
With all due respect, Charles, you don't know what trouble is. You didn't even know your own name until I called you it, and I could've picked anything to call you.
[ He isn't sure why he's putting up such a fight, but something about Charles readily accepting the Cat King's bullshit without actually knowing what that bullshit entails makes him feel... not bad, exactly, but definitely not good either. Weird. Weird, but in a kind of curious way that makes him want to prise eager paws under the lid keeping the contents unknown. He wants to know if Charles would still feel like this if he knew the truth, if he'd flirt so easily knowing the hand the Cat unwittingly played in getting them captured and subsequently tortured, if he knew how bone-deep the Cat's loneliness actually goes.
But, he doesn't let any of that unrest show on his face, because as Charles rounds the corner of the beach and starts to follow the shoreline inwards, the view of the docks comes into sight. And, well, Charles had said he'd keep an eye on him, so he might as well test that theory.
He leaps from Charles' shoulders with a little chirp, landing softly on the sand and turning to level a challenging glance at the ghost behind him before starting to scamper toward the large unassuming warehouse. ]
But you didn't. Trouble or not, you've been right decent to me, Your Majesty.
[Charles points that out with a cheerful tone, smiling at the little cat on his shoulder as he raises a hand to stroke the side of his furry face, up behind an ear briefly.
He was normally perceptive about people around him, but it was harder to place an emotion on a feline face, so he missed the signs here, especially with the distraction of the docks coming into view. Familiar again, even before his attention was drawn by the loss of the little weight on his shoulders, the sight of that graceful little leap.]
Not gonna lose me that easily! [Charles can't help the laugh as he calls after the Cat before he takes off after him, feeling all the better for the movement, for the little impromptu chase.]
[ God, it's maddeningly good to have Charles consistently reassure him, meeting him with that firm way of seeing the world and taking it at face value, accepting its faults but also accepting that sometimes you just have to roll with them lest you be left with nothing. The Cat wonders if this is how he hooked Edwin in so completely; counteracting his logic with an easy disposition and a charming smile...
Somehow, thinking about this and being annoyed and endeared and flustered by it in equal amounts makes the Cat run faster, as though scarpering away from the train of thought that reminds him that soon enough his cats will report back with the situation on the mirror-labyrinth, or Edwin will come storming into the Cannery, or his own better judgement will suffocate his selfishness and have him pushing Charles through the mirror he'd recently installed in the corner of his throne room himself -- just to get him out of his mind, back into the waiting arms of his little agency.
He streaks across the sand, staying in sight of the ghost but nowhere near close enough to catch, until he leaps up the small walkway leading onto the dock and scurries into the Cannery through the plastic strip curtains shrouding the open doorway.
When Charles arrives, the Cat will be in human form again, stretched out on the seat of his throne as if he's been there for hours, perhaps even filing a claw and yawning dramatically. ]
[The Cat would be able to hear the teen chasing after him- there was no way he could outstrip a cat on the run, but that didn't stop him darting pell-mell across the sand in pursuit, laughter echoing after like another sort of chase. Charging up the walkway, he's not surprised to see the Cat had already vanished from sight, the sway of plastic giving a clear enough hint where the feline went. So Charles thought nothing of darting in after, reeling back to a stop once he spotted the other on his throne, walking at a bit more of a sane pace now with bright eyes and a sunny sort of smile on his face.
The cannery was familiar- again Charles had the sense of deja vu but no concrete facts shaking free. Probably for the best for the Cat in the moment. Spotting that yawn, it startled another laugh from him, brows lifting as hands set against his hips.]
Oh, you're still here? I thought you'd given up and gone back.
[ To Edwin, is what he'd been about to say, the words that were lingering at the tip of his tongue, but he catches them just before they escape, and disguises the mishap with a playful little purse of his lips. Though, thinking of Charles going back... his eyes catch on the ornate standing mirror in the corner of the room, surveying it warily, as if he'll see what's wrong with the mirror network through simple surveillance. Everything looks the same from here, at least. He wonders how his Cats have been fairing, getting reconnaissance for him.
He slides his eyes back to Charles in the meantime, tapping a claw idly against the armrest of his throne. ]
[Whatever else Charles had to say in the moment? Was lost to the Cat King's perception, muffled like he'd plunged his head underwater. Something about the flash of reflection in the mirror stayed, even as his gaze turned back, a liquid ripple across reality as his eyes met Charles' and his surroundings seemed to slide out of his attention, those silvery ripples remaining just at the edges of his periphery as it resolved to somewhere different.
A small back garden, a simple space, with a sturdy looking oak tree, a smattering of herbs growing to one side of a small toolshed. The boy who lived their- Charles for certain, for all the Cat King had never seen him before at such a young age, knew that there was a gap in the fence behind the shed- not large enough for him to slip through, but large enough for another. And it was them that he was waiting for in the dimming light of dusk, crouched in the grass with an open tin of tuna he'd smuggled out of the pantry.
Soon enough, a figure slunk from around the shed. Mad Bastard, the rest of the neighborhood called this particular ginger cat. A menace that attacked anyone that so much looked at him funny, that feared nothing- he'd even beaten the tar out of the Smith's huge bruiser of a dog when they'd set it on him. A sturdy thing, practically a brick of muscle in a fur coat, magnificent in a ruinous sort of way, with one ear ragged, tail kinked, single remaining eye reflecting the light from the kitchen window as it was surveying the yard, stopping when the boy was spotted.]
Hey there mate... thought you might like a snack on your way through, yeah? [Charles couldn't help but smile as he spoke softly, the expression revealing the gap where a front tooth should be as he was carefully easing down so he could hold the tuna can towards the cat. He misjudged the distance though- once the cat decided his hand, offering food or no, was too close, there was a lash with a paw before he was darting across the garden before the boy could even yelp or drop the can in surprise, looking after as the cat vanished into the hydrangeas as a few droplets of blood welled on the side of his thumb.]
Fair enough.
[The perception of time shifts- the Cat King is aware that much time hasn't passed, but flashes of other meetings flicker through his mind. As the weeks pass, the cat doesn't change it's pattern, refuses to be put off of it's preferred path by an overeager boy. Charles learns the acceptable range where he can reach to leave the tuna out, and sometimes the cat deigns to eat, other times it doesn't, driven by some assessment that the boy isn't privy to. Slowly, the distance he's allowed to reach shortens little by little, though occasionally he misjudges the distance and is corrected by a swat of claws, or the flash of teeth, but he doesn't shout, or retaliate. Just hissing out a sound of surprised pain, a sheepish little laugh. 'I get it, some bloke getting all up in my business I'd scratch'm too' He'd comment, or something like it in a wry tone as he watched the cat bound away.
Another day, this memory a bit clearer than the smear of timeline of the moments before. Spring evening chilled, the small boy likely would have retreated inside, if not for the sound of shouting coming from the other side of the door he'd sat with his back against. Shouting was nothing new, but as his father's tone had grown more sharp and ugly, his mother had urged him out into the garden with a tense smile and an urge to play for a bit before shutting him out. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but it sounded like his father had worked himself up into quite the fury over something. He can't help the faint flinch as something shatters, gaze fixing on the spill of light from the kitchen window over the darkening grass. And like a specter, the cat slinks into view, lamp-like single eye fixing on him as it stops, assessing the situation and the new noise from inside the house.]
Hey there Havoc. Don't got any tuna for you tonight mate, I'll get you double next time, yeah? [Charles kept his voice quieter than normal, but the swivel of a torn ear swiveling his way hinted that he'd been heard. He honestly expected the cat to move on without some treat to encourage it to stay, especially with the racket going on inside. But he still held out a hand in a soft, slow sort of manner, holding his breath as he did. Remembering something he'd read in a book about how some animals took eye contact as a challenge, he averted his gaze, letting it go just to the left of the cat who considered him a moment, utterly silent. A few moments after he felt the faint cold of a nose sniffing against a bandaged knuckle, followed by a light bump of a furry head against the side of his wrist. Startling him enough to have wide eyes meeting the cat's single eye before the feline darted off with a flick of it's crooked tail into the darkness again, leaving Charles with a cautious smile on his face.]
Knew you weren't all teeth.
[The yard doesn't seem quite so small. The sounds of his father's anger are still echoing in the evening air, but they seem almost muted, unable to reach Charles in this single moment. The memory slides away, but the Cat King is still in that strange liminal space, with the sense that there's more to be seen in this particular tale.]
[ Eager to get rid of him? The Cat has to laugh, because if only Charles knew how thoroughly false even the idea of that is, he'd laugh too. But the Cat's mirth doesn't last long, suffocated quickly before it's had a chance to start by the sudden reverie that overwhelms his senses completely. For a moment, instinct has him certain that there is some kind of ambush taking place — that whatever had happened to Charles, whatever had forced him to return here and had stolen his memories, is catching up with him and has therefore dragged the one getting close to him, protecting him (however loose the Cat's ability to protect anyone is) into the mess alongside him. Panic sets in, claws digging in to the arms of his throne as he's sat up straight, but soon enough the scene around them starts to flicker and chance, and rather than feeling fear at being somewhere else against his will, curiosity rears its head in him, replacing that more cowardly instinct, as the Cat's eyes fall easily upon the small boy before him.
Of course he recognises him. Even without the earring or the chain or the kohl dusted eyes or his familiar outfit, the dark curling hair and the little peak to his ears is instantly familiar, but neither as familiar as his dark eyes when they widen as the cat comes in to focus slinking through the fence. Thoughts of how and why he's being shown this fall away as he takes a step closer, watching as the Cat is clearly tempted by the offered tuna, but knows better than any pampered house cat to accept a bribe and lets his claws do the talking. The Cat can remember that anger himself, has seen it and even felt it so many times... but he's very rarely seen anyone react the way young Charles does — not with anger, but with understanding.
Children, especially boys, often favour dogs because it's easier to get them to like you. Cats require finer methods, careful planning, dedication that most kids deem too much effort, especially when the cat in question has grown past kittenhood. It makes the Cat king wonder why he keeps trying, even as time wears on, even as Charles gets little success for his attempts...
By the time the clearer memory comes around, the Cat still doesn't have an answer, but the beginning sprouts of one starts to form when he hears the shouting pressed behind a closed door, when he sees the boy shivering and hurt, when he sees the Cat recognise that fear and relate to it, and bump up against his hand.
He remembers to breathe about the same time as the memory slips away, exhaling a slow breath of quiet understanding into the strange void around him. ]
[It's a strange sort of awareness in that moment- the Cat is aware of the passage of actual time around him, dim though it might be like looking at something through a gossamer curtain. He can likely just hear the soft echo of a voice, likely Charles' as the ghost teen seems to realize that his companion's attention is elsewhere. But he's also aware of the passage of time between the snatches of memory that flicker like a film reel. More of those little moments where trust is built on the back of little gestures, quiet patience. A lot of teeth and claws and hissing. Havoc has good reason not to trust humans after all, and one stubborn little boy isn't about to fix that in a day. He seems though to recognize that. Never seems to get frustrated when there's a backslide, even if on occasion there's something a bit quietly sad when he watches the ginger cat dart away, a new streak of red on a hand or wrist. And where others would undoubtedly start trying to coax the cat inside to keep, whether the house or the shed, this didn't even seem to occur to Charles.
The cat doesn't always leave immediately once the tuna can is empty now. Sometimes he'll settle near Charles, allow a finger or two to brush against thick fur. Other times he'll take over a spot in the garden while Charles is reading a comic, crushing some of the oregano under his furry bulk as he sunned himself and listened to the boy narrate the story to him in a soft, pleased sort of tone. Even when Charles started leaving the tuna and sitting back elsewhere in the garden himself, the cat would occasionally approach, allowing a brief pet, or even, on occasion, butting his head against a calf or knee before darting away to wherever he'd meant to go in the first place.
They cross paths in the neighborhood too- despite trying to stay near home, his mother often urges him out the door into the back garden or out into the neighborhood at large. And so he'll spot Havoc as he wanders. Sometimes the cat will stop, stare at him a long moment with a twitch of an ear, before bounding along on his way. On occasion, the cat will approach, earning a caught breath from Charles, as they walk together. No more than a block or two here and there, typically only if the cat is close enough as it is- Charles jokes that they 'just happen' to be going the same way. Walking to school in the rain, he tilts his umbrella to cover the cat, despite the way it gets his own shoulder sodden.
As time passed they sat together in the garden more, the cat lingering closer to Charles so long as he wasn't overly rambunctious about things. Flopped on his back in the fall leaves, basking in the afternoon sun, Charles had more of his focus on the puzzle cube in his hands than the cat that was sat near him, chatting idly to him, a running commentary usually, though occasionally he'd pause as if the cat was responding, or ask his opinion on something playfully. And even at his closest, where Havoc would normally allow a few fingers to stroke over fur, he kept at least a few inches distance between them. So the boy was... surprised when he felt the faint bump of warmth against the side of his leg. A cautious glance showing the cat sitting, his back to the boy, but leaning slightly against his side. A faint flicker of an ear in his direction, as if to remind the boy not to get too excited about it, but it didn't stop the smile that crawled over his face. A smile that only broadened when eventually he heard just under the rustle of autumn leaves and the chatter of his own voice, the faintest rasp of a purr.
The rituals continue. Small interactions, little crossings of paths as the days grow shorter and colder. Charles still spends most of his time in the garden, at least when his father is home, though with extra layers in concession to the chill. Uses the snow along the cat's preferred path for snow forts and snowballs once he notices how it shows those little pawprints- if his mother knew the cat was coming into the yard she'd complain to his father, and who knew what he'd do to Havoc. That front tooth was grown in by now, a gap in a different spot showing the passage of time on the next happy smile at the ginger cat when he deigned to accept the snow fort as an acceptable place to eat his snack and sit out of the wind for a little bit.
There came a time though, when the cat didn't appear. When the boy waiting was forced to go back inside, tuna can unopened in his pocket. He didn't worry at first- Havoc would occasionally vanish for a day or two, only to return at his leisure. But even then, Charles might spot him elsewhere in the neighborhood, in the bushes, or slinking through an alley. Hear others complaining about their run-ins with the Mad Bastard. But days passed, and there was no sign. No gleam of a single lamp-like eye from foliage, or flash of orange between buildings. No mention of him menacing the neighborhood. No sign of him slinking through the back garden.
Weeks passed. Charles spent time in the garden as usual, gaze occasionally sliding to where he knew the gap in the fence was. Fingers tapping uncertainly against the unopened can in his jacket pocket. He knew what had likely happened. Havoc wasn't a young cat- he'd been a neighborhood staple for longer than Charles had been alive, and aside from that, he was a stray with all the freedoms and risks that came with it. All it took was one bad incident...]
Guess you decided to go find someplace warmer, yeah? [Charles was young sure, but he knew that wasn't the case, clear enough in some underlying element to that light tone of the murmur as he absently ran his thumb along the side of his index finger, feeling the faint texture of a scar courtesy of one ginger menace there.] Good on you, mate.
[The moment faded, the strange visual ripple sweeping over everything again- only a few minutes had passed near as the Cat could tell, awareness of the world around him coming back into clear focus as Charles was leaning in closer, brow knit with concern as he clicked fingers together, trying to catch the Cat's attention. From the blank but clearly worried sort of confusion to his tone and expression, it was clear that while the Cat had seen all of that? Charles had no idea about any of it.]
[ Boys Charles' age should be playing with their friends, not sitting in their own back garden with something to pass the time, talking to a cat that won't talk back, especially not in the freezing cold of late autumn when it gets dark so fast and the chill sinks in to little bones and stays there. But sometimes, as the Cat King well knows, there is safety to be had in discomfort rather than facing the fear of something trampling over a space you once thought of as yours.
His cats had shown him the gist of the conversation Charles had with Edwin and even the one he had with Crystal regarding his father, and Charles hadn't exactly been graphic with the details, but seeing it first hand like this puts it into perspective. After all, it takes common ground to garner trust in an animal so hurt by the world and the people in it. Often, like finds like in those circumstances, and Charles might not have a missing eye or a chipped ear, but the Cat King would bet that beneath his sweater or the long legs of his trousers he might have more than one or two bruises mottling his skin.
The inevitable loss hits him as painfully as if he were feeling it personally, as if he knew this cat or knew this boy beyond simply watching what they've been through. Strays aren't forever, just as cats aren't, and it's all the Cat King can do to hope that that angry ginger tom inspired the same kind of sympathy in Death when she came to pick him up, perhaps even made him a Cat King like she had presumably done for him. Didn't the Cat Boss of London have a brief spell as a ginger once?
He's broken from wondering, from the reverie completely, by Charles' clicking fingers in front of his face, and he blinks quickly to dispel the last lingering trails of mist from his vision. ]
What? [ He furrows his brow, coming back to his own mind slowly, like wading through syrup. ] What happened? Did you- [ He frowns a little harder. ] You didn't see that?
Blimey, there you are, [Charles drew back a little bit just to give the Cat his space back, the hand that had been in his face giving a relieved pat to his shoulder instead now that he was aware of his surroundings, talking to him again.] Not sure what you mean- you were talkin' to me, looked around and then just... nothin, yeah? Were starin' off, didn't answer a couple minutes there.
[He was admittedly concerned, but he also knew that he didn't know anything about this situation.] That... a cat thing, or a weird thing?
[He highly doubted that it was anything expected, not with the way the Cat was responding now, the confusion in his questions, the frown on his face. But then, who knew? Wasn't that a thing, people noticing cats staring off into the middle distance sometimes and not knowing just what they were looking at? He was fairly certain at least.]
[ He answers, a little darkness entering his expression because that right there? That felt like some kind of magic — and the only reason the Cat knows that is because it's unlike anything he's ever felt before, and magic doesn't typically work on him, so putting two and two together... It must be something powerful. Or he's losing it. ]
I was thinking about the mirror you came through and the fact that no-one's followed you here. The network must still be fucked up, because my Cats haven't come back with any update, either. But for a second I saw...
[ He squints, looking around the warehouse for a moment like he might see the remnants of the memory sneaking behind a stack of shelving. Then, he looks back at Charles. This couldn't be some elaborate prank, could it? What would anyone get out of something like that? ]
I saw... Your memories. I think. One of them, at least.
[Charles can't help the worry that creeps into his own expression, shadowing the draw of his brows as he studies the Cat, but finds nothing overtly different or unusual about him. He's about to ask about if the cats that had been sent to scout were alright, if the Cat even had a way to know one way or another before his continued comment drew more immediate focus.]
One of mine? [Why did his smile feel so strained to keep up at the idea of that? Surely it was a good thing, the Cat could clue him in on another of his memories, maybe it would shake something else loose. And yet... something about it just had a nervousness coiling in his chest. The tension wasn't visible in his expression of course, muscle memory, even the ghostly sort made it so easy for him to smile like nothing was wrong and he was just curious even when he didn't know why he needed to do it.] Anything good? Or interestin'?
[ The Cat notices that little flicker in Charles' smile, like a man straining from supporting a weight from caving in for much too long. He narrows his eyes a bit. No, Charles definitely isn't pranking him. That's genuine fear, a muscle-memory reaction of Charles' body responding without his brain explaining why, to the thought of someone knowing something about him without him making the decision to divulge it. The Cat can relate, but no-one has ever got close enough to him to know anything about him, so it's an unfounded fear either way. Still. Doesn't mean he doesn't see how Charles' face changes, albeit minutely. ]
Kinda. It was about... cats.
[ He scrunches up his nose a bit, then gets up off his throne and hops down off the pallet, stalking the same way an animal might stalk prey likely to startle from sudden movements — with slow, even footsteps — across to the mirror. ]
Which is odd for more than one reason. Magic doesn't work on me, so whatever's fucking with you shouldn't have any impact on me. Which means it's not magic. Or it is, but it's really really powerful. And what's more, it's aware of my connection to you.
[ He looks back at Charles, then, having seen nothing strange in the mirror just yet. ]
After all, of all the memories you have, why show me one involving cats?
[It wasn't enough to trigger any remembrance in him, but somehow that wasn't really a surprise. It was so vague that it could be a lot of things. That didn't stop that strange sort of unease, but that was practically constant at the moment, which given his loss of memories? Was hardly surprising.
There was something familiar about following the Cat as he moves, falling in at his shoulder as he prowls over to the mirror. Like a bird dog waiting for prey to be flushed, curious, alert in the moment. It wasn't the Cat who he'd trail like this, he knew that even if his memory wouldn't shake who but it was similar enough to ground him some, even as the mirror offered up no more secrets, looking for the moment like a normal mirror, like nothing strange was happening at all.]
D'you think it's like... actively watchin' or is this more... just kinda a side-effect of whatever was done? [Neither was especially good, for a variety of reasons, but Charles disliked the idea of being under the direct attention of something like this way more than the alternative.]
[ The Cat makes a face, not a grimace or a frown, but something somewhere in the middle. He can tell Charles' instinct is to deliberate, to discuss and puzzle out this mystery, because that's all he's known for the last thirty-whatever years at Edwin's side. He and Edwin could do this little back and forth, share ideas and come to a solution they've built together down to their excellent ghost detective teamwork.
But the Cat is not Edwin. The Cat doesn't do teamwork, because the Cat doesn't do teams. He doesn't do friends, or even partnerships. The fact that it's all down to the simple reason that he's never had the opportunity to try goes unheeded in his mind, focusing instead on the sheer lack between them. There's no great mind to puzzle out magical intention here, just a Cat who knows what to avoid and a foolish puppy of a ghost who will follow him around because he doesn't know any better. ]
If this was the same mirror you got barfed out of, I'd say it's a side effect. But this is a totally different mirror in a totally different place, on the other side of town.
[ Look at him, hypothesising anyway despite his reluctance. Anyone ever heard of a Cat detective? ]
My cannery is on a ley line. Magic is more potent here. [ He looks back to the mirror, raising his hand, tapping his four fingers on its surface one after the other - like he'd seen Edwin do in an effort to help himself think. Perhaps it'll help him, too. ] So whatever it is that's here will be more powerful too.
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He doesn't like to think about it. It was a massive faux pas, but it was also potentially the first push to the snowball effect of Edwin's feelings for Charles coming to a head (even though he almost definitely had feelings for him before that) and thinking about it makes the Cat feel... weird. Not angry, not upset, but weird.
He chooses instead to latch on to the latter part of Charles' comment, since it's always so much easier to indulge in talking about himself. ]
I'm not a fan, sure, but I live on the docklands of a coastal town — I'd be in a sorry fucking state if I couldn't handle a bit of water, don't you think?
[ He asks, meandering closer to the water's edge so he can kick a few pebbles into the rolling tide, as if to prove his resilience to the stuff. ]
It's mostly domesticated house cats who fear water. Once you've been a stray for long enough, you stop being so worried about things you don't understand.
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Not that it was hard- he hadn't been running away, he just hadn't stopped.]
I mean... could be like... exposure therapy? That's a thing.
[Charles hummed thoughtfully at the second part though. That... sounded right. He wasn't sure how he knew, but it did, so he just nodded his understanding.]
Makes sense though. Stray cat's got loads more to worry about than a bit of water, yeah? World's a scary place, 'specially when you're little.
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Little, huh?
[ He asks, then snaps his fingers and reappears a moment later as a sleek black cat, tail high in the air, golden eyes like a sunset framed against the blue of the water behind him as he splashes his paws in the white surf. ]
There's nothing little about a cat, puppy. You should watch your mouth.
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Little's just about size. Nothin' bad about being cat-sized. Makes it loads easier to sneak around, and get into all sorts of places people don't want you gettin' into, I'm sure.
[And unable to help but to grin and give a teasing response to the last bit-]
I mean I could, but you could watch it for me.
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But Charles has a point. Being this size does make it sufficiently easier to get himself into trouble, and is even a pretty stellar way to get himself back out of it again, too. And perhaps it's that thought that inspires him to narrow his golden eyes as he turns around with soggy little paws to study the ghost crouched nearby, on his level in what the Cat assumes Charles thought would be a placating way... but which the Cat only sees as an opportunity.
He lunges forward, pouncing at the form of the ghost until he's hooked claws into his coat and is anchoring himself up onto his shoulders, sitting proudly as though he were made to sit there. ]
I spend enough time already watching your pretty little mouth, I don't need any more encouragement.
[ And it's true. Of all Charles' most attractive features, that stupidly charming smile is is most enticing, and the one the Cat can summon with perfect clarity in his mind despite the limited number of times he's seen it directed his way. ]
Now, come on — the cannery is just down the beach once you hit the docks. You can get us both there, as penance for your insolence to a King.
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Whatever he'd been expecting, while he started for the sudden movement, he didn't recoil or try to block the Cat as he launches his way, scrabbling up onto his shoulders with that quick grace that only a feline ever seemed to pull off. Blinking a moment as he processed the feel of the little furry weight against his shoulders, shifting his posture ever so slightly to make sure they were a stable perch for his companion, he let out a short laugh, bringing up a curled knuckle just low enough to be an offer of a chin rub if the Cat wanted it.]
As Your Majesty commands, [Teasing to be sure, but not a disrespectful sort.] I'd bow but-
[He'd been about to joke about the move dislodging the Cat, but something about the idea of bowing just had him making a light face as he pushed to his feet to carry them along at an easy sort of amble.]
Maybe not. Don't think I'm much the bowing sort.
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No, you're not. Kind of the rebellious type, but you probably figured that out from the way you're dressed, right? No respectable teenager has patches on their coat.
[ Probably a wild generalisation, but the Cat doesn't need to know Charles inside and out to know that he was the type to buck the trend. It's probably why he works so well with Edwin, after all; one of them rigid and the other fluid, making for a perfect team. Ugh, it's so gross how made for each other they are. But he's not thinking about that, is he? It makes him feel weird. Even though, technically, he's doing all he can to keep Charles safe while he waits for more information about what's happened to the ghost boys. ]
Besides, I don't think there'd be any appeal in seeing you bow. [ He focuses back in on the boy under his paws, curling his tail in to play cheekily at the slope of his cheek, tickling under his nose, as he lowers his voice to murmur through a purr into his ear: ] I'd prefer to see you on your knees.
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Fair play. It seems to say in an unspoken manner.]
You're not wrong there. Not sure what all they're for entirely at the moment, aside from the obvious ones, but you don't plaster yourself in pins and patches if you're hopin' to be a respectable sort, yeah?
[And that held the sort of comfortable ease to it that told Charles he was entirely correct. That he and the Cat were both right that he was much more the rebellious sort than one to fall in line just because it was expected of him.
And he was in general aware of the Cat King's presence. Mostly for the idea that he didn't want to accidentally send him tipping one way or the other, or anything like that, but it meant he was instantly aware of the shift in posture, the curl of the tail that was soft as it skimmed over skin.
Though he had a sense that he'd flirted before, teasing, playful, easy, there was a distinct sense of newness to the soft-purred comment offered by the Cat in the moment, and for all he was a ghost and thus had no circulation to speak of, the feline would be rewarded with the way his ears tinged pink, the flush straight up from his collar as he let out a startled little huff of sound in response to the idea.]
I-I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you aren't I? [Managed after a startled moment, gaze flicking towards the Cat with a lift of brows, something... curious in his expression. Maybe a little interested.] Seems like you're trouble too.
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The fact that Charles is bisexual isn't really a surprise, after all, but the fact he's not side-stepping this heavy-handed attention kind of is. Of course he doesn't have the memory of Edwin to keep him within his restraints, so the Cat supposes that is doing a lot of the heavy lifting... but there's interest in the way Charles looks at him, attraction clear in the way he holds himself as well as the fact that Charles said as much without mincing words. If he wanted to, the Cat is almost certain he could tempt Charles into a make-out session at the very least before all of this is over. It's crazy how badly he wants to try, and frustrating how loudly the alarm bells are ringing in his head telling him that's a fucking stupid idea.
At the moment, the ghost boys aren't Not talking to him, but they're also an ocean away and very much doing their own thing... so it's take what you can while you have the chance to, or leave yourself open for uncertain potential in the future. Being a hedonistic cat by nature, the Cat King knows which option he will more than likely lean into if pushed any further. He should almost definitely, then, stop flirting with Charles. ]
Trouble? Hardly. I won't ever do anything you don't want me to, I can promise you that.
[ He should, but he won't. He needles his paws back and forth on Charles' shoulder, claws picking at the wool of his coat, tail still dancing teasingly across his cheek. ]
But I won't say no to you keeping an eye on me. I like the idea of you looking.
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[As if he'd mind doing it. Something about the back and forth here was... well strange, for the fact that Charles had no real idea of himself or of the Cat beyond this brief period. But on the other hand it was so easy to fall into the pattern as they walked on, a simple enough path to follow, even memoryless as he was in the moment. Whatever else, he found he was enjoying the playful conversation, and in a period of such uncertainty he was going to grab hold of that with both hands.
If things weren't as they seemed later? Well he'd figure that out when he got there. For now the idea of keeping an eye on this troublemaker of a Cat suited him right down to the ground.]
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With all due respect, Charles, you don't know what trouble is. You didn't even know your own name until I called you it, and I could've picked anything to call you.
[ He isn't sure why he's putting up such a fight, but something about Charles readily accepting the Cat King's bullshit without actually knowing what that bullshit entails makes him feel... not bad, exactly, but definitely not good either. Weird. Weird, but in a kind of curious way that makes him want to prise eager paws under the lid keeping the contents unknown. He wants to know if Charles would still feel like this if he knew the truth, if he'd flirt so easily knowing the hand the Cat unwittingly played in getting them captured and subsequently tortured, if he knew how bone-deep the Cat's loneliness actually goes.
But, he doesn't let any of that unrest show on his face, because as Charles rounds the corner of the beach and starts to follow the shoreline inwards, the view of the docks comes into sight. And, well, Charles had said he'd keep an eye on him, so he might as well test that theory.
He leaps from Charles' shoulders with a little chirp, landing softly on the sand and turning to level a challenging glance at the ghost behind him before starting to scamper toward the large unassuming warehouse. ]
Don't get left behind, puppy!
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[Charles points that out with a cheerful tone, smiling at the little cat on his shoulder as he raises a hand to stroke the side of his furry face, up behind an ear briefly.
He was normally perceptive about people around him, but it was harder to place an emotion on a feline face, so he missed the signs here, especially with the distraction of the docks coming into view. Familiar again, even before his attention was drawn by the loss of the little weight on his shoulders, the sight of that graceful little leap.]
Not gonna lose me that easily! [Charles can't help the laugh as he calls after the Cat before he takes off after him, feeling all the better for the movement, for the little impromptu chase.]
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Somehow, thinking about this and being annoyed and endeared and flustered by it in equal amounts makes the Cat run faster, as though scarpering away from the train of thought that reminds him that soon enough his cats will report back with the situation on the mirror-labyrinth, or Edwin will come storming into the Cannery, or his own better judgement will suffocate his selfishness and have him pushing Charles through the mirror he'd recently installed in the corner of his throne room himself -- just to get him out of his mind, back into the waiting arms of his little agency.
He streaks across the sand, staying in sight of the ghost but nowhere near close enough to catch, until he leaps up the small walkway leading onto the dock and scurries into the Cannery through the plastic strip curtains shrouding the open doorway.
When Charles arrives, the Cat will be in human form again, stretched out on the seat of his throne as if he's been there for hours, perhaps even filing a claw and yawning dramatically. ]
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The cannery was familiar- again Charles had the sense of deja vu but no concrete facts shaking free. Probably for the best for the Cat in the moment. Spotting that yawn, it startled another laugh from him, brows lifting as hands set against his hips.]
Oi, I wasn't that slow!
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[ To Edwin, is what he'd been about to say, the words that were lingering at the tip of his tongue, but he catches them just before they escape, and disguises the mishap with a playful little purse of his lips. Though, thinking of Charles going back... his eyes catch on the ornate standing mirror in the corner of the room, surveying it warily, as if he'll see what's wrong with the mirror network through simple surveillance. Everything looks the same from here, at least. He wonders how his Cats have been fairing, getting reconnaissance for him.
He slides his eyes back to Charles in the meantime, tapping a claw idly against the armrest of his throne. ]
So. This place ringing any bells?
time to tl;dr everywhere!
[Whatever else Charles had to say in the moment? Was lost to the Cat King's perception, muffled like he'd plunged his head underwater. Something about the flash of reflection in the mirror stayed, even as his gaze turned back, a liquid ripple across reality as his eyes met Charles' and his surroundings seemed to slide out of his attention, those silvery ripples remaining just at the edges of his periphery as it resolved to somewhere different.
A small back garden, a simple space, with a sturdy looking oak tree, a smattering of herbs growing to one side of a small toolshed. The boy who lived their- Charles for certain, for all the Cat King had never seen him before at such a young age, knew that there was a gap in the fence behind the shed- not large enough for him to slip through, but large enough for another. And it was them that he was waiting for in the dimming light of dusk, crouched in the grass with an open tin of tuna he'd smuggled out of the pantry.
Soon enough, a figure slunk from around the shed. Mad Bastard, the rest of the neighborhood called this particular ginger cat. A menace that attacked anyone that so much looked at him funny, that feared nothing- he'd even beaten the tar out of the Smith's huge bruiser of a dog when they'd set it on him. A sturdy thing, practically a brick of muscle in a fur coat, magnificent in a ruinous sort of way, with one ear ragged, tail kinked, single remaining eye reflecting the light from the kitchen window as it was surveying the yard, stopping when the boy was spotted.]
Hey there mate... thought you might like a snack on your way through, yeah? [Charles couldn't help but smile as he spoke softly, the expression revealing the gap where a front tooth should be as he was carefully easing down so he could hold the tuna can towards the cat. He misjudged the distance though- once the cat decided his hand, offering food or no, was too close, there was a lash with a paw before he was darting across the garden before the boy could even yelp or drop the can in surprise, looking after as the cat vanished into the hydrangeas as a few droplets of blood welled on the side of his thumb.]
Fair enough.
[The perception of time shifts- the Cat King is aware that much time hasn't passed, but flashes of other meetings flicker through his mind. As the weeks pass, the cat doesn't change it's pattern, refuses to be put off of it's preferred path by an overeager boy. Charles learns the acceptable range where he can reach to leave the tuna out, and sometimes the cat deigns to eat, other times it doesn't, driven by some assessment that the boy isn't privy to. Slowly, the distance he's allowed to reach shortens little by little, though occasionally he misjudges the distance and is corrected by a swat of claws, or the flash of teeth, but he doesn't shout, or retaliate. Just hissing out a sound of surprised pain, a sheepish little laugh. 'I get it, some bloke getting all up in my business I'd scratch'm too' He'd comment, or something like it in a wry tone as he watched the cat bound away.
Another day, this memory a bit clearer than the smear of timeline of the moments before. Spring evening chilled, the small boy likely would have retreated inside, if not for the sound of shouting coming from the other side of the door he'd sat with his back against. Shouting was nothing new, but as his father's tone had grown more sharp and ugly, his mother had urged him out into the garden with a tense smile and an urge to play for a bit before shutting him out. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but it sounded like his father had worked himself up into quite the fury over something. He can't help the faint flinch as something shatters, gaze fixing on the spill of light from the kitchen window over the darkening grass. And like a specter, the cat slinks into view, lamp-like single eye fixing on him as it stops, assessing the situation and the new noise from inside the house.]
Hey there Havoc. Don't got any tuna for you tonight mate, I'll get you double next time, yeah? [Charles kept his voice quieter than normal, but the swivel of a torn ear swiveling his way hinted that he'd been heard. He honestly expected the cat to move on without some treat to encourage it to stay, especially with the racket going on inside. But he still held out a hand in a soft, slow sort of manner, holding his breath as he did. Remembering something he'd read in a book about how some animals took eye contact as a challenge, he averted his gaze, letting it go just to the left of the cat who considered him a moment, utterly silent. A few moments after he felt the faint cold of a nose sniffing against a bandaged knuckle, followed by a light bump of a furry head against the side of his wrist. Startling him enough to have wide eyes meeting the cat's single eye before the feline darted off with a flick of it's crooked tail into the darkness again, leaving Charles with a cautious smile on his face.]
Knew you weren't all teeth.
[The yard doesn't seem quite so small. The sounds of his father's anger are still echoing in the evening air, but they seem almost muted, unable to reach Charles in this single moment. The memory slides away, but the Cat King is still in that strange liminal space, with the sense that there's more to be seen in this particular tale.]
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Of course he recognises him. Even without the earring or the chain or the kohl dusted eyes or his familiar outfit, the dark curling hair and the little peak to his ears is instantly familiar, but neither as familiar as his dark eyes when they widen as the cat comes in to focus slinking through the fence. Thoughts of how and why he's being shown this fall away as he takes a step closer, watching as the Cat is clearly tempted by the offered tuna, but knows better than any pampered house cat to accept a bribe and lets his claws do the talking. The Cat can remember that anger himself, has seen it and even felt it so many times... but he's very rarely seen anyone react the way young Charles does — not with anger, but with understanding.
Children, especially boys, often favour dogs because it's easier to get them to like you. Cats require finer methods, careful planning, dedication that most kids deem too much effort, especially when the cat in question has grown past kittenhood. It makes the Cat king wonder why he keeps trying, even as time wears on, even as Charles gets little success for his attempts...
By the time the clearer memory comes around, the Cat still doesn't have an answer, but the beginning sprouts of one starts to form when he hears the shouting pressed behind a closed door, when he sees the boy shivering and hurt, when he sees the Cat recognise that fear and relate to it, and bump up against his hand.
He remembers to breathe about the same time as the memory slips away, exhaling a slow breath of quiet understanding into the strange void around him. ]
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The cat doesn't always leave immediately once the tuna can is empty now. Sometimes he'll settle near Charles, allow a finger or two to brush against thick fur. Other times he'll take over a spot in the garden while Charles is reading a comic, crushing some of the oregano under his furry bulk as he sunned himself and listened to the boy narrate the story to him in a soft, pleased sort of tone. Even when Charles started leaving the tuna and sitting back elsewhere in the garden himself, the cat would occasionally approach, allowing a brief pet, or even, on occasion, butting his head against a calf or knee before darting away to wherever he'd meant to go in the first place.
They cross paths in the neighborhood too- despite trying to stay near home, his mother often urges him out the door into the back garden or out into the neighborhood at large. And so he'll spot Havoc as he wanders. Sometimes the cat will stop, stare at him a long moment with a twitch of an ear, before bounding along on his way. On occasion, the cat will approach, earning a caught breath from Charles, as they walk together. No more than a block or two here and there, typically only if the cat is close enough as it is- Charles jokes that they 'just happen' to be going the same way. Walking to school in the rain, he tilts his umbrella to cover the cat, despite the way it gets his own shoulder sodden.
As time passed they sat together in the garden more, the cat lingering closer to Charles so long as he wasn't overly rambunctious about things. Flopped on his back in the fall leaves, basking in the afternoon sun, Charles had more of his focus on the puzzle cube in his hands than the cat that was sat near him, chatting idly to him, a running commentary usually, though occasionally he'd pause as if the cat was responding, or ask his opinion on something playfully. And even at his closest, where Havoc would normally allow a few fingers to stroke over fur, he kept at least a few inches distance between them. So the boy was... surprised when he felt the faint bump of warmth against the side of his leg. A cautious glance showing the cat sitting, his back to the boy, but leaning slightly against his side. A faint flicker of an ear in his direction, as if to remind the boy not to get too excited about it, but it didn't stop the smile that crawled over his face. A smile that only broadened when eventually he heard just under the rustle of autumn leaves and the chatter of his own voice, the faintest rasp of a purr.
The rituals continue. Small interactions, little crossings of paths as the days grow shorter and colder. Charles still spends most of his time in the garden, at least when his father is home, though with extra layers in concession to the chill. Uses the snow along the cat's preferred path for snow forts and snowballs once he notices how it shows those little pawprints- if his mother knew the cat was coming into the yard she'd complain to his father, and who knew what he'd do to Havoc. That front tooth was grown in by now, a gap in a different spot showing the passage of time on the next happy smile at the ginger cat when he deigned to accept the snow fort as an acceptable place to eat his snack and sit out of the wind for a little bit.
There came a time though, when the cat didn't appear. When the boy waiting was forced to go back inside, tuna can unopened in his pocket. He didn't worry at first- Havoc would occasionally vanish for a day or two, only to return at his leisure. But even then, Charles might spot him elsewhere in the neighborhood, in the bushes, or slinking through an alley. Hear others complaining about their run-ins with the Mad Bastard. But days passed, and there was no sign. No gleam of a single lamp-like eye from foliage, or flash of orange between buildings. No mention of him menacing the neighborhood. No sign of him slinking through the back garden.
Weeks passed. Charles spent time in the garden as usual, gaze occasionally sliding to where he knew the gap in the fence was. Fingers tapping uncertainly against the unopened can in his jacket pocket. He knew what had likely happened. Havoc wasn't a young cat- he'd been a neighborhood staple for longer than Charles had been alive, and aside from that, he was a stray with all the freedoms and risks that came with it. All it took was one bad incident...]
Guess you decided to go find someplace warmer, yeah? [Charles was young sure, but he knew that wasn't the case, clear enough in some underlying element to that light tone of the murmur as he absently ran his thumb along the side of his index finger, feeling the faint texture of a scar courtesy of one ginger menace there.] Good on you, mate.
[The moment faded, the strange visual ripple sweeping over everything again- only a few minutes had passed near as the Cat could tell, awareness of the world around him coming back into clear focus as Charles was leaning in closer, brow knit with concern as he clicked fingers together, trying to catch the Cat's attention. From the blank but clearly worried sort of confusion to his tone and expression, it was clear that while the Cat had seen all of that? Charles had no idea about any of it.]
Oi, you with me there Your Majesty?
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His cats had shown him the gist of the conversation Charles had with Edwin and even the one he had with Crystal regarding his father, and Charles hadn't exactly been graphic with the details, but seeing it first hand like this puts it into perspective. After all, it takes common ground to garner trust in an animal so hurt by the world and the people in it. Often, like finds like in those circumstances, and Charles might not have a missing eye or a chipped ear, but the Cat King would bet that beneath his sweater or the long legs of his trousers he might have more than one or two bruises mottling his skin.
The inevitable loss hits him as painfully as if he were feeling it personally, as if he knew this cat or knew this boy beyond simply watching what they've been through. Strays aren't forever, just as cats aren't, and it's all the Cat King can do to hope that that angry ginger tom inspired the same kind of sympathy in Death when she came to pick him up, perhaps even made him a Cat King like she had presumably done for him. Didn't the Cat Boss of London have a brief spell as a ginger once?
He's broken from wondering, from the reverie completely, by Charles' clicking fingers in front of his face, and he blinks quickly to dispel the last lingering trails of mist from his vision. ]
What? [ He furrows his brow, coming back to his own mind slowly, like wading through syrup. ] What happened? Did you- [ He frowns a little harder. ] You didn't see that?
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[He was admittedly concerned, but he also knew that he didn't know anything about this situation.] That... a cat thing, or a weird thing?
[He highly doubted that it was anything expected, not with the way the Cat was responding now, the confusion in his questions, the frown on his face. But then, who knew? Wasn't that a thing, people noticing cats staring off into the middle distance sometimes and not knowing just what they were looking at? He was fairly certain at least.]
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[ He answers, a little darkness entering his expression because that right there? That felt like some kind of magic — and the only reason the Cat knows that is because it's unlike anything he's ever felt before, and magic doesn't typically work on him, so putting two and two together... It must be something powerful. Or he's losing it. ]
I was thinking about the mirror you came through and the fact that no-one's followed you here. The network must still be fucked up, because my Cats haven't come back with any update, either. But for a second I saw...
[ He squints, looking around the warehouse for a moment like he might see the remnants of the memory sneaking behind a stack of shelving. Then, he looks back at Charles. This couldn't be some elaborate prank, could it? What would anyone get out of something like that? ]
I saw... Your memories. I think. One of them, at least.
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One of mine? [Why did his smile feel so strained to keep up at the idea of that? Surely it was a good thing, the Cat could clue him in on another of his memories, maybe it would shake something else loose. And yet... something about it just had a nervousness coiling in his chest. The tension wasn't visible in his expression of course, muscle memory, even the ghostly sort made it so easy for him to smile like nothing was wrong and he was just curious even when he didn't know why he needed to do it.] Anything good? Or interestin'?
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Kinda. It was about... cats.
[ He scrunches up his nose a bit, then gets up off his throne and hops down off the pallet, stalking the same way an animal might stalk prey likely to startle from sudden movements — with slow, even footsteps — across to the mirror. ]
Which is odd for more than one reason. Magic doesn't work on me, so whatever's fucking with you shouldn't have any impact on me. Which means it's not magic. Or it is, but it's really really powerful. And what's more, it's aware of my connection to you.
[ He looks back at Charles, then, having seen nothing strange in the mirror just yet. ]
After all, of all the memories you have, why show me one involving cats?
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[It wasn't enough to trigger any remembrance in him, but somehow that wasn't really a surprise. It was so vague that it could be a lot of things. That didn't stop that strange sort of unease, but that was practically constant at the moment, which given his loss of memories? Was hardly surprising.
There was something familiar about following the Cat as he moves, falling in at his shoulder as he prowls over to the mirror. Like a bird dog waiting for prey to be flushed, curious, alert in the moment. It wasn't the Cat who he'd trail like this, he knew that even if his memory wouldn't shake who but it was similar enough to ground him some, even as the mirror offered up no more secrets, looking for the moment like a normal mirror, like nothing strange was happening at all.]
D'you think it's like... actively watchin' or is this more... just kinda a side-effect of whatever was done? [Neither was especially good, for a variety of reasons, but Charles disliked the idea of being under the direct attention of something like this way more than the alternative.]
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But the Cat is not Edwin. The Cat doesn't do teamwork, because the Cat doesn't do teams. He doesn't do friends, or even partnerships. The fact that it's all down to the simple reason that he's never had the opportunity to try goes unheeded in his mind, focusing instead on the sheer lack between them. There's no great mind to puzzle out magical intention here, just a Cat who knows what to avoid and a foolish puppy of a ghost who will follow him around because he doesn't know any better. ]
If this was the same mirror you got barfed out of, I'd say it's a side effect. But this is a totally different mirror in a totally different place, on the other side of town.
[ Look at him, hypothesising anyway despite his reluctance. Anyone ever heard of a Cat detective? ]
My cannery is on a ley line. Magic is more potent here. [ He looks back to the mirror, raising his hand, tapping his four fingers on its surface one after the other - like he'd seen Edwin do in an effort to help himself think. Perhaps it'll help him, too. ] So whatever it is that's here will be more powerful too.
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