[ 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.
[Cats are clever! If any animal would be an excellent detective, it'd be a cat, if they didn't get distracted by a tasty snack and a nap, that was.
Charles on some level kind of wanted to press again for more information about the memory the Cat had seen. But at the same time there was a part of him that railed against the idea, which startled the urge from something he'd act immediately on. And in the moment, they also had a more pressing concern in the fact that this strange magic had affected the Cat, if most magic didn't work on him as he claimed. The memory could keep for now.]
No shot? [Charles, in typical Charles fashion was slinking closer to give a curious little tap to the mirror himself, but nothing about it seemed odd. Just a mirror reflecting only the Cat, no strange ripples to vision or anything odd.] Maybe that's why it affected you? Or why it could, anyways...
[But if it wasn't a side-effect that suggested something with more intent and awareness.] Might not be a bad idea to move it for now, until we know what's causin' this and how much it's aware of, yeah?
[ The Cat looks at Charles' reflection in the mirror as he comes close enough to touch it. There's no reaction, there's no rippling, there's no change. Nothing happens that even remotely calls back to the experience he'd had earlier, of his consciousness being plucked up and evenly placed somewhere else, in the midst of Charles' memories.
Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was some dormant Cat King ability coming to fruition after hundreds of years. Or maybe there really is something in the mirror system acting out. This is magic he knows very little about, and that - more than anything - makes him nod when Charles suggests moving the thing. ]
I dunno why I keep it here anyway.
[ He says, immediately tasting sourness on his tongue at the barefaced lie. He kept it there on the off chance that Edwin or Charles might hop through it someday, might see reason enough to come visit or ask for his assistance with something. He kept it there out of hope, and as a reminder. And that reality rests heavy on his mind as he raises a hand with the intention to summon a burst of flame and disappear the mirror from sight.
In the mean time, perhaps in an effort to delay or halt the Cat King's efforts of hiding it, the mirror ripples rather violently and springs forth a memory completely unbeknownst to the monarch.
In it, the Cat - looking somewhat different than he does now, with pale brown hair and rather archaic looking clothing - is peering into an ornate balcony window covered with a gauzy curtain, at a beautiful woman with pale skin and dark hair twisted up into a high knot on her head as she sits by a dressing table, nodding minutely to a man in her doorway. Only when he leaves and shuts the door behind him does the Cat enter, and she receives him delighted, pressing a kiss to his cheek, taking his hand and holding his fingers tight. But her smile falters as his does, as he tells her this has to be the last time, that he can't stand in the way of her future, her duty, that she has to marry her betrothed and that running away together is impossible. The princess scowls, shaking her head, and the Cat's heart breaks to see her unhappy, even as he reminds her of who - what - he is, that he can't give her what she wants.
The image flickers. The hand holding hers never changes, but hers seems to wither in his; snapshots of times throughout her life when he saw her, unable to leave her completely, always finding himself at her side around the time of her birthday, there the day after the birth of her first child and the three that followed, there for her when she buried her youngest when he didn't survive the war that wrecked her country, when her husband the King made foolish and selfish decisions that benefited the few rather than the many. He was there, too, when the physician told her her time was limited, and he was there in a moment of blissful peace, like a young and beautiful spectre, when her hair had turned white and her heart began to fail from one too many breaks. He kissed her then, softly on the hand as he always had, and told her he loved her. He didn't see her die, but there was a pale brown tabby asleep at her graveside for weeks - perhaps even months - afterwards. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
Charles on some level kind of wanted to press again for more information about the memory the Cat had seen. But at the same time there was a part of him that railed against the idea, which startled the urge from something he'd act immediately on. And in the moment, they also had a more pressing concern in the fact that this strange magic had affected the Cat, if most magic didn't work on him as he claimed. The memory could keep for now.]
No shot? [Charles, in typical Charles fashion was slinking closer to give a curious little tap to the mirror himself, but nothing about it seemed odd. Just a mirror reflecting only the Cat, no strange ripples to vision or anything odd.] Maybe that's why it affected you? Or why it could, anyways...
[But if it wasn't a side-effect that suggested something with more intent and awareness.] Might not be a bad idea to move it for now, until we know what's causin' this and how much it's aware of, yeah?
no subject
Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was some dormant Cat King ability coming to fruition after hundreds of years. Or maybe there really is something in the mirror system acting out. This is magic he knows very little about, and that - more than anything - makes him nod when Charles suggests moving the thing. ]
I dunno why I keep it here anyway.
[ He says, immediately tasting sourness on his tongue at the barefaced lie. He kept it there on the off chance that Edwin or Charles might hop through it someday, might see reason enough to come visit or ask for his assistance with something. He kept it there out of hope, and as a reminder. And that reality rests heavy on his mind as he raises a hand with the intention to summon a burst of flame and disappear the mirror from sight.
In the mean time, perhaps in an effort to delay or halt the Cat King's efforts of hiding it, the mirror ripples rather violently and springs forth a memory completely unbeknownst to the monarch.
In it, the Cat - looking somewhat different than he does now, with pale brown hair and rather archaic looking clothing - is peering into an ornate balcony window covered with a gauzy curtain, at a beautiful woman with pale skin and dark hair twisted up into a high knot on her head as she sits by a dressing table, nodding minutely to a man in her doorway. Only when he leaves and shuts the door behind him does the Cat enter, and she receives him delighted, pressing a kiss to his cheek, taking his hand and holding his fingers tight. But her smile falters as his does, as he tells her this has to be the last time, that he can't stand in the way of her future, her duty, that she has to marry her betrothed and that running away together is impossible. The princess scowls, shaking her head, and the Cat's heart breaks to see her unhappy, even as he reminds her of who - what - he is, that he can't give her what she wants.
The image flickers. The hand holding hers never changes, but hers seems to wither in his; snapshots of times throughout her life when he saw her, unable to leave her completely, always finding himself at her side around the time of her birthday, there the day after the birth of her first child and the three that followed, there for her when she buried her youngest when he didn't survive the war that wrecked her country, when her husband the King made foolish and selfish decisions that benefited the few rather than the many. He was there, too, when the physician told her her time was limited, and he was there in a moment of blissful peace, like a young and beautiful spectre, when her hair had turned white and her heart began to fail from one too many breaks. He kissed her then, softly on the hand as he always had, and told her he loved her. He didn't see her die, but there was a pale brown tabby asleep at her graveside for weeks - perhaps even months - afterwards. ]