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“Using magic on my cats ? — Total car crash on your part.” Ghosts don’t need to blink, but many do it by habit, and between the space of those spoken words and the time at which he opens his eyes again—the Cat King has gone from the throne to the space directly in front of him, much too close to be polite. Ghosts can’t feel, but, somehow, the cat king’s warm exhale hits him like the breeze before a summer storm. “I think we should discuss your offense… privately. ”
Ever the reliable and steadfast partner, Charles gets right in between them. “ Nah . He’s not going anywhere with you.”
But this is a matter of diplomacy. “Charles.”
Despite their positioning, the simple admonishment seems to reach the Cat King’s ears first. “Charles, huh?” He backs away, only to stalk around in another direction; a small, amused smirk on his lips as he watches Charles orbit dutifully to retain his interference. The Cat King goes on to ask, “are you two by chance… — special friends?”
Edwin sucks in a breath, distantly hoping afterwards that Charles was too preoccupied to hear. (It’s as useless a hope as the air itself. Charles always hears, always notices, somehow.) There’s an easy and curt reply of ‘we’re best friends,’ ready on the tip of his tongue, but it’s abruptly intercepted before it can make its way out of (always— especially) numb lips.
Charles’s voice is as strong and sure as ever while Edwin fears his own reply may not have fared the same. “What’s it to you?”
The Cat King smiles, a singular fang glinting in the sunlight from high-set windows. Edwin hardly gets a chance to fathom a sudden, illogical change in environment before he feels something— a tingling, inexplicably final manner of sensation before he looks down at the source and it’s replaced with a stab of panic. Charles actually–foolishly – turns his back against their anomalous adversary for a moment just to balk over the golden object now encircling Edwin’s wrist before he remembers himself and spins to face the smirking Cat King once again.
“What is this?” Edwin takes great care to make his voice as even and unaffected as possible in the effort to settle his companion (mostly to prevent him from doing anything brash as he is always so unfortunately inclined.)
The Cat King’s gaze passes right through Charles to burn into Edwin like an iron brand (but these scorching marks feel as if they might resist the fade of time indefinitely.)
“A little something to keep you in this town: my kingdom! –Because you are just ~ oh so fascinating .”
Edwin straightens the cuffs of his sleeves, bracing with thick wool against the Cat King’s unseemly demeanor. He then presents the wrist that bears the offending object, saying simply, “that is unacceptable. Kindly remove it.”
The Cat King has the nerve to chuckle at Edwin’s decency. He sighs, and although he isn’t nearly as close to Edwin’s space as he was in that first moment, Edwin shivers. “Oh, Edwin, nonono —” and as if hearing his thoughts, tries to get close again, but Charles puts a stop to that immediately.
Ever so slightly irritated by the continued interruption, the Cat King settles for lounging on the large circular bed which takes up the majority of the room. It’s a calculated motion, taking the immediate appearance of leisure, yet maintaining the feeling that the Dead Boy Detectives are not the ones at any point of advantage.
“ You ~ did something naughty… and naughty boys need to be punished; so ~~~ voilà .”
Edwin intervenes as soon as he spies the way Charles’s entire body braces to speak. The Cat King’s eyes follow the silent interaction much too discerningly.
“We have far too much to do.”
“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?”
“We have people pursuing us. We cannot afford to stay.”
“Well I guess you should’ve thought about that~ hm? Aren’t you detectives supposed to be smart?”
Charles cuts in before Edwin can stop him. “ Alright then– if you’re not gonna take it off willingly, I’ll - ”
The Cat King puts up a hand to stop him, eyes wide, smile amused. “Me - ow ~ you two are a thing, aren’t you? I’ve gotta hand it to you, Fido, you’re really punching above your weight with this one.”
Edwin, humiliated beyond what he’s intent to examine, rushes to put an end to that line of thinking. However, Charles makes a dismissive gesture– the manner of which throws Edwin off enough to keep him from interjecting far more-so than the utility of the gesture itself.
“I can punch a lot harder than that, Mittens.” As if emphasizing his point: Charles braces to fight - cricket bat and all (not a position in which to throw a punch.) Disastrously, Edwin doesn’t think it’s an empty threat.
But the Cat King puts his hands up again, and this time it’s somewhat of a surrender. “Oh, I don’t wanna fight you. And I don’t want to keep you here forever, either — at least, not both of you. I mean– what good is it to me to have two little ghosts running around my town, making wedding rings out of dandelions?” It’s a leading, rhetorical question, but Edwin cannot stand it any longer.
“ WE ARE NOT—” What starts as an insistent, uncharacteristic shout quickly fades to an equally unbecoming, shameful near-whisper. “…like that.”
The Cat King appears in front of him, with Charles swearing on the far side of the room. “There’s really no need to be that way, Eddie.”
Charles doesn’t waste anymore time running over, cricket bat raised, a battlecry on his lips. With another snap of his fingers, the Cat King appears on Edwins right now, with Charles ending up back where he started. “This is a safe space !~”
Another snap – again. “My kingdom is all about want—”
Snap. He’s directly in front of him once more, warm, moist breath on the shell of his ear louder than anything else. “ —And pleasure.”
“FIGHT ME YOU FUCKING P—”
The last snap finds Edwin alone, watching the Cat King lounge on the bed as if nothing of note had transpired.
“Where did Charles go?”
“Exactly where he was before.”
“And where are we now?”
“I just gave you the pleasure speech, do I really need to do it again?”
“I’d rather prefer if you didn’t”
“Oh - would you?” The Cat King makes a show of rising from his position now, stalking over to Edwin slowly, with purpose. “Would you really ?”
“I’m really not sure how often I’ll need to repeat myself.”
“I don’t know, Winney, I’m honestly getting some mixed signals here….”
Edwin scoffs. “How so?”
“Did you not just tell me that you're available?”
“That is not what I said at all.”
The Cat King rolls his eyes. “Ok— So you aren’t sharing ghost spit with the loud one. Is there somebody else ?”
Edwin hesitates to respond. Then he just stays quiet.
The Cat King hums, satisfied. “So the only one with a claim on whatever those layers are hiding is yourself.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You want that bracelet off.”
“...Correct.”
“ I could be willing to make that happen if you make me… —” A single declawed finger lifts up Edwin’s chin, and he lets it. “ —Happy.”
When the Cat King pulls away, it’s as if a spell is broken, but the aftereffects remain.
In a casual, unaffected, deceptively offhand voice, the Cat King adds, “otherwise, there is an alternate, much more boring option that you are ever so free to take. It’s your choice, as I am a fair, consensual Cat King.”
Another snap of his fingers, but this time he stays put, and Charles reappears at Edwin’s side.
Edwin catches his partner’s arm to keep him from any further attempts at physical confrontation.
At least the Cat King doesn’t seem ardent to dally any longer. “There are many cats in Port Townsend. Count them, and when you give me the correct number, you can get back to jolly old England as if your little transgression never happened. Until then, that little bracelet will keep you within my kingdom’s borders; you can’t leave – not in a car in a boat in a plane on a train and definitely, definitely not through a mirror. You little ghosts are so tricky.”
There’s more unsaid as golden slit eyes take in Edwin’s troubled state with glee. Edwin prays silently that it will continue to be that way, but it’s as useless an endeavor as it’s always been.
“Or, you can tell me to send the growly one away again, and we can settle all of this in a way that we’ll all find much more… enjoyable.”
“What the fuck is he talking about, mate?”
Mind still racing, still coming up wanting, Edwin stands silent in hostile territory for what is far too long as he struggles to digest all of the facts, choices, and feelings that have been presented to him.
Every bit of sense beseeches him to leave, but something far older–innate– keeps him bound and gagged like tightly wrapped bedsheets and a group of boys gone much too far indeed.
Charles then huffs, and muscles his way out of Edwin’s warning-chiding-desperategrounding grasp – a single hand clutching his upper arm hard enough to be rude. But he doesn’t go farther than he needs to in order to stand between Edwin and the Cat King once again, and his arm is a steady bar across Edwin’s front. “Alright, we’ll count your stupid cats. Let us out.”
The Cat King ignores Charles entirely. “It’s up to you, Edwin; just say the word.”
As much as Charles’s presence is being disregarded, his partner’s frustration helps him find his voice. “We’ll count the cats. Put us back in the warehouse.”
The Cat King sighs as if in witness of a great shame. “ As you wish. I’ll be checking in on your progress from time to time, of course; you understand, right? Yeah. So— I suppose I’ll be seeing you little lovebirds soon…”
And then Charles and Edwin are back in the warehouse, alone except for the cats which outnumber them by far too many.
Charles starts to say something, but Edwin cuts him off. “We need to go.”
“Mate—” “Outside, Charles. It’s– … it’s not safe here. We should go and see Crystal.” He finishes speaking with as long a moment of apologetic eye contact as he can bear before heading to the exit, already knowing that Charles will follow.