Open to Join In the Living Day (8MW21)

A little bit of elegance never goes out of style
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Monty was no stranger to wandering. His paws had carried him from one end of Whitehart to the other, over rooftops slick with morning frost, and now - here. A place of quiet. Of stone and silence.

The graveyard was a peculiar sight, nothing like the grand estates or lively streets he had known. It smelled of damp earth, old wood, and something faintly metallic.The golden brown tabby padded lightly through the frost tinged grass, his sharp amber eyes scanning the rows of stone markers. A caretaker’s shed stood nearby, modest and unassuming, and beside it Monty’s gaze caught on a flash of silver threaded fabric glinting in the weak afternoon sun.

Perched atop a wooden shelter was another cat. Their fur, marbled in hues of cream and chocolate, shimmered where the sun struck them, but what held Monty’s attention was the cloak they wore. A deep, rich fabric embroidered with phases of the moon.

Monty, ever the gentleman, approached with measured steps, his tail flicking in curiosity. He stopped just short of the little structure, tilting his head with an easy smile.

"Well now." He drawled, his voice a smooth rumble. "A fine afternoon for a rest, wouldn’t you say, Madam?" His gaze flicked from the cloak to the cat within it, intrigue glinting in his eyes. "And here I thought I had seen all the finery Whitehart had to offer. Tell me, stranger...are you a guest of this place, or merely its most esteemed ghost?"

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Ah the graveyard, Morgan's graveyard; one that was rather peaceful given the nature of the place. At least no cats were buried here from what Fox knew, but who knows, it wasn't like the ginger tom stood about for very long, just a friendly chat with the locals what what he enjoyed most.

Fox sniffed about, it was strange, the graveyard hardly smelled of death, mostly the stale scent of flowers, though even the flowers died after being plucked and placed down to pay respects for the dead, however Fox was not looking to linger, just someone to talk to. It wasn't long before Morgan's scent gravitated to his scent glands and his head rose to the rusty colored feline.

"Morgan, and-" Fox greeted but soon paused, glancing over at the pointed tom, fawn was what Fox found the pelt color was name. But for once, this cat didn't hold any familiarity. Great! A new cat to meet was always something to take in stride, never a dull moment with new cats to make an impression on. "and someone I've not met?"

Fox dipped his head politely in a greeting to the two and a friendly grin tugged at the corners of his mouth "Morgan is no ghost, though mistaking them for one wouldn't be very shocking" Fox chirped playfully and his tail rose in a friendly gesture to both the cats, wonder if this cat is another friend or a mysterious foe.

A little bit of elegance never goes out of style
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Monty listened with keen interest as Morgan spoke, their voice carrying an air of practiced poise. A guardian of sorts, they claimed. How curious. The idea of a cat watching over a place meant for the long-departed was not lost on him. There was something almost poetic about it.

"A guardian..." Monty mused, his amber eyes flicking toward the gravestones beyond. "A noble title, indeed." His tail curled lazily around his paws, his posture remaining relaxed, yet ever so slightly refined. His gaze shifted as he regarded Fox, the ginger tom’s friendly demeanor as open as the morning sky. It was refreshing. There was no posturing, no guarded edge, just an easy warmth that Monty had learned to appreciate in others.

"And you, my friend..." Monty addressed Fox with a knowing glint in his eye. "Have arrived just in time to save me from making any spectral missteps. I’d hate to go about disturbing restless spirits."

Then, Morgan questioned him. Monty tilted his head slightly at the inquiry, the cool breeze ruffling the short fur along his shoulders. He hummed a note as if considering the answer. "A fair assessment. I suppose I have been one for some time now. Though, I prefer to think of myself as a traveler of fine places and finer company." His smile was easy, but there was something wistful beneath it.

He turned his gaze back to the graveyard’s expanse, letting the quiet settle for a moment. "This place - Whitehart - it’s something of an enigma, wouldn’t you agree? So many stories woven into its streets, its borders, its very bones. And here you are, watching over one of its quieter corners."

A pause, then his smile returned, a playful glint in his eye. "I do hope you’re not the jealous sort, because I must confess - I do have a place of my own. A home, perhaps, if fortune continues to allow."

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Fox took in Morgan's greeting with a nod, it was always nice to see a familiar face, especially when he had been wondering farther and farther by the day. Not like it bothered him, there was no home for him, not now, and maybe not ever. He'd just drift around for as long as he could foresee. 

"Ah well" Fox turned to the fawn sepia tom beside him and his eyes flicked downward to see him properly. "I'm not too innate with the likes of ghosts, I've never seen any myself but what a spectacle that would be hm?" The large red tom chuckled lightly and flicked his tail for a moment, his expressive hears perked upwards in the most friendly manner he could muster. He was in no mood to make enemies.

A chuckle seemed to come so easy out of Fox's mouth as if he had swallowed a pawful of honey before coming here, perhaps he just found this stranger's way of speaking fascinating, reminding him of something once lost, something he couldn't quite remember. No matter, this conversation proved itself to be pleasant enough not to leave.

"I've been all over the place, I've travelled nearly all my life with a she-cat that taught me everything I know, only these ghosts probably know why" he remarked to the both of them, casting a small glance over to some gravestones, but he did not dwell on them long, it was quite easy to get distracted from conversation in a place like this, at least for Fox. So for now, his attention remained on the cats before him. 

"So stranger" His gaze quickly snapped over to Monty "Is there a name under all that poetry? Or shall I just call you Poet?"