Tora Steals Things

“Right… Of course… Yeah, of course I know their names…” He was stalling. He had no idea what asura liked naming their pets. “The names of her dogs…” His eyes searched the room desperately, “…are…” as if a clue could be found peeking out of floorboards “…definitely…” or the indoor plants. “…absolutely…” There was a rug beneath their feet, patterned in repeating zeroes and ones.

“…”

This was the stupidest idea.

“…Zero and One?”

Another pause that felt far too long.

Finally, Rhin frowned, “Are you sure…?”

Yep. Too stupid an idea.

“Zero sounds right,” Rhin continued,”but I could’ve sworn her other dog was One-One-Zero-One or One-One-One-One.”

Tora blinked.

Either this man was messing with him, or asura just loved numbers more than Tora realized.

…He was willing to bet on the numbers thing.

“Right, right, yeah, sure,” the thief replied casually. “Y’know how like, ah, ya name a pet one thing, but then ya have like a billion nicknames y’use instead?”

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“I’m not jealous, you—” Tora stopped mid-snarl. He wanted to strangle him, his arms reaching out to do exactly that, but… he took a quick glance at Rhin and felt the chains of his and FPS’s lies pulling back against his wrists. His shaking fists dropped harmlessly to his sides, and he gave the best smile he could through gritted teeth.

“Oh stop, you,” he tried. He tried very hard. “You know I just can’t stay mad at you.”

His tone clearly said otherwise, a warning stained its edges.

A warning that FPS either ignored or decided to push his luck in spite of. With a saucy waggle of his brows and a smirk, the tall tree of a sylvari leaned in close, towering over Tora. Emboldened, he looked ready for another flirtation or perhaps—

In a panic, Tora’s hand caught the tree man’s face before he could find out. “You know how I feel about PDA, dear.” He shoved back—hard—and FPS/John Smith toppled backwards over his seat with a loud thud. Before he could recover, Tora spun around on a very uncomfortable looking Rhin. “Sorry, you were sayin’?!”

“Is-Is he okay?”

“No worries, friend!” FPS gave a thumbs up from the floor. “I like em feisty.”

Ignoring that, Tora persisted. “He’s fine. You were sayin’?!”

“Y-Yes, what was I saying…?”

It took some prodding, some gentle guidance, and eventually they got exactly what Rhin had been saying. Ten minutes after and they had the full story they needed.

Rakak was their lead—the Meridian’s old navigator who retired shortly after Bolli did. The old asura pestered Bolli until her last days, and left back to Rata Sum in a huff when she’d left him nothing in her will.

Rhin couldn’t say what exactly it was that Rakak had wanted so badly from Bolli, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that here was someone with a clear motive—an asura willing to pester someone to their last dying breathe over something would surely be willing to rob a grave for that same something.

If he was still alive, he was their best suspect.

…If he was still alive.

According to Rhin, Rakak never visited anyone related to the ship’s crew since Bolli’s death. He reached out once, a few years back—wrote a letter to each family asking to borrow whatever Bolli left for them.

Tora frowned when he saw the letter, confused.

“No one we spoke to even mentioned this!” It seemed unfathomable. Surely if someone was this much of a thorn in Bolli’s side, someone would have remembered them. At least more than her baking skills!

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reached into his coat and produced another.

“Wait—” FPS’s thin eyes somehow narrowed even further. “Is that, the letter Rakak sent to Rhin?”

“Yeah. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to borrow it.” He didn’t even look up. He was busy studying the letters. “Doubt Rhin’ll miss it, ya?”

“I—but, Miss Bandi, how did you—? I saw you give it back to him!”

“Did I? I’m pretty sure I handed him a napkin.”

It was a simple switch, a party trick at best. He still had a few napkins in his pocket from the cafe—he’d just handed that back instead of the letter. There’d been no intention to truly give it back the moment he’d laid his hands on it.

Astonished (and maybe even a little impressed?), FPS gave no real commentary on Tora’s party trick beyond a quiet “My word.”

“Well, friend, things’re ‘bout t’get real simple now.” He handed back the letters FPS found with a satisfied grin. “Writin’s the same. Y’know what that means?”

“The old boy’s alive! And he really did steal the amulet! This Rakak.” FPS’s eyes glimmered a moment, then narrowed again in thought. “…He is a boy, right? We’ve clarified that?”

“Yes, an old grumpy ass asuran boy,” Tora rolled his eyes. “And he either stole it or someone with his love for real loopy lookin’ writin’ did.”

A gasp. “A twist! Did they?!”

“No, fer fuck’s sake I’m jokin’” the thief grumbled. “Whatever. Point is, old boy didn’t leave a return address as Mr. R but he sure as fuck did as Rakak.”

He shoved Rakak’s letter in FPS’s face, his finger tapping the address left on it.

“Please tell me y’know what that means, yeah?” Tora was losing patience.

FPS closed his fingers gently around the letter, his thin eyes widening as he took in the address.

“We’re going to Metrica,” he said, awestruck.

The tree could be smart if he wanted to be.

Tora smiled, relieved. “We’re goin’ to Metrica.”

They were going to Metrica.

*