Chapter Text
It's a cold damp morning in his office in Meropide when Wriothesley gets a call from Neuvillette. “What have you heard of the recent rise in illegal street racing?” The Iudex immediately asks.
“Whatever happened to starting a conversation with ‘bonjour’ and ‘how are you’?” Wriothesley asks in response.
“Forgive me, your grace, this matter is very pressing.”
The duke chuckles, “No worries, I’m not offended.” He leans back into his chair, “And to answer your initial question: a few engineers down here occasionally bring up car modification as a conversation topic from time to time, but as a mostly hobbyist thing.”
“I see,” there’s a thoughtful beat of silence, “Unfortunately, car modification, as you phrased it, has escalated from a pastime with dubious legality and safety.”
“Escalated, how?”
“There’s been several murders. Evidence suggests the victims were involved with these races.”
Wriothesley clicks his tongue, his brows furrowed, he’s not looking forward to the paperwork this is going to amount to.
“Your help in this matter will be very much appreciated,” Neuvillette says before he gives the duke a lead out near Fontaine’s borders.
*
Three dead, two men and one woman. All of whom were engineers, mechanics to be specific. It comes as no surprise to Wriothesley that the dead were ex-convicts.
It’s late evening, the sun has just set below the horizon line. The duke stands before an autoshop, the one belonging to the late Chloé. He has no memory of her in Meropide. The file he dug up informed him that she was convicted of murder in the second degree. She had caught her husband cheating on her, so she took a bat to his head. During her trial, she pleaded guilty so the Iudex sentenced her to twenty years in the Fortress. Chloé had been released as of ten to eleven years ago. By all accounts she had re-adjusted to living out of the Fortress just fine.
Still, it didn’t surprise Wriothesley that the woman hadn’t kept her nose clean. There was, is, a heavy stigma against anyone with a record and it made it very difficult to find employment. Desperate people resort to desperate means, just a shitty fact of life in their reality.
He breathes in the warmer air of the surface, his body craving a hit of nicotine, and makes his way inside the autoshop. It was an ordinary workshop, tools and parts lay scattered around the place, the office had miscellaneous paperwork sitting disorganized on the desk. What struck Wriothesley was the stillness of the place. All the little hints and suggestions of a life lived here. An empty mug with a thin crack near its base, a potted plant beginning to brown, candy wrappers and tea bags dumped in a trashcan, pictures of Chloé smiling with people that began to collect a thin layer of dust. Chloé had lived here.
She was also murdered here. Chloé had been stabbed directly through the chest, the shape and size of the wound gave the impression of a standard combat sword, and died a few minutes later. There was no sign of a struggle, so the suspect was likely someone she knew and trusted to some degree. Her office was untouched, according to the melusines, but a few car parts had gone missing, presumably stolen. According to the reports, the other two victims had almost identical crimes.
The key difference being what parts were stolen but those were mundane differences. Engine parts, nitrous, car radios, the list read off like a smash and grab. If not for the nitrous this could just be chalked up to regular theft. Now there was a suspected conspiracy of gang activity.
Wriothesley traces the scar under his eye, wandering over to an old beat up car. He’s not a big car guy so he doesn’t recognize the model, he just knows it’s old from the peeling paint. The front lid is open, the main engine was likely being worked on, or maybe Chloé was just checking the oil. He circles the car, pausing at the driver’s side. His hesitation lasts only a second as he slips into the driver’s seat and starts poking around. The melusines had done a thorough search, but the duke knows from experience that they’re knowledge on human habits and behavior could be a touch flawed.
Case and point: no one checked the visor. The minute he pulled it down a small scrap of fabric fell into his lap. A black and white checkered pattern with an ‘SLR’ patch sewn on it. Wriothesley let out an amused huff, he didn’t think gangs were so arts and craftsy these days.
*
With a new lead comes more traveling. Now back in the capital of Fontaine to check in with Neuvillette, Wriothesley learned that the three letters were the initials of a popular underground car meet, one that operated on an international scale. They stood for “Speed Lines Racing'', apparently. Due to its popularity and the presence of illegal activities, such as unregulated gambling and the circulation of narcotics, a system was implemented to keep track of its attendees. Hence the little squares of fabric. They acted as one part invitation and one part identification while still allowing for some anonymity. The specific piece Wriothesley had found, with its checkered pattern, indicated that its holder was allowed to participate in races.
“There is also some reported presence of Fatui agents, although it’s unclear if this event is run by them. The head organizer simply goes by the moniker ‘Dark Knight’, and has never been seen out of costume, and has gone on record to denounce any direct affiliation with the Fatui. It’s possible the agents might be attending these races in earnest, to have fun as it were. Speaking of races, I believe this to be the first year on record that this event will be held within the borders of Fontaine.” Neuvillette pauses to take a sip of his water.
Sitting across the desk, directly in front of the judge’s desk in a plush chair, Wriothesley chuckles, “Wow, you know a lot about this, huh? Don’t tell me, are you secretly an attendee?”
Neuvillette shakes his head, “Of course not. Such behavior is unbefitting of the Iudex. But it would be remiss to not maintain an informed position when I am to pass judgment.”
“Ah, so it just so happens that this subject is so much fun for you to research, that explains your new indulgent purchase of a ferrari–”
“It’s a Delage.” Neuvillette politely coughs, “A D12 to be specific.” He seems, to the duke, looking all too eager to start talking about a car, for whose brand Wriothesley just right now found out existed. Shit, it was probably an expensive one too, this is the last thing he wants to deal with right now.
Wriothesley forces a smile on his face, “Right, so about those murders.”
If Neuvillette is disappointed, he hides it well, simply nodding and reorganizing a few papers. “As mentioned earlier, this year will be the first year SLR will be held in Fontaine. There have also been three confirmed murders, in light of your recent discovery I had sent the melusines to re-investigate the crime scenes and they have returned with a similar fabric cloth. Thus reinforcing their connection to this event. The suspect is still at large and likely is involved in SLR themselves.”
“Guess that means I’ll have to attend the event myself if we want to catch our crook.”
“You’ll be needing a car before that, of course,” Neuvillette looks at the paperwork in front of him, thoughtful.
Wriothesley sighs, a fast car isn’t going to come cheap, “Yeah. Ooh, can I borrow yours?”
“No, your grace.”
The duke chuckles again. Actually he had an idea already forming in his mind, “Do you know any tow truck lines?”
*
The chopshop guys in Meropide all laughed at Wriothesley when he showed them his new project.
“Who are you trying to impress, your grace?”
“Oh, Oh! I heard the Iudex bought a new piece, real nice too.”
Wriothesley perks up at that, “Oh yeah, he mentioned it to me, called it a Delage.” There was suddenly more laughter.
“You plan on racing the Iudex your grace?”
“I’d pay to see that!”
One of the guys, an older gent in his early sixties who went by Cheesecake, took pity on the duke’s confusion, “D12s are modeled after F1 cars. Y’know the professional race cars? Well, Delages are just technically street legal versions of that.”
Wriothesley nods, trying very hard to reign in his shock, then gestures to the car he brought in, “So what exactly did I bring in?”
“Honda Civic, pretty standard Inazuman car to mod. Whoever you bought it from did some fancy work on the transmission, definitely not a Fontaine trained mechanic if you catch me.”
“What kind of mechanic do you think it could be?”
The mechanic just shrugs, “Dunno, it just doesn’t look Fontaine to me is all.”
“Hey Cheesecake,” one of the guys calls out, “is the duke actually thinking about racing? Cause, uh,” he pulls a beer can out from inside the engine, “You might wanna check if he can handle the juice this thing is packing.”
Wriothesley looks at Cheesecake, “Juice?”
Cheesecake looks so disappointed in him it actually hurts a little, “The fuck did you get yourself into, your grace?”
Wriothesley shrugs, “I’m figuring that out as I go.”
All the guys start jeering at him, until Cheesecake starts telling them off for slacking. Then he turns to steer the duke into his office, closes the door, and asks “Alright, what the fuck is going on?”
“Everything is still under investigation, I’m afraid there’s very little I can say. I can reassure you that none of this will find its way back to you or your people.” Wriothesley raises his hands in an attempt to pacify.
It seems to work, Cheesecake is mollified somewhat although he’s still looking at Wriothesley like he’s a disappointment. That wasn’t a look he ever figured out how to deal with. “I knew a guy, a friend of mine who might have been as old as you by now. Said he was gonna make a name for himself as a drag racer. I was his main mechanic, and guy who would double check whatever dumb rigged piece of shit he grafted onto his ride. Y’know, I made sure everything worked cause I didn’t want his dumbass to die. Well, I’m sure you can tell where this story is going. He crashes the car, the engine explodes, the nos explodes, everything goes to shit and no one can do anything except stand around and watch it all burn. The fire got so hot the metal fused with his bones, so we couldn’t even properly bury him.
“I know, you're probably the last person who really needs to hear this, but be careful, your grace,” he says and the duke nods in acknowledgement. Wriothesley doesn’t need to be warned, but it’s nice to hear it all the same.
*
The day of the event arrives and it's too late when he notices all the stickers Sigewinne stuck onto his new ride to take them off. So off he goes, annoyed as hell, to the first of a few scheduled car meets for the Speed Lines Racing. The arranged location was in the mountains, old and barely maintained asphalt roads snaking around the place would be the track. A very swervy circuit. Music was blaring as loud as possible and overlapped with cars revving up. People were cheering, dancing, getting a little too frisky where everyone can see in Wriothesley’s opinion. Overall it was just a big party.
To his surprise there were a few people he recognized, both from Meropide and from the general who’s who from topside. The sailing legend Captain Beidou from Liyue, the nobleman Kamisato Ayato from Inazuma, and look at that, their very own Navia was leisurely posing on the hood of her car for the onlookers’ benefit. Those were just a few Wriothesley could name off the top of his head. He would have assumed with how illicit these activities were there’d be more of an effort to hide one’s identity. Neuvillette’s source was right too, there were a few Fatui agents mingling with everyone. It was interesting to see so many people from all different walks of life being so friendly with Snezhnayan soldiers and those same soldiers being so friendly in return.
Wriothesley pulls up, patiently waiting to be identified and directed to his parking spot, and takes in the atmosphere. A man with long white hair, red horns and markings comes up to gently knock on his newly tinted windows. The duke lowers the window, holding up the little fabric square. The man checks the patch, whistling loudly to catch the attention of everyone in their immediate vicinity, “Well, get a load of this,” he raises the fabric square into the air, “fresh blood headed straight to the pavement!” There’s a mix of cheering and taunting aimed his way. Wriothesley can’t help but smirk, the atmosphere reminds him so much of the Pankration Ring.
The duke is directed to his parking spot and he finally hops out. He can feel dozens of eyes already on him, but none approach. Honestly it’s fine by Wriothesley, he doesn’t mind a little distance for now, it’ll give him time to collect his thoughts and enjoy a cigarette.
He rests against the hood of his ride, and pulls out a stick and a lighter. Unluckily for the duke, the lighter decides it doesn’t feel like doing it's one job. Wriothesley is about to check if it needs a refill when someone behind him pipes up, “Need a light?”
Wriothesley doesn’t jump but it's a near thing, only years of training help him catch the reaction. When he turns to face the speaker, he’s greeted with a face far too soft to be associated with all this crime. Perhaps he should be saying the same about Mademoiselle Navia, but his indifference there might have to do with how disassociated their respective lives are. He can believe a rich young lady having hobbies that bend legality, hell the Iudex wants a piece of this scene too, apparently.
Maybe it's not the face itself, but everything else surrounding the face. The well worn and grease stained clothing, blond hair with dark ombre tips, and red colored eyes that spoke of one too many sleepless nights. Amidst all these bright colorful characters, this was the most down to earth person Wriothesley had seen all night.
The blond’s hand is outstretched, holding a lighter, his expression is warm and cordial. Wriothesley takes him up on the offer, leaning forward with the cigarette in his mouth awaiting the flame. The lighter clicks loudly and the heat of the flame meets his face. He takes a slow drag and lets the acrid taste of nicotine soothe away the past few weeks’ stress. “Sorry monsieur, I don’t believe I caught your name.”
The other huffs, amused, “I didn’t offer a name, just a light.” The blond moves to circle the car with an appraising look. His eyes are sharper than Cheesecake’s. “How old is she?”
“Dunno, maybe a few years, maybe a decade.”
He chuckles, “Oh, I see.” His tone is condescending.
The blond gestures to the hood, and the duke shrugs, standing up and popping it open. A flashlight appears in the blond’s hand as he immediately starts examining the engine, poking and prodding with experienced hands. Alright, definitely a mechanic. He makes a thoughtful noise, “Do you even know how to handle her?”
Wriothesley gets close to the blond, catching a whiff of sweat and oil. The mechanic doesn’t look bothered by their new proximity, and holds the duke’s gaze evenly. “Getting a little sick of being asked if I know what I’m doing.”
The other snorts, and his expression becomes irritated, “If it really bothered you, you’d actually start giving a damn. A single action can be the difference between you achieving first place, or in you becoming a bloody smear on the road.”
“You’re sounding awfully invested in my success, yet I still don’t have your name.”
There’s a huff, a roll of the eyes, but finally, “It’s Kaveh.”
“Kaveh.” It rolls off Wriothesley’s tongue a little differently thanks to his accent, but he does spot a twitch of the other’s lips. He’ll call that a win. Wriothesley is about to introduce himself but Kaveh waves him off, “I know who you are, Duke Wriothesley.”
The duke didn’t think his reputation preceded him so much that a Sumeran would know him by name and title, but he supposes you learn something new everyday. He takes a step back, exiting Kaveh’s personal space and puts out the cigarette, “So, will you tell me why you decided to come talk to me, or am I going to have to pester that out of you?”
Kaveh shrugs, leaning his full weight on the car, “Some people recognized you, and word spread pretty fast that the Warden of the Fortress of Meropide arrived. You’re making people nervous.”
“So you’re here to scope out the situation? Who sent you?”
He shakes his head, “I don’t hold any affiliations. I just didn’t like the tension”
“What a good samaritan.”
“What about you?” Kaveh perks up, smiling at him, “Can I ask what brings your grace to such an infamous event?”
The duke shrugs, smiling with the mechanic, “You can, but I’m not sure you’d find it all too interesting.”
“How suspenseful!”
Wriothesley chuckles, “Honestly, I was curious about this event. One of the mechanics down in Meropide, a real old fart, told me a few stories about his experiences in drag racing. I heard it's the SLR’s first year in Fontaine, too, so it seemed like a sign to come at least visit.”
Kaveh gives him a strange look, he’s still smiling but there was something in his eyes that made Wriothesley’s stomach churn, “You’re right,” he says, “I don’t find that interesting at all.”
They regard each other for a moment in silence. The obnoxiously loud music, the cars aggressively revving up, the people cheering and shouting, it all comes back into focus. There’s a whine from a microphone, the music cuts out, then “Alrighty everyone!” The pair turn to look at the temporary stage and see the man with white hair and red horns standing, mic in hand, and with the biggest shit eating grin Wriothesley had ever seen in his life. “First things first, thank you for coming on by, it’s not a party unless there’s a crowd as I always say! As for who I am? Well, well, well, I am your host for tonight: Arataki, ‘The One and Oni,’ Itto!”
Arataki made some exaggerated movements to emphasize his speech. He was a pretty good hype man, in Wriothesley’s opinion. He glances at Kaveh, still standing beside him, who regards the announcer with an inscrutable expression. Arataki was directing all drivers with a checkered cloth to head to the starting line.
Kaveh makes a thoughtful noise, “That’s your cue, your grace.” He moves to get off the car, reaching to close the hood. Wriothesley lets him but catches the mechanic’s wrist, Kaveh’s eyes blow wide with panic so he immediately lets go, “Sorry about that,” he raises his hands where Kaveh can clearly see them, “Just wanted to ask, will you meet me at the finish line?”
There’s a beat of hesitation, then “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Wriothesley nods, then moves to get into the car. Kaveh watches him, his empty expression making the duke’s stomach churn again. He puts those feelings away to deal with later, he has a drag race to compete in.
When he pulls in, there’s only four other cars thus making him the fifth. He sidles up between Kamisato and Beidou. Wriothesley can feel their curious gazes on him and ignores them. Opting instead to stare at the road in front of him. Truth be told, he’s only had maybe a few days of cumulative racing practice. Cheesecake had set up lessons on the basics of drag racing for Wriothesley with a kid, who insisted on being called Spork, who he recognized as one of the line cooks from the Coupon Cafeteria. He was a half decent teacher, the duke was confident he could keep the damage to a minimum. Mostly.
Off to the side of the road, a painfully bright stoplight shines red. The cars started revving their engines. The light changed yellow. Wriothesley took a deep breath. Green.
Tires screeching, all drivers take off. Kamisato takes the lead. The exhaust from his car spits blue flames at everyone. Wriothesley can hear Beidou shouting curses over the roar of the engines.
Beidou tries to overtake him at the first turn. She sandwiches him between her car and the metal fencing. Wriothesley watches in morbid fascination as Beidou manages to shove Kamisato’s car through a gap and crash into a tree. It leaves a massive dent in her passenger door.
However, in her haste to knock out one of the racers, Beidou has been overtaken by the other three. A red car with gold accents is in the lead. A dark blue car is doing its damndest to overtake the red car.
Wriothesley, despite being third, was watching closely for an opening. Beidou didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about him; she effortlessly overtakes him and rams straight into the dark blue car.
It does enough damage that the trunk lid opens up and awkwardly stays up. The dark blue car violently swerves to avoid being rammed again. A stray piece of debris hits his windshield on the passenger side and severely cracks it. After the maneuver the car seems to lose all steam, slowing down and out of the duke’s sight.
Wriothesley was impressed Beidou’s ride was still going strong even after all those aggressive plays. The game changes again, however, as they come upon far too many steep turns to focus on anything else. Drifting was one of the lessons the duke had felt confident in his grasp of, but the following roads were pushing him past his level of mastery and the broken windshield wasn’t helping. One unexpectedly sharp turn nearly made him flip the car. The sight of the finish line almost has him thanking the Archons.
In the last stretch, the red car tries to pull their own aggressive play against Beidou and hits the brakes. She swerves out of the way, and the duke can hear her swearing again. In contrast to Beidou’s mastery and grace with a car, Wriothesley clumsily and frantically swerves out of the way, earning a nasty scrape against the paint job.
When they cross the finish line, Wriothesley feels like he’s run a marathon across the entire country of Fontaine. He’s sweating everywhere, his hands are cramping from gripping the wheel too hard, and whoever is driving that red car can go fuck themselves.
The three of them pull up into the parking lot, greeted by cheers. The party is still going as Wriothesley steps out of the car and greets the refreshingly cool night air with a sigh. His body itches for another hit of nicotine. He watches in disbelief as the Eleventh Harbinger Tartaglia throws open the door of his red car, fuming and stalking away towards other Fatui.
“Second place, huh?”
This time the duke does flinch, “Fuck me, Kaveh, wear a bell or something.”
Kaveh smiles, it’s warm and cordial again. He steps towards the duke, just within arms’ length. Wriothesley returns the smile. Kaveh looks over his car, now all roughed up.
The duke is about to speak when another voice cuts in, “Hey second place!” A young girl with dark hair styled in buns, Liyuen if the accent was any indication, bounds up to them hoisting a big cooler with her. She sets it down and opens it up to reveal a colorful selection of drinks sitting in ice. “One free drink for the top three winners! Oh, and let me know if you’d like me to heat it up,” she says and taps her pyro vision.
“You’ve got green tea?” She nods, “I’ll take mine hot,” Wriothesley requests.
“I’ll take a coffee, cold is fine,” says Kaveh and is handed a can of cold brew in exchange for a few mora.
As the duke waits for his drink to be prepared, he ventures to ask, “How long have you been doing business at SLR?” He doesn’t miss the slight pause and quick glance at the man beside him. Kaveh pops open the can and takes a sip, either genuinely oblivious or really good at pretending he didn’t hear anything.
“Oh, not long, I just like to tag along with Captain Beidou on her adventures,” she smiles, a bit awkwardly. Wriothesley could hazard a guess that the kid’s not used to lying to protect herself like this. “And it so happened to bring me here,” she finishes. It’s a good enough answer for him.
The kid stiffly hands him his drink, a cardboard sleeve is wrapped round the metal making it safe and comfortably warm to hold. Wriothesley thanks her and pops open the can. The first sip scalds his tongue but he doesn’t care. His body still craves a hit of nicotine but this helps ease a bit of his nausea.
“Well it was a pleasure meeting you, and nice to do business with you again mister Kaveh.” She closes up and hoists up her cooler then makes off into the crowd. A few calls for ‘Xianling’ and the kid responding gives the duke a detail he tucks away for later.
“How about I drive you to my place tonight?” Kaveh asks, interrupting his line of thought.
Wriothesley looks at Kaveh, a brow raised, “That’s very bold of you monsieur.”
He huffs, annoyed, “I offer because Meropide is on the other side of the country and I have a garage twenty minutes from here. Don’t forget we’re all coming back tomorrow.”
What a tempting offer. His whole body aches painfully, and some of his nerves have yet to settle. Wriothesley honestly isn’t sure he can handle more driving tonight. The tea is halfway gone when he makes up his mind. “Alright,” and he hands Kaveh the keys.
*
The drive to Kaveh’s garage is uneventful. So much so that Wriothesley falls asleep during it. Now a morning later, or rather an afternoon later as he checks the time, laying on a couch in an unfamiliar living space. He's still dressed in last night's clothes and can faintly hear a speaker in the next room playing a popular Fontaine pop song.
The living space was remarkably bare, no wall decor, its windows were tinted too dark to let in any natural light, the table and chairs were plastic and collapsible. The gray couch smelled aggressively and a very concerningly of bleach. There was no carpet or rugs covering the concrete floor. What could be called the ‘kitchen’ consisted of a plastic water cooler and a kettle sitting atop it tucked away in the corner. A single exposed bulb lit the room in a clinical white light.
Getting off the couch Wriothesley moves to the water cooler and, after moving the kettle, opens it up. It surprises him to see actual food in the thing, fresh food too like oranges, bananas, and yogurt to eat. He was half expecting to see a collection of instant ramen, but this guy is eating better than most bachelors usually do. He takes a yogurt, and as he digs around the cooler for a utensil the music next door cuts out.
Wriothesley pauses, then moves quietly to the door. He leans his weight against it, ear pressed closely as he tries to make out the conversation. This proves useless as he hears footsteps rapidly approaching. The duke has enough time to take a step back as the door opens to reveal Kaveh.
The blond jerks back in surprise to see the other up and so close to the door. For a second they both stare silently at each other. Wriothesley breaks the silence by holding up his yogurt, “D'you have any spoons?”
Kaveh's eyes narrow in bafflement, “Put that down, there's someone who wants to speak with you.”
“Can it wait until after breakfast?”
“No.” And with that the blond turns around and stalks off. Curiosity overrides sense, the duke sets his yogurt down on the table and makes to follow.
He exits the small room into a garage about three times as big, with at least four cars, including his, sitting inside. The doors are wide open, letting the summer humidity in. Standing irritability before an approaching Kaveh and Wriothesley is Kamisato Ayato and last night's hype man.
The minute Kamisato sees the duke his eyes narrow sharply and he crosses his arms. Oh boy, Wriothesley really wishes this could have waited until after breakfast.
“So,” the Inazuman noble begins, “you were last night's ‘fresh blood’.”
Behind Kamisato, Arataki starts rubbing his forehead looking incredibly exhausted, “Bro, just buy a car and let's go.”
Wriothesley and Kaveh keep a few feet away, the hostility radiating from Kamisato is incredibly oppressive. While it's not his first time standing before a pissed off noble, it is the first time he's been in a position where the situation cannot be dealt with cleanly or at least ignored. Wriothesley still has an investigation he can't afford to compromise.
Kamisato unsubtly looks him up and down. He smiles, an expression dripping with poison, and takes a slow measured step forward. Wriothesley keeps his gaze trained squarely on the noble, his posture relaxed but at attention.
“What a curiosity.” Kamisato's eyes flicker briefly to Kaveh, “Although, this one's still a touch rough around the edges. How long will he last under your care?”
He retracts a step. Arataki audibly sighs. Wriothesley spots a small, irritated twitch of Kamisato's eye.
“He is the first racer you've taken in, at least in a while. In fact, not since-”
“You know what,” Kaveh pipes in, “I'll give you a fifteen percent discount if you can shut up for the whole transaction.”
If looks could kill, the glare Kamisato sent Kaveh would have turned the latter to dust. To Kaveh's credit he doesn't flinch, he just blinks slowly.
Kamisato squares his shoulders, and Wriothesley recognizes the tell as someone about to throw the first punch. Arataki catches it too and steps in front of Kamisato just as the duke steps in front of Kaveh.
“Bro, hey bro,” Arataki firmly holds the noble's shoulder, “Let's just go okay? Let's go cool off our heads and check in later, aight?”
Kamisato's eyes flick between the two of them, huffs, and then stomps out. With his hand aggressively shrugged off, Arataki brings them up together and slightly tilts his head down. He says something too quick in Inazuman for Wriothesley to make out. Kaveh seems to understand and just waves the Arataki off.
The minute the hype man is out of earshot, the duke turns to Kaveh. The mechanic in question looks so much worse under the fluorescent lighting than he did last night. His entire face looked gaunt, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair was dull yet greasy. It dawns on Wriothesley that this whole time he might have been confusing Kaveh's cool aloofness with what was actually a bone deep exhaustion.
“Does he do this every time he loses a race?” Wriothesley begins.
Kaveh shrugs, his eyes haven't left the sight of where the previous pair left, “Don't know, but to be fair, it's the first time I brought a ‘fresh blood’ back to the garage with me.”
“Oh really? What made me your exception? My reputation?”
“Something like that.”
Wriothesley clicks his tongue and traces the scar under his cheek. “You're not worried about retribution?”
The blonde snorts, and makes his way to the Duke's busted up car, “If he does it won't end well for him.” Kaveh pulls out a tool he doesn't know the name or function of and watches him reach in to start tinkering.
He slides up next to the mechanic, arms crossed and leaning against the car, “Is that a promise, or a threat?”
Kaveh says nothing. Wriothesley clicks his tongue.
“If you don't mind me asking, who is the other ‘fresh blood’ you took in?”
“You really like to ask a lot of questions,” Kaveh reaches deep into the engine, his entire arm up to the shoulder disappears into the engine. His eyes are closed in concentration, then a loud pop sounds and he retracts his arm. “Don't worry about it, we don't talk too often anymore.”
Before Wriothesley can process that, Kaveh calls out for ‘Mehrak’ and an ornate box floats into view. It makes a few beeping noises and Kaveh waves it off before pointing to the engine, “Take it out and follow me.”
Wriothesley quickly backs away from the car, the mechanic watching in amusement, and watches the box shine a green light over the engine and it, too, starts to float. Kaveh walks to a different car, this one with a black coat of paint, pops the hood and gestures to the empty space. The box beeps again and the engine neatly slides in place.
The Duke whistles, “So that's what they teach you in the Akademiya, huh.”
Kaveh looks at him with a bittersweet smile. The box beeps and the blond gets to work, elbows deep into the guts of the engine. Wriothesley takes that as his cue to leave. He's pushed his luck quite enough already, best to leave it on a high note, for now.
He retreats back to the office, as the door closes the duke breathes a heavy sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and over his face, feeling exhausted all over again. His eyes land on the table and feels disappointment join the mix. The yogurt is warm now.
*
Duke Wriothesley isn't sure when Kaveh got any rest, to his ears it sounded like he was working all day. When he steps back out into the garage around the late evening Kaveh is still working on the same car.
“Is she almost done?” He asks.
The mechanic shrugs not even turning to look at him, “This is about as good as I can get her,” he backs away wiping grease off his hands with an equally stained rag.
He gestures to the car, “Nothing fancier than the NOS right now, since you're too green to know anything more advanced.” It's said so matter of factly Wriothesley can't find it in him to be offended.
“You got any idea who I'll be up against tonight?” The duke asks.
Kaveh shrugs, dropping his rags in a bucket full of dirty rags, “We don't hold brackets, so it's usually whoever feels up to doing a circuit that night.”
“Whenever someone feels like it? So nobody gets ‘pushed’ onto the track?”
At Wriothesley's question, Kaveh pauses and looks like he's contemplating a very complicated math problem. It's not a long silence, a few beats pass when Kaveh finally turns to him and responds, “Aren't you being pushed yourself?”
It's fortunate that Wriothesley is confrontational by nature. It definitely gives him an edge very few can match and one he's positive Kaveh isn't prepared to handle.
The duke lights a cigarette as he closes the distance between them. He blows a plume of smoke towards the ceiling, and watches the blond back into the car, now cornered. Before taking a second drag, Wriothesley reaches out to snatch Kaveh's wrist. He hisses from the bruising grip and just like last night his eyes grow wide with panic.
Wriothesley leans in close, getting a whiff of sweat and oil, “The only push I'm gettin’ is the one from all the bodies piling up. People are being murdered and they all got a connection to this event. Now I know this street racing thing is your whole life, but right now mine is about finding the guy responsible so I can lock him up and throw away the key. You understand?”
Kaveh's demeanor and expression don't change, not even at the mention of murder. He just holds himself very carefully still and takes deep shaking breaths. Wriothesley decides to press on.
“Do you know them? They were mechanics like you-”
“We don't keep records.” Kaveh snaps
“Yeah, very convenient, huh.” Wriothesley tightens his grip on Kaveh's wrist, enough to hear the stretch of his leather gloves and to watch the blond's breath hitch. “You keep saying ‘we’, who's the other half of this you aren't naming?”
“It's me.”
Wriothesley fully flinches. The voice comes from behind, and he snaps around just in time to get a face full of someone's fist. It hurts like a bitch and he drops like one too. He falls to his knees, clutching his broken bloody nose. There are dark spots in his vision.
“So, is this your new pet project?” Wriothesley hears the newcomer begin, “You've gotten more ambitious.”
Kaveh scoffs, “Don't start with me.”
The duke chances a glance up, and mildly regrets it when the garage fluorescents assault him. He does, however, see the newcomer. With hair and eyes as red as pyro flame, there stands his aggressor. The redhead doesn't even glance at Wriothesley, keeping his cold stare at Kaveh.
Kaveh grabs the duke by his forearm and, with a strength he didn't know the mechanic had, hauls him up to drag him over to a couch near the back of the garage. It's a kind gesture but the movement gives Wriothesley motion sickness.
He plops onto the couch, it's lumpy and smells faintly of bleach. The fluorescents are starting to give Wriothesley a headache, not helped by the bleach and blood smell. He thinks he's pretty close to vomiting, actually.
Kaveh was proving to be quite a saint, he darted off to get some things to deal with his nose and wordlessly began treating him. The mechanic had none of Sigewinne's charming bedside manner, or her gentle handling. Once the blood is cleaned off and his nose is snapped back into place, Kaveh retreats to the far side opposite of either the duke and the newcomer.
“Now what?” Kaveh snaps at the red head.
“He's here for a murderer. You sure you don't know anyone who fits the bill?” The guy's got a Mondstadt accent, and something else that feels familiar to the duke.
“No.”
There's a long pause. Wriothesley picks up the bloodied tissue and blows his nose into it. The room was starting to spin a bit.
“You can't think of a single person? We have a ton of fatui no one would miss-”
“Absolutely not,” Kaveh stands, staring down the red head, “get out of my garage.”
The other shakes his head, “I'm not leaving you with him.”
Wriothesley coughs, not to draw attention, there was something tickling his throat, but both men turn to look at him. Without missing a beat he raises his hands in surrender, “I don't think you need to worry so much monsieur, your left hook got me good.”
The pair exchange a look, then the red head sighs and makes to leave.
“I better not see either of you at the track tonight,” he calls back.
A motorcycle revs up and then zooms off, leaving Kaveh and Wriothesley alone again. The duke regards his reluctant companion, “You told me you had no affiliations.”
“I don't. He's the guy I told you I don't talk to anymore.” The bone deep exhaustion returns, Kaveh's voice comes out much more gravely than usual. He sits back on the couch, a few bones popping as he does.
“Can I at least get a name? Since he broke my nose?” Wriothesley asks.
Kaveh stiles a yawn behind a fist, then says “Diluc, master of house Ragnvindr.”
Wriothesley's eyes go wide, “The wine baron?” It did explain why the guy seemed a bit familiar. Wriothesley was more of a rum and coke guy but he was no stranger to wine tasting, it was practically the national drink in Fontaine.
Kaveh nods.
“Huh, alright then.” He'd keep pressing but pulling any truths out right now would be like pulling teeth. Honestly, they should both just call it a night and go pass out somewhere.
Wordlessly, Kaveh rises, pulling Wriothesley up with him and leads him to another door. Behind it is an inflatable mattress sitting directly on the floor. Nothing else is said as they both collapse on the bed. Wriothesley doesn't even remember closing his eyes.
*
Morning comes, except it's actually the afternoon. Wriothesley wakes feeling some type of hungover and his face is throbbing painfully. He can hear work being done in the garage and blindly feeling around the bed confirms that Kaveh woke up before him.
He gets up, feeling gross and itching for a shower. The room has nothing but the inflatable mattress in it so Wriothesley exits the room into the main garage.
Kaveh is shoulder deep inside a different car's engine, eyes closed and brows knotted in concentration. Wriothesley walks, letting his steps make noise and announce his presence. “You got a shower here?” He asks.
The mechanic opens his eyes, landing squarely on Wriothesley. He extracts his arm, the glove is off and the skin around the wrist is an ugly purple. The duke averts his eyes, there's no point in apologizing, he's pretty sure it'd just piss Kaveh off.
Said man is wiping grease and oil off his hands with a rag, his expression thoughtful. “You have to go outside, behind the building. It's a pop up shower.”
Kaveh points him to where the towels and extra clothes are; in half an hour Wriothesley is feeling refreshed and ready to face the day. Kaveh on the other hand, stills looks dead on his feet. The duke wonders if he got any sleep.
With a full day ahead of them, Wriothesley takes the opportunity to familiarize himself with the new engine Kaveh installed. The minute he hits the road the duke is amazed, it drives as smooth as butter, and responds to shift changes without a single stutter. Drifting was almost effortless.
The duke pulls up in the garage, almost drunk off his giddiness, just before the sun has fully disappeared behind the horizon. Kaveh, lounging on the sofa with a mug of something, meets his gaze with the most arrogant smirk he'd ever seen.
“She's that good,” he calls out, as Wriothesley steps out.
“Drives like a dream,” he responds.
“It's my specialty,” Kaveh doesn't make any effort to appear humble, but having just experienced his work first hand, the duke can't fault him.
“How long has this been a specialty?”
The mechanic shrugs, “I only really hit my stride in the past two years, I'd say.”
“Does your specialty include being able to make one of these overnight?” Wriothesley asks, as he plops onto the couch, lighting up a cigarette.
“Oh no, hell no, you got lucky I had an engine in reserve. Just needed a night's worth of tweaking to get it to fit your car's frame,” he takes a sip out of his mug, “I custom build engines from scratch, usually, and it can take me anywhere from a month to a year to finish them.”
“Why the big time gaps?”
“It all depends on what I'm being paid to build and what materials I'm working with.” There's a fire of passion in Kaveh's eyes, he's leaned forward in his seat, mug forgotten on a side table as he uses both hands to gesture with. “Some people are looking for something fully custom, usually that's because they have a fully built from scratch ride, and so they have unique specifications that manufacturers can't meet. Or in the case of SLR, these drivers are looking for specific, not-very-street-legal modifications and, well, I'm currently the best in the business at that.
“Not to mention, because these are specialty items I have to custom build a lot of the parts. If I can order them, I usually do, but most of the time I have to create them myself. Obviously that adds to the time it takes to finish the build.”
“It all sounds very, uh, complicated,” Wriothesley says, taking a drag of his cig. Kaveh explains it well, but the duke has no frame of reference for how impressive this is supposed to be. He'll just have to take Kaveh at his word.
To his credit, Kaveh only chuckles, taking his mug off the side table and sipping at it. “Don't worry your pretty head over it, you felt the difference in quality of my work over the whatever cute chop shop you had been to before. Even you can tell I'm good.”
Wriothesley smiles and shakes his head, taking another puff of his cig. Honestly it's rare to meet someone who wears arrogance this well. The duke hums, tracing the scar on his cheek, “Aren't you worried?”
“No,” Kaveh says simply, and Wriothesley fails to keep his eyes off the handprint shaped bruise. The mechanic huffs softly, then gestures to his own nose, “I've told you before, if anyone tries anything on me it won't end well.”
Something doesn't add up. Kaveh approached him with the intention of keeping the peace of the event, but right now he's casually backing up a threat. He insists he holds no affiliations, but he holds a surprising amount of authority, enough to sway big names like Kamisato and Ragnvindr. Hell, he just finished bragging about being a hot shot mechanic.
“Hey,” Kaveh's voice calls him to focus, soft and lilting, “Don't worry about it.”
“People are dead. I want to see justice delivered for them.”
The mechanic sighs, heavy and tired, “You two are way too alike,” he whispers something in sumeran, a curse Wriothesley thinks, “Things like this happen, they always bring it upon themselves. I'm sure you know this story better than I.”
Wriothesley drops his smile, “And don't you know, once a dog's got something in its jaws, it won't let go.”
There's silence, for a beat, then a motorcycle pulls up. The familiar mop of red hair reveals itself from under the helmet. Diluc Ragnvindr has returned. Kaveh rises from his couch, he stands tense, but alert. Wriothesley stays seated.
Diluc looks Kaveh up and down, then spares a glance at Wriothesley before returning to Kaveh.
“You're in one piece,” he says.
“Told you I was harmless, your grace,” Wriothesley can't help but call out. He smirks at Diluc's minute glare.
“Alright, you two are heading to the races tonight.” Diluc commands, with no room for argument. The red head then turns to the Wriothesley's car, then turns to meet his gaze, “I'll drive you both there tonight.”
Wriothesley's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “You're spoiling us, your grace.”
He drops his cig to the floor and snuffs it out, Diluc holds himself stiffly with barely concealed irritation. The red head returns his gaze to Kaveh, “Why did you tell him who I am?”
Kaveh shrugs, “You are as subtle as a wildfire. He would have figured it out, my help be damned.”
The tension between their trio follows them into the car. Wriothesley sits in the backseat, watching the pair sitting up front. Diluc drives, he's a good driver, which has him biting his cheek to keep from laughing. It's silent the whole drive, even the radio stays off. They make it to the car meet, early enough to see everything is still getting set up.
“The kids from Natlan made it?” Kaveh asks.
“Yeah, the DJ, uh, Xilo? Xilo-something finally made it.”
“Just her?”
“Just her, so far.”
Diluc rolls his window down, sticking his arm out. He makes a hand sign at one of the invitation checkers, who reciprocates with a thumbs up. They then pull up to a parking spot; the minute the engine is off everyone is out of the car.
A woman, blonde with cat ears, calls out to Diluc. The red head turns to Kaveh, nods at him, then starts making his way over to the woman. Wriothesley turns to look at Kaveh and the mechanic yawns.
Cars continue to pull up, the last rays of sunlight disappear. Wriothesley and Kaveh lean against the hood of his car, it's a chilly night, enough so that Wriothesley is properly wearing his coat. Kaveh, however, is wearing the same sleeveless overalls that he's had on for the past three days now, one that reeks of motor oil. He isn't shivering, but out of a sense of pettiness the duke wonders if he could get away with offering his jacket anyway. He decides instead to smoke another cigarette.
By the start of his second cigarette, the DJ booth is done setting up and begins to blast out tunes. Danceable beats with raunchy lyrics now sets the mood, but Wriothesley feels something heavy settle in his gut. Kaveh still looks tired, somehow still looks like he hasn't slept in days.
The parking lot is filled with many of the same faces he saw from a day ago. Some of those faces either smile or scowl when they spot him. Kamisato gives him a glare intense enough to kill a lesser man, and gets manhandled away by an exasperated Arataki. The oni doesn't seem to be working tonight, Wriothesley wonders who'll be the hype man. Nobody in the crowd especially stands out, though.
“Are you looking for someone?” Kaveh's voice breaks his train of thought.
“Looking out for the competition,” he lies.
“Right. The ‘competition’.”
Wriothesley looks at Kaveh. The mechanic stares straight ahead, at the crowd. The duke thinks he might be watching for Diluc, but he isn't sure. “Job's not done, yet, yeah.” Is all Wriothesley responds with.
Kaveh shakes his head with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Wriothesley takes a deep drag of a cigarette, then exhales too quickly to enjoy the nicotine, “I can't figure you out at all.”
“I'm not a puzzle to solve, your grace.”
“I mean that I can't figure out what you want from me.”
The mechanic finally looks at him. His gaze is piercing, analytical. Wriothesley could almost call it cold.
“Do I have to want something from you?” Kaveh asks.
Wriothesley shrugs, “You know what I want. Seems like a fair trade, y'know? I mean, what did you want from Ragnvindr? What made him special enough to catch your attention?”
Kaveh huffs a laugh, “There wasn't anything ‘special’, I just,” he aimlessly waves his hand around, “I just had a lot of fun when we raced, I suppose.”
Wriothesley tilts his head, “You ‘suppose’?”
“It was a different time, when it was just the two of us.” Kaveh gets a faraway look in his eyes. Before Wriothesley can press, Kaveh shakes his head again and chuckles, “Look, don't worry about it, especially not me.”
“You make it very hard, monsieur, I'll admit,” For every question answered, a dozen new questions emerge. At this point his investigation will be solved in the next few years. That, however, is unacceptable.
Kaveh gives him a soft smile, “I'm afraid I cannot help you there, your grace.”
There's a beat of silence, then the people in the crowd start cheering. Wriothesley turns to see the new hype man take center stage. The woman from earlier, the blonde with cat ears, gestures to everyone to quiet down.
“Hello, hello, and welcome to the third night of SLR!” She smiles wide as she waits again for the cheering to quiet down. “I am your host for tonight, DJ Xilonen, and I'm most honored to be here.” She is much more subdued than Arataki, but no less just as bubbly with excitement. Xilonen then starts directing all the participating drivers to the starting line.
Wriothesley looks back at Kaveh, with a sense of dejavu he asks, “Will I see you at the finish line?”
Kaveh isn't smiling anymore, but he nods. It's enough for Wriothesley.
It takes him a minute to get to the starting line, it feels like everything and everyone is determined to get in his way, but he does get there. It cheers him up a smidge to see other drivers having trouble too. There are six participants, including him, this time. Wriothesley recognizes Kamisato but all the other cars’ have window tints too dark to make out their drivers.
Wriothesley looks for the stoplight, but ends up gawking at the sight of Kaveh walking across the road. The mechanic stops halfway through the street, unphased by all the cars aggressively revving their engines. He holds a hand out over his head, and begins making hand signs that Wriothesley can't decipher. When he's finished, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a flare gun.
The sight of the gun has Wriothesley snapping back into focus. He readjusts his grip on the wheel, breathes slowly, and taps the gas pedal with his foot. He watches intently as Kaveh raises the gun over his head. It fires, and every car shoots forward.
Wriothesley finds himself in the middle of all the cars. Kamisato is behind him and the knowledge is doing unkind things to his anxiety. Two cars ahead to his left are duking it out and Wriothesley makes sure to steer out of the way. These cars are more aggressive, debris flies everywhere and the duke hopes none of it hits his windshield or pops a tire.
The two cars straight ahead of all of them, one green and the other orange, are driving calmly, so far only keeping pace with each other. The orange one flashes its lights and the green car responds in kind.
The orange car hits the brakes and nearly clips Wriothesley, while the green car does a 180° turn and successfully rams into the front of his car. His windshield cracks. The orange one rams his car from behind, and the duke frantically looks back and forth as he realizes he's been pinned.
Wriothesley looks forward, his hand grips the shift gear with a white knuckled fear he hasn't felt in a very long while. If he survives this, he might consider becoming a praying type of man.
There's a loud smash of metal behind him and the car pushing his front swerves violently off his car. Both cars swerve aggressively, but Wriothesley barely manages to right himself while the green car gets blindsided by one of the two cars who were fighting earlier. Wriothesley can't see the orange car, but there's a lot of ugly damage on Kamisato's ride.
There are only three cars left, no one tries anything for the remainder of the drive.
Wriothesley comes in third. He parks, steps out and comes face to face with an irritated Diluc. The second thing he notices: there's suddenly a lot more fatui around right now than there was before the race happened. Diluc eyes them all with open disgust.
The red head then sets his sights on someone, approaching off to the right, and even Wriothesley feels stunned at the sight. Il Dottore emerges, Wriothesley tenses at the murderous air coming from Diluc.
There's a standstill. The music becomes a barely audible hum between the pair of dukes and the lord fatus. It feels like an eternity, then a shout breaks through. Il Dottore turns his gaze away, and Wriothesley instinctively grabs Diluc.
A car revs up on their other side, it's the mystery third racer. The window is down and reveals a beautiful woman, she shouts at Wriothesley, “Get in!” He doesn't miss a beat and manhandles Diluc into the backseat with him. Diluc looks ready to bite his head off and Wriothesley can't help but laugh at the sight.
Their driver pulls out and cruises through the crowd. It takes Wriothesley a second to put a name to her face, “Mademoiselle Yelan, I presume? It's an honor to formally make your acquaintance.”
Her lips quirk up into a smile. “A charmer I see. No wonder Kaveh took a liking to you.”
“Ah, speaking of, mademoiselle, did you happen to see him?”
“Yes, actually, he asked me to give you two a ride-”
“He set this up?” Diluc snaps out.
Yelan's expression doesn't change, but she does glance back at the pair in the rear view mirror. “I was hoping you could tell me a little of what has been going on.”
Diluc says nothing. Wriothesley keeps his gaze locked on the man, then asks, “So, mademoiselle, where are taking us?”
“Well I was thinking-”
“To my place,” Diluc interrupts, “I'll answer your questions there.”
Yelan huffs softly, but otherwise says nothing. It's a long, if quiet, ride.
*
It's a motel. A more run down kind. Wriothesley isn't so much confused as he is curious. Kaveh chose a garage, a reasonable enough of a temporary domicile that also accounts for all the cars, and here Diluc chose a single room in a motel.
The three of them make a hell of crowd, gathered in Diluc's living area. Yelan sits cross legged on the bed and Wriothesley takes a seat on one of the dining chairs. Diluc pulls the other dining chair out and drags it to a different corner of the room, opposite of the other two.
“Right,” Diluc starts, “Dame Yelan, your questions first.”
She nods, “What were you intending to do when you saw the second harbinger?”
Diluc answers immediately, “Kill him.”
Wriothesley doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. Diluc then gestures for Wriothesley to ask a question.
He clicks his tongue, then looks to Yelan, “At the start of the race Kaveh made a bunch of hand gestures, what did they mean?”
“A gentle reminder to play nice, that's all,” she says so simply. Wriothesley doesn't want to believe her.
The chair under Diluc creaks as he adjusts his position. He stares off into the middle distance for a moment before refocusing on Yelan, “What exactly did Kaveh say to you?”
“He just asked that I give you two a quick lift, that's all.” Yelan pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, then shoots back, “Why is Kaveh suddenly so interested in the Duke of Meropide?”
“A question better posed to Kaveh, I'm afraid.”
“You're certain? I'm starting to think his business with the Fatui is bleeding into every aspect of this organization-”
“SLR has no affiliations, especially not with the Fatui,” Diluc snaps, almost snarling, at Yelan. “And Kaveh does not do business with them.”
Yelan frowns, not bothering to hide her displeasure. She almost looks disappointed. “You're the only one who believes that, your grace.”
“I wouldn't suppose this business has anything to do with the murderer I'm trying to catch?” Wriothesley interjects.
The wine baron sighed and ran a hand down his face. Wriothesley was suddenly struck by how similarly exhausted Diluc and Kaveh looked. “Kaveh doesn't have the stomach for murder,” Diluc says.
“Are you certain?” Yelan asks.
“For as long as I've known him. He doesn’t have it in him.”
“Funny, I distinctly remember him telling me you two don't talk much anymore.”
Diluc glares at him, Wriothesley smiles in response.
“What are you two getting at?” Diluc snaps.
“It doesn't take a lot of time for people to change,” Wriothesley starts, if the Fatui are involved a lot of pieces start falling into place. Through Kaveh suspicion of their involvement is kept to minimum, and the lack of obvious affiliation makes it easier to trust him. A trust that blinds you enough to not notice the blade until it's already pierced through you.
Still, Wriothesley gets it. He gets Diluc's defensiveness. There's just something that makes you wish, that someone who wore his kindness and compassion so openly on his sleeve, wasn't capable of something as heinous as murder for profit. It leaves his heart feeling bruised.
But bruised or stabbed, or what have you, justice will be delivered.
The implications of Wriothesley’s accusation hang thick in the air. Yelan has dropped her enigmatic smile, and traded it for a pensive frown. Diluc looks ready to bite Wriothesley’s head off again.
“I, for one, am very curious as to what our friend Kaveh could possibly be talking about with the Second Harbinger right about now,” Yelan muses, “They've gotten much closer in the past year, as you two have drifted apart.”
“He's not even here to defend himself,” Diluc says.
“It's a conversation that can't happen with him around,” Wriothesley says, “Forget defending himself, all he'd be doing is shutting the conversation down.”
Diluc turns and snaps at Yelan, “Why are you helping him?”
She holds his gaze even as she responds, “Because I like this hobby and would be so disappointed if it all fell apart.”
It's surprising to see that answer satisfies Diluc. His glare softens, but his expression remains severe.
Wriothesley, itching for a smoke, finally gives in to his craving. Yelan pulls out her own tobacco and he shares his light. Diluc shook his head when Wriothesley offered.
It stays quiet for a bit. Yelan and Wriothesley enjoy their respective cigarettes.
Diluc breaks the silence with a sigh, “I'll go talk with Kaveh.” The redhead gets up and heads out the door. Yelan and Wriothesley don't follow.
*
Yelan kindly drops Wriothesley off at Kaveh's place around two hours after Diluc stormed off. There wasn't much conversation between them, there was too much to think about honestly.
Diluc wasn't there, and surprisingly neither was Kaveh. The garage was empty.
Wriothesley meanders about, curious at first to find any kind of paper trail. He finds a roll of blank receipt paper and next to that a pack of sticky notes. He runs some graphite over it and bingo: a phone number.
He inputs the number into a search engine and finds another mechanic shop. Interesting. It's still too early in the morning to call and expect anyone to pick up. Wriothesley makes a mental note and crumples the sticky note, burying it in a trashcan.
He tries to sleep, and he maybe gets at least two hours in before giving up. Wriothesley considers calling Sigewinne when he hears the garage door open. He steps out of the room and stops, whatever quip he was thinking of dies on his tongue. His heart sinks and his stomach twists, painfully. It isn't Kaveh, it's Dottore.