Thief in Blue
Romani Vento sits behind his luxurious rich mahogany desk, tapping his fingers on it impatiently. His takes out his pocket watch and reads the time. Three to midnight, it reads.
When is the last time he had waited for someone? No one makes Don Rom wait, not on his turf. He controls Block Eighteen of Barohaven, and everyone here, from beggars, smugglers, merchants, to enforcers, operate under his mercy. Ever since he took over the family from his father’s hands, his name has been held in the utmost respect. Punctuality is one of the most fundamental respects he deserves.
Rom has held himself to this standard as much as he could, to those who deserves his time and respect, such as his children, old friends, or representatives from other families and syndicates. At time he will make others wait outside of his door, sometimes for hours at once - a technique to assert his authority over them, for a upper-hand in negotiations. But the poor souls have no choice in this matter - they usually know quite well what awaits them if there’s the slightest amount of dissent and impatience, and the few of those who don’t are made quick examples for future visitors.
He expects no less from his unexpected visitor tonight.
And it is now three - he takes out the watch again - no, two minutes from their announced time of arrival. Yet, no news has reach him about his guest’s whereabouts quite yet. This makes him anxious.
Letting out a long sigh, Rom takes out a cigar from the desk drawers. With a simple wave of the hand, he calls forward his assistant by the side, who quickly lights up the cigar for him. The hands of the old mafia, shiveled by age and time, trembles a bit, before sending the lit cigar into his mouth.
“Maybe she’s on her way right now! It’s not quite midnight yet, is it?” The assistant suggests. It is perhaps out of a good heart that she is trying to comfort him, but Rom would have scolded her for the frivolous tone and lack of respect in her words. Alas, he’ll let it slip this one time. His mind is not on such trivial formalities.
The Don takes a deep puff of his cigar, and slowly exhales the smoke out. Fragrance made from the best leaves from plantations in the Divine Empire supplying the imperial family, mixed with strokes of flavor of Olivian spices from Okeanos, this is the one indulgence he can find some serenity in even in such stressful times.
But… He still finds the situation absurd, no matter how much tobacco is in effect to soothe his mind. Rom looks down towards the letter open on his desk, written in clean and elegant cursive in blue ink, addressed to him, and frowns. One question resonates within his wizened mind.
What kind of thief in their right mind would send a letter to the Don Rom, announcing their visit to steal his treasure?
The letter is signed by Thief in Blue. Rom has heard of the title in passing before - They have stolen from many other families in Barohaven or Peran at large before, friends and rivals alike. Trustworthy information, aside from tall tales and myths among the destitute, are scarse, however, as even his old friends are reluctant to discuss the encounter at length.
There is little doubt in his mind that this Thief in Blue is quite able. Taking on the many families amongst the streets of Barohaven is no small feat. Nonetheless, the Don is still somewhat confident to play defense: This hideout is his playground, and those who come to him will have to play the game on his terms. As long as he can hold onto the Thief’s mark with a steady hand…
But why would they want to take this no-good macuahuitl…? Rom looks toward the display case under the only spotlight, where the obsidian tribal blade sits quietly and unassumingly within. His goons taxed it out of a passing tribesman hailing from the jungles of Yharn, seeing that it’s the only thing of remotely any value on him. He had associated mages and smiths check on it after receiving the letter - there is neither traces of magic, nor excellent craftsmenship to support any significant value; He only put it on display for this special occasion, or else it would be left forgotten in one of the many storerooms within the estate.
He picks up the letter, adjusts his monocle, and quickly skims through the letter once more. Perhaps there’s more to their motives? Perhaps the letter is just a hoax, either to make him afraid, or to distract him from some other treasure that they want? No, they wouldn’t eat their word… Perhaps-
His thoughts are interrupted. The clock strikes twelve - two minutes pass by fast when one’s deep in thought. It is the scheduled time, yet the guest is nowhere to be found still. Why hasn’t they arrived?
“Come, kid.” The old Don rises, either in frustration or anticipation, and extends a hand towards the assistant to take over his fedora. “If our guest refuses to see us, we shall go forth meet them.”
“Yes, of course!” His assistant chuckles.
To which he frowns. “Eloisa, you should cull your-“
Something is not right. Rom picks up his fedora again to take a look - it is not his black velvet hat. Instead, he’s holding a pointed cap painted in blue.
“What’s wrong, dear? Cat’s got your tongue?” The lady behind him giggles some more, and circles into his view. Rom slowly raises up his head, and is greeted by the distant yet familiar smiles of a gnome woman. He blinks a few time in disbelief: When did she- How did she- Where is Eloisa, then- Or is she Eloisa to begin with?
“Oh, don’t be so shy! We’re no strangers to each other, right?” She pulls out the armchair across the desk, meant for the most esteemed guests with the honor to sit with the Don, and hops on it casually, sitting on top of its back as opposed to in it, bringing her up to his height. “Just call me Blue. I don’t mind.”
A brief moment of fear sweeps across his mind. “Come! Get this crazy woman out of here!” Rom raises his voice, shouting towards the door. A long, dreadful silence follows.
“Bah, don’t worry about your henchmen barging into your meeting.” Blue chuckles lightly, with a hand covering her mouth. “Their shift ends at midnight, aint it? Darling, you should know this better than I do!”
“But the next shift - they will be here any minute-“
“Shhhh…” She leans in, “You forgot, didn’t you? Hehe, you always do, old man. You’re having a special meeting tonight with the most esteemed guest, and you don’t wany anyone disturbing you, right?”
…Did he? Rom pauses and thinks back to his orders earlier. Vague fragments of recollection and memory slowly slip back into his memory - Yes, maybe he did, that will explain it… But why?
The old Don shakes off the dizziness forcefully. He doesn’t know what is wrong with him… But he will not be made a fool so easily. From under his coat Rom pulls out a gilded handgun - an action he has much practice in - and points it towards the unexpected guest.
His sight wanders between his firearm… and Blue. Something within him stirs - some repressed memory, screaming, churning, begging him to put the gun down. “Stay back! D-Don’t make me do this.” His voice trembles and cracks, even to his surprise.
“Woah, woah… Calm down, don’t be scared…” The gnome stands up, and reaches a hand forward.
Rom bites his teeth. He closes his eyes, aims the gun towards the ground next to her, and pulls the trigger. The booming sound echoes within his study, as Blue jumps back a step, with hands raised up towards the old Don. “Hey! That’s quite rude.”
“The next shot won’t be a warning shot.” Rom grips the handgun harder, and aims it back towards her. Yes, he can still put a bullet through her any moment… but his fingers feel heavier and heavier.
“Ah, dear… Look how scared you’ve become.” Blue sighs, yet there’s still a smile on her face. “I mean you no harm! I mean, if I’d wanted to kill you, I would’ve done so long ago!”
What… is she… The old Don’s focus disperses. No, she’s got a point. If she has any ill intentions, why are they still having this friendly conversation?
He looks between his trembling hands, and the gnome slowly reaching towards him with open hands. His frail shoulders feels a gentle pat, the touch of another kindred spirit, once more after so many years. Old sentiments overwhelm him like waves, and finally he collapses back into his chair, eyes clouded with thoughts.
“What is this…?” He mumbles. Rom looks into himself: A kaleidoscopic storm of emotions swirls within his mind - grief, fear, nostalgia, regret, confusion - yet he can’t make any rationality out of this sense of dissonance.
There is a long silence, broken only occasionally by the upbeat whistling of Blue. She dances around the study, looking curiously at the books and statuettes displayed on shelves and in cabinets, giving the old Don plenty of time. She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.
“Quite the collection you’ve got here!” She picks out a few books from the middle shelf - having to do a small hop to grab them - and gasps. “Oh, oh! The first edition of Biblio Mageirikis tou Okeanos! This one has all the original recipes, before the immediate revisions - I can’t believe you have a copy!”
The compliment comforts him a bit. He does take pride in his cooking, and - No, that’s not the point. Rom gathers pieces of his sanity to pull himself together, and asks: “You- You sent the letter, right? What do you want from me then, just th-this worthless sword?”
“Ah, right!” Blue snaps back from her book-binging, and looks toward the display case. “I do need to take this back.” She takes out a bundle of keys from her pocket, picks out one of them, and with ease unlocks the case.
“The macuahuitl may be worthless to you, but the tribespeople you took it from values it dearly.” Blue slowly tells, taking a piece of silk from her pouch, and carefully wraps it up. “It is what ties them back to their family and ancestors after all. I think you’d understand, being a family man and all.”
“But… What’s in it for you? Just out of the kindness of your heart?” Rom looks up from his slumped posture, and asks in disbelief. More fragments of memory floats up from the depth: He was once caring and passionate as well, to all those around him - since when did these virtues fade away?
“Well,” The gnome dances laughs heartily, “in part, yes. Those tribals also pay well too - they don’t value gems and artifacts as much as we do! They have their keepsake back, I get some money to spend, and you get to be a good person again - we all win in the end, isn’t that awesome?”
Was he ever a good person to begin with? Rom doesn’t know - exhaustion takes hold over his wisdom. Perhaps, perhaps not; It doesn’t matter anymore.
His hand feels cold steel suddenly - the hand of the old Don, lifelessly dangled to his side, still grips the handgun tightly. Sense and sentiment sieges over each other within him.
He watches silently, as Blue, humming her happy tunes, stores the wrapped macuahuitl within her sack. She quickly turns around and plucks up the recipe book from the pile of literature she has raided before, tucking it into the sack as well.
She turns around, and dances a little swirl. “Well, before I take my leave, any more questions, my dear?”
“You… walked into my world… humiliated- preached to my virtues… and took me, Romani Vento, for a fool… a good man?” With what remains of his reason and determination, Rom aligns his sight and his aim towards the intruder - or is it an old friend? - and mumbles, “Is there a reason I shouldn’t just bla- blast you into the nether at this moment?”
Time as if slows down around the old Don. Blue, however, smiles joyously as ever. She reaches into the sack, and shuffles around, before pulling out something. A small wooden doll, rough craftsmanship all around, with a pointed cap made of tattered fabric in blue.
Rom freezes in place. His visions focus onto the doll. Where has he seen it before?
“You can, of course. I won’t stop you from doing so.” The Thief looks down toward her doll as well, playing around with it mindlessly. “If this is who you want to be, no amount of persuasion can give you an redemption you do not want to receive.”
“But, is this who you want to be?” She shifts her attention back to Rom, eyes sharp like a kind mother looking at her lost lamb. “Is this who those who cared about you want you to be?”
Ah… How familiar. Slowly, and slowly, his arms lower, dropping down to his side once more. “I don’t want to see you again.” He murmurs.
Blue laughs. “Of course, my dear. Let’s hope that’s the case.”
She hops towards the door, pushes it wide open, and dances out. The gnome stops her steps one last time, and looks back towards the slumped old man with a big smile. “I knew I could talk some senses into you. See? You’re not a bad guy after all.”
The doors slowly close shut, as the merry footsteps fade into the distance. All is quiet as night.
Rom silently stands up. The dignity and sanctity of the old Don is nowhere to be found. He opens the cabinet in the corner, turns the knob on his safe a few cycles, and takes out a ragged and worn-out teddy bear.
Putting the bear besides the wooden doll, tossed haphazardly onto his table, Rom sits back into his armchair, lost in his own thoughts. The red scarf and the blue cap fly quite distinct colors, but as tears blur his vision, the old man can no longer tell.
Oct 11th, 2023. West Lafayette, Indiana.