Steal My Heart (And A Priceless Historical Artifact)

     "The 800th issue of the Neopian Times is coming."

     He says it so solidly with such hurried importance that even Jax immediately rewards him with his full attention. Not to say that his oldest brother is a snob, although one could easily argue that point and he wouldn’t be able to say anything against it. More though, he seldom found reason to focus solely on something without urging.

     Ray, of course, is quick to pay attention to anything and everything the second it makes itself known but Yazre appreciates his consideration none the less.

     As the baby, he’s become quite accustom to being ignored.

     The kitchen is dimly lit as always, Ray’s ghostly glow adding to the atmosphere. Some might call it unfriendly or discomforting but he’s always felt it very homey. The old and rickety round table centered in the small room always illicit memories of stories about the huts of witches. It’s a place of gathering and creation; free space is dead space after all.

     Both of them stare at him from where they’re sat around the table, or hovering in Ray’s case. No other words are exchanged and Yazre pins them with an expectant stare.

     They break eye contact to look at each other before the attention is brought back to him.

     "Okay, and?" Ray asks finally, like he’s humoring Yaz more than anything.

     "Don’t you know what that means?" He asks incredulously, unaware and yet unsurprised that his brother could be this dim.

     "That Mom will be cutting down the entire Haunted Woods for paper and shrieking late into the night in true Haunted Woods fashion?" Jax guesses, amusement coloring his tone. Yazre is definitely being humored and he scoffs in disgust.

     Ray looks wildly between them, wings fluttering despite their no longer having actual functional use to the ghost. It’s a habit from before Ray came to the Woods, he thinks. It’s charming, if not a little odd if you’re not use to it.

     "They wouldn’t really, would they?" he asks, as if he didn’t have many more years than Yazre with their person. Though, to be fair, Yaz has to admit that he’s not so sure it isn’t something they wouldn’t do.

     The thought worries him but he brushes it aside. He’s not the one to get caught up in hypotheticals.

     "No," Jax assures, ears flicking in a way that confirms Yazre’s suspicion that he finds the whole thing amusing. "That’s very illegal so I’m sure they would not. The shrieking though, that’s most certainly going to happen. So festive." He sighs, whimsically as if the thought isn’t horrifying or incredibly annoying.

     There’s enough noises echoing in the Woods without their person contributing their own.

     "Alright, so what does it mean then?" Ray asks, tail swinging lazily from side to side. Yaz grins at the motion; he’s interested the older pet and Ray’s curiosity has always been his downfall so he’s as good as game.

     It’s Jax who’s the real challenge.

     Ray assures him that back in the day, the two of them got into antics that make Yaz’s own plans seem like child’s play. Growing up, he’d admired his level headed brother who, despite being ridiculously dignified, wasn’t too cool to play around with him. The both of them really but whereas Ray still found time to coerce him into trouble, Jax begged off more often than not.

     With time, their older brother is becoming less and less susceptible to falling into their ‘games’. Ray takes most shows of the passage of time poorly but this he knows upsets his brother most. It’s a special sort of occasion when they all come together again for something like this.

     "There’s a festival going on in Neovia tomorrow," he answers, sure to keep it vague.

     Suspense is what draws Jax’s interest. His brother has always been awfully dramatic in that way. Very easy to engage when you learned how to play into it.

     There’s a put-upon sigh, too sincere to be Jax.

     "First you rave about some newspaper and now you want to go to some Ye Olde Creepy Festival?" Ray asks, attempting to shoot Jax a look that reads something like ‘Can you believe this kid right now?’

     Jax’s attention however, remains on Yaz. Just the tip of his tail twitches subtly beside him where it peaks over the edge of the table. A nibble and it’s Yaz’s job to hook him. Almost a game within itself.

     "Yes, a festival celebrating the history of innovation. We were already planning to go, right?" Jax answers, ignoring their ghostly brother.

     Yaz smiles sweetly at Ray in childish glee at having one up him gaining the attention of their older brother. There’s no love lost and Ray responds without hesitation by sticking his tongue out, equally as childish despite being beyond his youth.

     "How much innovation can a town that lives in the past have?" Ray dismisses, floating over to point his tail accusingly in Yazre’s face. He shoves it away with a hoof, shivering at the cool sensation that he never quite gets use to.

     It’s best not to indulge Ray, although that does nothing to reduce his insistent need to invade others’ personal space.

     "There’s an elegance to simplicity. Especially when that simplicity paved the way for drastic advancement," Jax offers, sympathetic to their brother’s confusion. Or maybe he just likes to hear himself speak. This Yazre knows to be true as well.

     Ray huffs and floats higher above them with over-emphasized flaps of his wings, stopping just short of his ears brushing the high ceiling. He flops onto his back with a drama rivaling one of Jax’s occasional tantrums, suspended as his tail hangs dejectedly below him.

     "I wasn’t invited to any festival," he grumbles, enlightening them to the real issue.

     "It’s not your cup of tea normally, is it?" Jax consoles, not usually the sensitive one but Yazre has found that in all their bickering and conflicting personalities, his brothers are equally and undeniably protective of each other. "Obviously you’d have been welcome to come…maybe we should have been more obtuse."

     It’s as close to ‘sorry’ as Jax gets.

     "We need you," Yaz assures, choosing wisely to leave the ‘now’ that had been on tip of his tongue unvoiced. While it had been clear that their afternoon would have been far more pleasant without Ray’s bored whining before, his addition for this new purpose was essential.

     And yes, Yaz enjoys the company of his big brother but you certainly won’t hear him admitting something like that to Ray. The Korbat’s ego was big enough. He didn’t need excuses to tease and Yaz wasn’t about to offer him any.

     The ghost perks up at the admission, drifting down in a forced sort of laziness that happens too quickly to be genuine.

     "So, what exactly am I needed for?" Ray asks, tail wrapping loosely around Yaz’s shoulders. He resists the urge to push it off again, muscles twitching in protest of the contact.

     "We’re going to steal a typewriter."

     Both his brothers' pause, their hesitation saturating the air. The silence weighs heavy but Yaz doesn’t back down at the tension. Persistence and unquestionable confidence, real or not, was the key to success.

     "We’re going to steal a typewriter?" they repeat simultaneously, their stares questioning and disbelieving.

     "The first typewriter ever," Yaz corrects.

     Again, they share a look, an entire conversation passing between them in seconds. Something that has always left Yaz incredibly jealous as a show of their solid connection. They both smile, slow and full of ill-intention.

     "I’m in," they answer together. It feels an awful lot like winning.

     —-

     Neovia is a hard place to pin down with a description.

     It’s bright in a way that the rest of the Woods is not and dreary in its own fashion. A home within home. The locals don’t blink an eye when residents of the rest of the Woods come their way but they themselves fit rather comfortably among those visiting outside the Woods.

     The town itself seems frozen in time and yet incredibly fresh. Time moves forward as it always does, days are new, but it’s not quite the time you started in outside of Neovia. Though, arguably, the rest of the Woods gave that aura too, in a different way.

     The Haunted Woods and Neovia complimented each other. Different enough to offer the reprieve of uniformity but similar enough to offer comfort. Or at least, that’s what he’d picked up listening to Jax wax poetry about it.

     Yaz himself just thinks the town is nice, pretty year round with fauna that looks like spring and air that feels like autumn. And the pets who made their living here don’t look at them like they’re out of place. It’s home.

     And that is a problem he hadn’t considered. Most the pets here knew them or of them, if not personally. They could get into a lot of trouble if they run into the wrong pet. There’s more on the line than one of their usual schemes.

     The respect of other pets, of what feels like extended family, is precious. It’s not something he’s willing to lose.

     As he comes to that realization, they arrive at the edge of the town, already bustling in preparation for the festival. It’s still early enough that the square isn’t full of pets outside of those going about their normal business and the spare few charged with getting the event prepped and ready.

     His brothers seem unaffected, walking into the throng of pets as casual as can be. As if they belonged here. As if they weren’t about to do something incredibly risky.

     Ray he knows is always filled with dumb confidence. He’s never been the planner of the group. It’s entirely like him to enter any situation with the solid belief that he can do what he wants.

     Jax’s demeanor is different. Yaz has always admired his older brother’s confidence, act or not. The Xweetok always seemed to enter the room with the type of elegance that dared anyone to question him and a grace that dismissed anyone who had the nerve.

     He’s been assured by both their person and Jax himself on a rare occasion that Jax had once been full of insecurity. That an air of easy confidence came with time and work and a lot of pretending in the beginning. Sometimes Yaz wonders if he’s still pretending.

     There’s no telling now, the ease with which he strolls into the crowd while Yaz feels invisible eyes like everyone knows he’s up to no good.

     "Relax," Jax offers quietly, shaking Yaz from his thoughts. He looks up curiously while Jax’s eyes remain straight ahead. "You’re nervous."

     "This is nerve-wracking," Yaz counters.

     Ray laughs from above them, floating backwards as he regards them with a care-free grin.

     "You’re being a baby. This was your idea. Are you trying to back out? There’s still time, Yazzie!" the Korbat teases and Yaz can feel heat rise to his cheeks. He wants to do this, for their person, and with his brothers. He wants this to be a story that joins the countless Ray has from before he joined the family.

     "You’re the one being childish," Jax chastises, tail flicking close to his side in irritation. Always careful not to disturb those around him. "And watch where you’re going; you’re going to-"

     He doesn’t even finish before Ray goes barreling straight into someone’s back.

     The man, a Bruce with glasses shaped like half-moons and a badge naming him head of some committee, turns as Ray swivels around, hands flailing as he scrambles to apologize. It’s always abrasive to run into Ray whether it’s the sharp chill or the weird experience of him phasing straight through you. The man looks less than pleased.

     "Can I help you?" he demands sharply, cutting off the Korbat’s hurried apologies.

     "Typewriter! Uh…" Ray stutters out, nervous little wing flaps giving away how little he knows what he’s doing. The Bruce seems unconvinced, opening his mouth to comment. Yaz sees the plan crumbling before it even begins and tries to make some sort of intelligible excuse but all that comes out is noise.

     Luckily for them, Jax is both intelligent and cool under pressure.

     "We were called. For probable issues with one of your pieces. The typewriter, specifically," he interrupts smoothly, crossing his arms. The Bruce looks between them incredulously, like he wants argue, but Jax just stares back blankly. Like his time is being wasted but he’s too polite to mention it. Like an actual functioning adult with a reason to be here and not the dramatic wreck with ill intentions he knows his brother to be.

     The Bruce hesitates, eyeing down Yaz.

     "I don’t think-"

     "Sir, if you don’t want to concern yourself with the upkeep of a priceless artifact, that’s your business. I just think it’s a shame for someone with so little care to be charged with their upkeep," Jax says, almost offhandedly as if he doesn’t really care that they’re most likely being made to leave.

     The Bruce stutters, looking around wildly, maybe searching for someone to offer him the right thing to do.

     "Sir, I’m not trying to doubt you but that is clearly a child," the man tries desperately.

     Jax chances at glance a Yaz, quick and dismissive before he turns back. There’s no hesitation in his response.

     "Listen, I know I said ‘we’ but the truth is, they just like to feel useful and typewriters are heavy."

     The man considers this, taking in Ray’s bright blank smile and Yaz shy, nervous gaze. He sighs, motioning them towards a tent off to the side of the square, obscuring view into the park. Ray and Yaz share a smile, faces blanking the second they see Jax’s glare.

     It’s fair; they almost messed this up.

     The tent is secluded and filled with tables covered in old technology. Yaz thinks he’s in love and realizes with some sadness that regardless of what happens, they’re not going to actually get to enjoy the festival.

     "Alright then, what’s wrong with it then?" he asks, motioning towards the most beautiful machine Yaz has ever seen. It appears to be mostly made of a dark wood but the keys and parts of the body are accented in some kind of gold metal. It’s perfect and they have to have it for Mom.

     "Don’t know," Jax answers.

     "Excuse me?" the Bruce demands, foot tapping impatiently against the cobble road.

     "I can’t work on it here. No space. No. I’ll take it to my workshop and bring it back before the festival begins," his brothers answers, motioning for the two of them to start lifting it. They hesitate but Jax is still perfectly in his role, snapping impatiently at the machine.

     The Bruce stutters, looking understandably concerned.

     "S-sir! I can’t-"

     "I’m not equipped. If it’s going to continue to be a struggle, we’ll go," he says, making the smallest movement towards the entrance. He’s watching the Bruce’s internal struggle and in the end, his brother’s bluff plays out.

     "Alright. No, you’re most right. Just please, bring it back by the afternoon." He’s wringing his hands nervously and Yaz almost feels bad as the three of them heft the typewriter off the table and out of the tent. People eye them as they pass by but say nothing as they remain under the watchful eye of a very worried looking Bruce until they wander out of town and out of sight.

     They will bring it back, he reasons to squash the guilt. Eventually.

     —-

     They come barreling into the house with an excitement that hasn’t been felt in what must be forever judging by the surprise of their person’s face as they catch them moving out of the kitchen.

     At least, not by all of them at once out of nowhere. It’d be ridiculous to assume they haven’t all come home in an obnoxious manner at one time or another. It’s a reminder that it really has been way too long since they came together for something fun.

     Yaz watches them quickly assess the situation, eyes darting to each of the three of them before a slow scan of the machine held between them. A slow, unimpressed scan. He can feel his stomach drop.

     "Hello boys," they drawl, arms crossing. An eyebrow cocks. He suddenly feels very young and a quick glance to his brothers reveals two equally distressed looks that makes them appear so much younger too. It’s like looking into a scene from one of Ray’s stories about the good days.

     "Hi…Mom?" Ray tries, tail curling up close to his body. If possible, his glow seems to dim.

     "What’s that?" they ask, nodding their head towards the typewriter.

     "Typewriter," Jax grunts with a lack of grace Yaz doesn’t think he’s ever seen out of the Xweetok. And now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not sure he’s ever seen his oldest brother in trouble. This entire situation is an anomaly.

     "A typewriter," their person repeats. No inflection in their tone. It’s terrifying.

     "For you?" Ray tries, drifting closer and dragging both Yaz and Jax forward lest they want the heavy machine to fall onto them.

     "It’s the first ever typewriter. For you. For…your story?" Yaz adds, realizing his silence this entire interaction. It had been his idea initially and he wasn’t about to get thrown under the bus by brothers annoyed with his lack of reaction.

     The face they make in reaction is not pleasant. Very few times has their person ever made them feel bad or offered them negative comments but the face being directed at them currently implies they don’t think them very bright.

     "What did you expect me to do with a typewriter?" they demand with an edge of hysteria. Yaz really hopes it’s because they’ve caught on that the thing was ill-gained and not that they simply loathe the gift entirely. "I don’t even know how to use a typewriter!"

     Jax and Ray freeze simultaneously as if they just now realized the lack of logic in this entire plan. Yaz deflates and his brothers groan as they’re forced to adjust to the weight redistributing, stumbling to gain a better grasp before it crushes to two non-airborn brothers.

     "I thought it would be good luck," he admits softly, eyes trained on the ground. "Because this is important to you. I thought…it would help."

     There’s a tick of silence while Yaz drowns in his own misery. It was, he realizes with some consideration, not the most well thought out plan.

     A heavy sigh breaks the silence.

     "That was real considerate of you and I’m extremely touched by your dedicated theft," they say and it sounds sincere enough that Yaz chances a look up. There’s amusement among the still lingering disbelief. "But also, you guys are ridiculous and you’re taking it back."

     "No we are not!" Jax yells in distress, releasing his grip on the typewriter. Both Yaz and Ray stumble, catching it before it clatters to the ground. "We will look ridiculous; how am I supposed to explain this one away?"

     The unimpressed look returns and all three of them shrink back.

     "Well, I’m not the one who stole a priceless historical artifact so I wouldn’t know," they say pointedly, turning to leave but pausing at the open arch leading to their office. "You already stole my heart. Please don’t steal anything else."

     And with that, they bounce away with an air of finality.

     Silence stretches out, filling the room in their person’s absence.

     "How do they do that?" Jax demands, sounding equally annoyed and in wonder. "I want to do that! I have never heard a more pointed last word in my life."

     That’s just their person, Yaz imagines as he turns to look hopelessly at the typewriter hanging precariously between his brothers.

     "You’d have to be right like, ever for that to happen," Ray chimes in gleefully, squawking as Jax jolts for him. Yaz catches the typewriter just in time as they fling themselves across the room, shrieking in different measures.

     He stares it down, frown slowly evolving into a smile.

     Maybe it did bring luck.

The End