The actual decision had been shamefully easier than Xavier thought it would be, the pale musician not at all taking kindly to being so spurned, to being so easily dismissed. Besides, the clocking galdor was obviously rolling in coin—the way Elias burned through alcohol, cigarettes, long nights, and concords revealed he had no concept of money and no need for it anyway. If caught on another late night after what appeared to be his habitual mind-numbing debauchery as if that's all the jent existed for, then this breaking and entering would be a clocking walk in the proverbial park.
The albino wick was not a casual burglar. They were a planner on land as much as they were a planner in the air—many pirates made a living taking advantage of unexpected opportunities, but Xav was a creature who carefully created their own success by observation and meticulous design. Mister Mercucianno lived in a tired old cul de sac without the risk of nosey neighbors. Even if the man had neighbors—who would ever want to check in on such a self-absorbed ersehole anyway?
Gods, were they still mad at him? Had they even wanted anything from him, anyway? It wasn't like sleeping with galdori was ever particularly pleasurable, so used to their own gratification that they hardly considered who they shared their bed with to be worthy of enjoyment unless it was incidental. Surely, no matter how handsome or curiously damaged Eli had been, the song would have been the same tune—discordant and disappointing.
There was something about the damn jent that had caught their attention, that had strummed chords Xav otherwise kept to themselves. Airships had triggered anger. There was a past that was hurting, festering, hidden inside Elias, beneath his hatcher-may-care, drunk-before-noon facade.
It was better this way, the willowy Gioran reminded themselves, tugging up their hood and slipping from the main thoroughfare toward a side street that led to the now-familiar cul de sac, that would lead them through the abandoned park instead of straight up to the estate's front door. Dressed in all back, snug layers instead of flowing fabrics, Xavier had tied their moonkissed hair back in a tight bun and bundled their collection of burglary tools into a small bag slung over their shoulder in a larger satchel for shoving expensive goodies into.
The Mercucianno residence appeared to have enough expensive goodies within its dark, hollow walls to at least get the albino wick to the harbor, Lee in tow. It was bitter cold out and the strong wind would have stolen the breath of all but the hardiest of Anaxi, but thankfully the lithe creature was Gioran and while this cold stung their pigmentless skin while they huddled in the hedgerow that wasn't well-manicured but wasn't particularly cared about, either. Elias put on a showy exterior, even in his home, but it was obvious that he'd let everything fall into disarray if it weren't for his ridiculously loyal servants.
Gods. Why did passives allow themselves to be such footstools to galdori?
The very thought twisted inside the halfbreed, thoughts of their passive mother exiled from her home and sent on some deadly pilgrimage, thoughts of their passive mother being denied her own son because of his heritage, churning deep within Xavier's mind, dull ache of longing and hurt and betrayal becoming a sharp, stinging pain.
This was why stealing from galdori was right. Because they clocking deserved it.
Ignorant erseholes.
They'd come back two nights in a row, enduring the wind and the Ophus chill that dipped far below freezing, coating everything in frost. They'd learned that Elias kept to no schedule, leaving his servants to do whatever they could, and gods, they must have been tired. The front door was a temptation, considering unless the galdor brought someone home, he probably didn't receive any guests, and if the poor passives were busy dealing with the wasted, wild man was in need of their attention, they'd be as far away from the albino wick's entrance as they could be.
They'd decided to stick to the lower floor, not wanting to risk upstairs at all, having committed to memory the other rooms in the downstairs from their slow entrance and even slower, frustrated exit. Making their way to the porch in well-practiced silence like some lithe feline, Xavier carefully removed their lock-picking set from their bag and set to work, whispering a few phrases of Monite in a cloud of heated breath, ensuring their silence and improving their sense of hearing with a tingling of warmth beneath their pigmentless skin.
Once they'd made short, easy work of a poorly kept lock—what did galdori need them for anyway? Oh, right, crafty creatures like themselves—lithe fingers in snug black leather gloves slowly opened the door, reaching out with their magically-enhanced senses and taking advantage of their Spokes'-trusted silence, violet gaze peering into the ruddy glow of a phosphor-lit foyer and scanning down the hall.
It appeared quiet, most of the lights dimmed for the very late hour it was. Hopefully, everyone was asleep. Even if they weren't, the albino wick was prepared, unwilling to actually harm anyone physically but quick with their casting should they need to stun a would be raise of alarm in order to make a quick getaway.
Once they were sure they were alone, they carefully closed the door behind them and began to creep toward the dining room, ready to pilfer the obvious easy marks—silver tableware, heavy but always reliable when it came to producing a bit of coin when pawned. Crystal was too fragile for this operation, but Xav had spied some other expensive curiosities in that sitting room—especially that box. Even if it was heavy, the moonlit larcenist sure did hope it had some priceless, expensive heirlooms inside waiting for a good sale. They'd make their way their slowly, however, wanting to pause in a few other downstairs rooms and riffle through desks and bookshelves, hunting for whatever could be worth a few more concords.
If poor Elias was wasted upstairs? Well, that just meant Xavier had at least an hour to themselves. It wasn't like the jent would be waking up from whatever self-destructive stupor he put himself into alone, anyway. Ersehole.