Chapter 251: Someone Stole My Favourite Rock

Somebody had stolen my favourite rock, and I took that more personally than the cage they intended to put me in. Bridget held her phone between us while the keeper on its screen adjusted the heating cable, apparently preparing a comfortable prison for a customer with excellent taste.

"Pause that before he scratches the smooth bit, because I’ve spent days finding the correct sleeping angle," I told her. She enlarged the picture instead, revealing a rental label hanging from the cable and a venue number printed underneath it.

[System: They’ve hired your bloody furniture, mate, which means you’re being kidnapped by people too cheap to buy a rock. Ask whether the cage comes with a cleaning deposit.]

I’m keeping the deposit if somebody has put their arse where my face belongs. Bridget called the number rather than accepting the invitation’s claim that our attendance had already been confirmed. A woman answered from the zoo’s education office and asked which travelling display we meant.

The keeper joined her on speaker after Bridget described the rock. He remembered the red snake who had checked himself out, then became much less cheerful when she read the words live containment demonstration from the invitation.

He had been hired to install a heated display and explain its controls, not help recapture a speaking visitor. The organiser had called it a harmless demonstration using a non-speaking animal, and nobody had mentioned that the animal had already complained about the catering.

"I praised the catering, and I’d appreciate that distinction surviving whatever argument you’re about to have," I said. He promised to contact his manager, while Bridget asked him to keep the booking details rather than delete everything in a panic.

[System: They’ve baited the trap with your favourite chair, mate; apparently your criminal profile reads like a pensioner’s holiday brochure.]

They’ve missed the women and unlimited food, so let’s not reward incomplete research. Unfortunately, warm furniture and free dinner had worked before, which made the trap personally insulting.

Bridget opened the invitation’s guest page and found both our names already entered by the organiser. Her cousin had assumed she would attend, then used that assumption to produce the automatic confirmation that had made our breakfast feel haunted.

"So nobody is reading my mind, which is excellent news for the insurance industry," I said. She confirmed that her cousin usually mistook arranging somebody’s evening for receiving their agreement, and had been doing it since he could afford staff.

His name was Adrian Sylphid, and his company was sponsoring Clearline Security’s community safety gala tomorrow evening. Bridget described him as charming when he wanted something, generous with other people’s time and very careful about which photographs showed him near a bill.

She offered to cancel our places, but I was already picturing his face when the trained animal asked where the toilet was. There were sensible ways to handle a false capture advert, and then there was attending the buffet while its sponsor explained why dinner had legal opinions.

[System: Let the solicitor handle the paperwork while you attend the buffet, mate; ruining a rich prick’s night is practically community service when you bring your own bib.]

He isn’t my cousin, and nobody’s adopting me until I know whether the inheritance includes a legal defence fund. Bridget laughed at the expression I couldn’t make, then asked whether I actually wanted to go or merely wanted to threaten the dessert table from a safe distance.

"I want to attend as your date and make somebody regret printing my photograph, preferably in that order," I said. She kept our places and confirmed my right to refuse any demonstration, then said private performances required a separate invitation. I suddenly cared much less about the buffet.

Old Mate brought up my current figures while she wrote, displaying the sort of numbers that could ruin a perfectly enjoyable argument. Remembering the beer bottle in that koala’s paw did very little for my confidence in his accounting. Matthew Vane remained a D+ Red Koi Smoke Serpent, with 135 Indulgence Points and 7,000 EXP towards the next 30,000 threshold.

My old kill quest still sat at eight out of ten, waiting for two creatures larger than me. Arresting Renn hadn’t moved it, and apparently insulting an eel’s shorts didn’t qualify as killing its confidence for accounting purposes.

[System: A thousand EXP for each of the last two qualifying kills, champ, and no extra ten thousand for remembering your homework. You’ve already collected the earlier payments.]

I hadn’t asked for back pay, but I admire your instinct to refuse it before I found the words. He added a new mission beneath the old one, and I immediately disliked how well its title understood my plans.

Crash Your Own Capture Party offered 1,000 EXP and ten IP for exposing the false capture display and getting any unwilling speaking exhibits safely out. It specifically excluded releasing dangerous animals into the guests, which suggested somebody had already reviewed my work history.

I accepted without telling Bridget why I looked suddenly pleased. She sent the invitation to Lukas, who replied with a photograph of his strapped ribs and a promise that he could attend an evening event without trying to become part of its ceiling.

"We’re giving him something to do at ground level, because leaving him bored seems to encourage architecture," I told her. She suggested helping the catering crew, then ordered enough lunch for him to forgive the word helping before he noticed the rest.

I sent Lyra a brief message through the phone inside my body, explaining that tomorrow’s plans involved a gala and a potential argument. Her reply from Twawi told me to avoid buying another business, while Cherry asked whether the cage had room for my ego.

Bridget was still enjoying that when the zoo office forwarded the complete display booking. The rock was only the first item, listed above a delivery from the Drop Off Point with three sealed containers and an instruction that their contents must remain silent during transport.

One container had ventilation holes, a water allowance and a restriction against letting the exhibits speak to guests. I stopped considering what Adrian’s face might do, because somebody had apparently planned the same joke as mine without asking the people inside the boxes.