( audio )

[chardismastic]

[ Audio clicks on to the shuffle of papers and a considering hum before Rafe speaks. His voice is mild. Sincere. Level in the way one can only sound when one is way too used to having things work out the way he wants them to, no matter how long it takes or how much it costs. ]

Well. Isn't this interesting.

[ When some people say interesting, you can tell they mean something entirely different. A professor reading over a test that clearly hadn't been studied for as he reaches for a red pen; a girl at a bar at the hearing how you just never have enough time to work on your novel; a cop flipping over your registration to find it's expired. It's one of those catch-all words but when Rafe says it? Nah. He just means interesting. ]

I always appreciate being prepared, and gotta say. This pamphlet? Good stuff, clean design, very to the point. Credit where it's due.

[ Arriving like a babe in the woods isn't really Rafe's scene. After all, a wide variety of factors have suddenly been yanked out of his control; the few he has remaining to him become all the more important to take advantage of. So although he's still learning the lay of the land, he's doing so after availing himself of a room, a shower, a fresh shirt, and this handy dandy pamphlet. ]

Although... You know, not to brag or anything but I'm a guy with a couple of talents. Architecture, for one. Anybody else checking this place out? I mean, here I am walking around those gardens and one minute I'm thinking 18th-century French, fantastically preserved, then there's some Gothic elements peeking round a corner— Jesus! Lloyd Wright, right there. [ You'd think the guy was watching a match at Wimbledon, and politely un-invested in who the winner turns out to be. ] Phenomenal fenestration, when it decides to stick to something longer than a minute. I suppose I'll have to get up higher for some bearings on this whole thing. Might even be a little fun with the right equipment.

Comments

[nonscriptum]

[The trick behind those brilliant conclusions is having some place to start - Nate can't build foundations out of sand, even with a reasonably generous wealth of information on Henry Avery's life, his "death," and his exploits. Nate's insatiable curiosity overpowers his resentment toward the smirk he can hear in every word that leaves Rafe's mouth.

Avery's greatest heist, and the horrific price both parties had paid for Long Ben's gain. Nate still remembers, even if he hasn't looked through those files in years.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that Rafe is milking the moment for everything it's worth. With the advantage in time and knowledge - and the rock-solid grudge he must still be nursing - he's counting on Nate to beg for the information.

Nate obliges.]

What the Hell could be bigger than four-hundred million in Mughal treasure?

[chardismastic]

[ Of course Nate remembers. Rafe can imagine he tried to put it behind him, tried for that weak, bullshit excuse of a normal life, but there's no way in hell anybody with half a brain could just give up on what finding Avery meant.

That was one of the reasons he kept abreast of Nate over the years. Part of it was that he couldn't not, thanks to fat mouths and idle gossip that were inherent parts of the treasure hunting circuit (everybody knew everybody and had at least three opinions on the bastard), but part of it... It'd only been a matter of time before Nate got back in the game. Sure, Sam had expedited that reentry but Rafe always knew better.

God, with this new development? It almost seems meant to be. Head to head with Nathan Drake and if that wasn't a fight for the history books then Rafe would quit here and now.

Never mind who would win that fight is obvious. The getting there is half the fun and Rafe will enjoy the victory even more for it. ]

If I were to say to you— Pro Deus Quod Licentia. [ He's learned his Latin in the last decade and change, Nate. Be impressed. ] What would you make of that?

[nonscriptum]

[Nate hasn't so much grappled for a "normal life" as he has flung himself into whatever adventure strikes his fancy, although the most recent case was more happenstance than planning. No man expects to have his long-time burglary buddy screw him over at the eleventh hour in the middle of a job. Whatever impressions Rafe is projecting almost don't apply.

Once again, it does come as a substantial relief to Nate that he has Rafe over the phone. The words sink in like a hot knife through butter, the fingers of Nate's free hand curling into his palm as he concentrates on something in the middle distance, cogs and pistons moving rapidfire over the implications of such a simple statement.]

For God and liberty.

[He says to himself, practically inaudible when his heart stops and kickstarts again into adrenaline-charged excitement. They're here, he knows, he can't leave and neither can Rafe but it exists, holy shit, it exists.]

Wha- no, [Nate huffs, the sound light, almost disbelieving.] No, I can't believe I didn't think of it befo- for God and liberty, Jesus, Rafe, that's-

[Already on his feet again and raking a hand through his hair Nate resumes his pacing, the movement facilitating his theorizing, wearing a grin that only the inscrutably mad or overly thrilled could wear.]

You know what this- the rumored pirate colony, Charles Johnson wasn't just blowing smoke out of his ass, it's...and you were there? You were there, in Libertalia?