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A Shared Account

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Someone thought it cute to give a young Diluc Ragnvindr a piggy bank.

“That boy swims in money. What does he need a piggy bank for?” said Head Maid Heinel.

“What does it matter? It comes straight from his allowance anyways,” said Butler Finn.

“Help me save for a sticky honey roast,” said Diluc, to Kaeya.

Little did he know, it was actually Kaeya who snuck the thing into his room that night, in the interest of showing his sheltered brother the importance of worldly concerns. Perhaps Kaeya had also hovered over his bed with knife drawn for a few heartrending seconds, his young mind in utter turmoil. But who was to say?

“Of course,” said Kaeya.

The two boys pinched mora off the ground. Diluc contributed a comparatively insignificant portion of his monthly allowance. Kaeya filched Head Maid Heinel’s coin purse. Allegedly. But again, who was to say?

At the end of the week, they smashed the porcelain porker with aplomb and bought not one, but two sticky honey roasts. Because they could.

(And then threw it all back up afterwards. Because no way in Barbatos’s sweet green earth could two eleven-year-olds stomach that much.)






Somewhere down the line, one of them thought it cute to open a shared account.

“That’s adorable,” said Head Maid in training Adelinde.

“Perhaps it’ll teach Master Diluc some fiscal responsibility,” said Butler Elzer.

“They’re attached at the hip. It makes sense,” said Crepus Ragnvindr, a week before dying.

One mildly inconvenienced carriage ride later, Kaeya was without home, and Diluc disappeared off the face of Mond. A pity, really. The arrangement had amazing rates and everything, but alas, good things and lasting, the shared account would presumably bemoan.

Four years later was when Kaeya realized that, in all the chaos, neither of them had the presence of mind to close the damn thing.

“Which account?” asked the teller.

Kaeya’s habitual response was interrupted by an epiphany. He nearly dropped his whole paycheck’s worth of mora.

“I have more than one?” he asked.

An idea began to form in that mind of his.

And that was how this whole sham started.

Kaeya deposited his paycheck in the shared account, christened it for the first time with mora (huzzah!), and strolled away whistling.






As it turned out, brotherly pranks were not exclusive to young age. Nor to actually liking each other apparently, because the next time Kaeya came to the bank, the teller had some interesting news to break.

“I’m afraid your partnered account holder withdrew the total of your last deposit in an exact amount,” said the teller.

“Then why is there still money?”

“He deposited a single mora.”

Kaeya could laugh. Kaeya did laugh. Both he and the teller were playing it low, but by the Seven was Diluc Ragnvindr, the so-called Darling of Mond, an absolute petty asshole.

Kaeya handed over his sack of mora with a wink. Or. As much of a wink as a man in an eyepatch could handle.

“Tell my...partnered account holder the next time he finds himself wanting for a loan, he need only ask.”

“I’ll leave a note, Sir.”






As predicted—because to Kaeya, Diluc was just oh so predictable—there was a note left for him on his next trip to the bank.

“‘No need,’” he read aloud. “Mollified Morax, that’s about as starved a wit as I’ve ever seen. What say you, Madame Teller?”

“It was a lot of money,” said the teller, notably ambiguous, through muffled hysterics.

Many times Kaeya’s annual salary, in fact. Just deposited unceremoniously into their shared account for no reason aside from frivolous spite. He supposed a rich lord in a rut would get pretty damn bored.

“Alright Madame Teller, I know what I shall do today,” he said, and the woman took up her quill, her lips sporting a massive grin. “I shall, and please take care to keep these two actions discrete in the receipts, withdraw a single mora” —he threw his arms wide in hyperbolic glee—”and then, I shall deposit thirty thousand from my paycheck. Please.”

He counted out his deposit as the teller struggled to regain her faculties. Perhaps his brother wasn’t so cute anymore, but boy was he still a joy to screw around with.

“Your single mora, Sir,” said the teller, pressing the coin into his palm and wrapping his fingers around it like it was immeasurably important.

“Thank you,” he replied, passing over his deposit.

“Will you be leaving a note?”

Kaeya tapped his chin in thought.

“Tell him, his loving brother Kaeya is overjoyed at his financial savvy.”

“Will do, Sir.”






Diluc withdrew one mora, and deposited thirty thousand and ten. Kaeya spent a good half hour laughing his ass off before doing the same, except thirty thousand and twenty. One mora, and thirty thousand and thirty, thirty thousand and forty, thirty thousand and fifty.

“‘Kindly stop,’” read Kaeya after a good year of back and forth. “Oh, dear Diluc, I hope you know, I just innocently deposited some money. I didn’t start the war.”

“No you didn’t, Sir,” said the teller, well and truly used to this bank-busting burlesque by now. She still laughed.

Kaeya sighed in mock frustration.

“I suppose I’ll have to be the voice of reason here,” he said with an overstated shrug. “Just take my deposit, kind Madame, and deliver for me a message: Good Hunter, Saturday, five PM.”






Good Hunter, Saturday, five PM:

“Sign.”

Diluc slammed the paper down in a very un-lord-like manner. Kaeya whistled. This man brought a quill and inkwell and everything.

“Closing the account? How cold, dear Luc,” said the Knight, eye twinkling.

“If you wrote as fast as you spoke, we’d be done already.”

“Ah, but what if I don’t want to? Obviously it’s been good entertainment for me, no?”

“Obviously, your job doesn’t give you enough to do for what you’re paid.”

There was that sharp tongue.

“Alright, alright,” Kaeya said with the most generous of smiles. “But you’ll have to do something for me first.”

Diluc frowned.

“What do you want?”

Sara came by then with Kaeya’s order. The knight beamed over the steaming hunk of sliced meat.

“Help me finish this sticky honey roast.”

Sara would later report that to be the frostiest dinner she ever did see.






Funny story, actually. The account closed down, but Kaeya saw not a single mora of what he left in there. Coincidentally, the church got a well-needed influx of funds that same month.

“We’re seeing fewer and fewer orphans on the streets nowadays,” said Kaeya. “Funny that.”

Across the table, Diluc absently nodded as he took the last slice of sticky honey roast.

“Indeed.”