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[forethinking]

This is Ren Amamiya. Can't come to the phone. Leave a message.

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[conning]

He gestures to one of the bogie rakes, a little may I?, before picking it up and turning the little tool over in his hands. "Not a bad piece. Too light if you're hoping to get access to something behind a lock thicker than your average front door--and I recommend surgical steel over traditional stainless."

He points to a tiny, chipped edge with his pinkie. "More durable. This is going to start catching on you, if you're not careful."

Does that answer your question, Joker?

[forethinking]

Oh. There we go. Now the whole China knows you're both thieves. Ren laughs in good spirits, even if he is still a little shaken at the reveal. A big part of him wants to explain that he doesn't actually steal, it's heists he pulls that take place inside a person's heart, but also, how to not sound insane saying these things without prompting?

"I'm making them not to lose the habit of it. I have a favorite."

And from his drawer, he pulls a permapick, as known as a perfectly durable, fine-looking lockpick from home. Good times.

[conning]

This one Neal looks over even more carefully, silently impressed and hiding it. "You made this one too?"

[forethinking]

"Uhum. Back home."

And well. The sheer amount of molotovs he had back home was something else.

[conning]

He raises his eyebrows, nodding approval. "Have to admit, I don't usually make my own tools. Friend of mine, Mozzie, he's a genius at it, so I leave that particular task to the person best suited."

Neal offers the pick back, expression soft with amusement a little bit of regret. "I'd like to say you started younger than I did, but I'd be half-lying."

[forethinking]

"What do you steal?"

Pleasedon'tbeabadcriminal, pleasedon'tbeabadcriminal, please. Please.

[conning]

"Nothing," Neal says, sitting down on the edge of Ren's bed. "Not any more."