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There's a restlessness to his left hand's fingers, kneading against his right wrist in a perpetual, absent-minded motion. There were parts of his mind still struggling to parse the message he'd been given - it didn't really seem possible. In his mind, Dejan Ravi was destined to live forever. His inner schedule still demanded to meet him in a regular fashion in two months, when his chores allowed him to have a small 'vacation' spanning two solid weeks.
Either way, whether the death of his friend properly registered to him or not, it did prompt as swift a reaction to it as he could muster. It was possible the device was still functional - the last status from two years ago certainly suggested as much - and so he was going to have to collect it. Maybe Jagdish would let him destroy it personally now, rather than forcibly delegating the matter.
Small as it is, Togi is entirely unrecognisable now - with one house torn down by storms and new one built since he was last here, the topology of the settlement has completely thrown his sense of direction off. It takes conscious effort to find the Ravi household, but he does find it, and with a purposeful, sure motion, attaches himself to one of the rope ladders, beginning a swift climb, attention part naturally, part intentionally wrapped into sweet focus on the task. And then he's hauling himself up onto the platform, pausing for a moment's breath to cast a gaze out at the town.
Hints of conversation are barely audible from outside the Ravi household; a young man's voice, definitely not Dejan's, can be occasionally made out. “Oh, flashlights. We should put flashlights on the list.” Or: “Of course we're bringing rope, that's like the first rule of going on an adventure.” Or: “What are we going to do about when it rains?” Sounds like somebody's making plans, and those plans may or may not involve a road trip.
Dakarai lingers on the edge of the platform a little longer, his feet resting on the top rung of the ladder leading down below, his expression pensive. Then, deciding enough time has passed to class as a pause, he pulls his legs up and raises himself to a stand, straightening crinkles in his attire, collecting his thoughts. Time to say hello.
Two curt, focussed knocks on the door later, he's announced his presence, standing with an exaggeratedly proper posture in expectance of a welcome, stare anchored on the spot of the door that was most likely going to be replaced by a face any moment now.
The knock comes at a natural pause in the conversation, as Devi wrestles with something under the couch, trying to tug it free. There's a moment of hesitation from Batsen before he offers: “I'll get it.” Seconds later, the door's open, and he's looking into the face of a stranger. A visitor to Togi? “…hi, can I help you?” he asks, a bit of concern laced into his otherwise pleasantly polite demeanor.
Dakarai stares at the face. Wrong household? …if the Ravi family moved he should have been informed, this was quite irregular. Silent, he peers past Batsen, a hint of confusion in his face, the sideway tilt quite subtle as he lances his gaze into the room behind Devi's friend. No luck - he can tell Batsen isn't alone, but he can't see who's with him. He deflates a little, a nervous tinge touching his expression. “My name's Rhaptor,” he introduces himself, finally, disorientation almost bordering embarrassment in his tone, both carefully but obviously curtailed. “Is this not the Ravi household?”
There's a bit of hesitation at Rhaptor's question, fingers on the doorknob tightening slightly. “It is,” he replies. “…who are you looking for, exactly?” There's a hint of suspicion in his tone. If it were his own house, he might be a little less on edge, but it's the Ravis' space, not his, and he doesn't yet know how trustworthy this stranger is.
“…Prana Ravi or Ishar Ravi,” he reveals. “It pertains to Dejan's recent passing,” he says, tone largely explanatory, only touched with a tinge of sadness.
Behind Batsen, Devi gives a soft, strangled 'yip' as her fingers finally catch onto the palm-sized tablet computer she'd managed to drop during a fumble. She wasn't going anywhere without GPS, that much was certain - it'd be off most of the time because it's battery life was grotesque for its supposed energy efficiency, but it'd be able to help them in a pickle. Apparently 'grand adventure' it is.
A moment later, she's thrown herself into a stand and toward the door, a spring to her step, only to narrow her eyes. “What do you want?” she throws at Dakarai's face, grimacing lightly. Whether the bitterness is from recognition or simply because Dejan's name has been spoken is hard to say.
Dakarai pauses. He wasn't expecting to be interrogated. In his head, he'd hoped one of their parents would be home and asking him inside, and he could have calmly and rationally explained that now that Dejan was gone, he'd probably no longer need the item Dakarai left with him and he'd like it back if no one was laying a claim to it. But between Batsen and Devi, he felt like his plan had been muddled up quite thoroughly. “I apologise for intruding,” he says after a noticeable pause. “Dejan and I were good friends - I understand you only have my word for it, but I'd appreciate if you'd allow me in, I left something with him a few years ago that is unfortunately no longer of use to him.” Or ever was, to be fair, but that was getting mighty into the details of it.
Devi snorts, a tension gripping her shoulders. “No one touches Dejan's stuff,” she comments, territorially and defensively, an unspoken 'especially people who aren't grieving even though they're claiming to be his friend' attached to that blocking phrase.
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IN PROGRESS