𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 || Dreamnoblade || Discontinued (?)

Chapter 32

Third Person's POV:

"Tommy— what are you doing?!" Tubbo hissed, wary eyes darting in caution. He struggled,  yanked ferociously to escape the taller's grip on his arm, but to no avail.

Tommy was supposed to be in the grand hall— gathered with the rest of the family and greeting Skeppy. And Tubbo, already having relayed the castle layout map to George, was supposed to be in the kitchen cooking with Eret right now.

But alas, here they were, an exasperated Tubbo being reluctantly yanked around by Tommy.

"Tubbo," his friend responded after a moment. He stopped for a bit, turning and flashing a grin to him, one that had no teeth, all lip. A smirk. Very unlike Tommy, Tommy didn't normally smirk. He leered. So that's when Tubbo knew.

His friend was going to do something reckless. Stupid.

"What are you planning...?" The brunette asked in unease, becoming more and more aware of their location— down the forbidden hallway— away from Techno's safety. This was Keem's hallway.

Unconsciously, Tubbo swallowed a nervous lump in the throat, before finally yanking the unmovable bull that was Tommy to a stop. He mustered a firm protest.

"We're not supposed to be here until Grain and Jumbo Mumbo make us a molding key..." He reminded lightly.

And at that, Tommy's broad smile broadened. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out an item of sorts. The objects jangled upon reveal.

It was a rusted hoop, carrying a series of short, metal rods, all thin in diameter, and with tiny hooks in various sizes at the end. They looked almost like keys— but had no ridges of a door lock. A key but useless, Tubbo noted.

"What is that?"

Finally, with a splendor and triumphant jangle, Tommy's eyes kindled with a glint of mischief.

"These," he began, chest puffing with pride, "are Dream's lockpicks that I... 'borrowed' this morning."

Tubbo rolled his eyes, translating the "Tommy Lingo" as he so eloquently put it. 'So he stole it.' The teen concluded.

Now, Tubbo always prided himself for being the more cautious friend. The one with brain cells and sense of danger. Had he not been here, Tommy would've been long dead. He was the "rational one" as Wilbur had said.

"This is a terrible idea," he began, tugging at the hem of Tommy's shirt, "...let's do it."

Wilbur never had the best judgement.

Now excited, both boys scampered, dashing to the looming door that was Keem's room. It was a grandeur hard oak, layered and impossibly airtight. Impenetrable. And upon arrival, Tommy knelted, propped an arm against a golden knob and immediately began picking.

Though Dream never taught him explicitly how to be a world-class criminal, he had described the general gist of where to insert, where to push, and where to jiggle. And plus, Tommy seemed to be a natural in thievery anyways. After all, where he came from, they used to call him RaccoonInnit.

As an insult of course, but it was cool, so Tommy kept the name.

After a brief moment of silence— nothing but the sound of a jiggling doorknob and Tubbo whistling on watchout, the latter of the noisemakers, got curious. With a pep in the step, he bounded to his friend, peering over his shoulder.

"Is it working?" Tubbo asked, glancing at the locksmith. There was no response. Just concentration. Tommy doesn't get concentrated often.

He watched as sweat drops formed on his friend's forehead and his hands nervously fumble. Tubbo stared for a bit, in awe, and then—