Venti was fine-tuning his act for Jean's surprise party that night. It was a fine afternoon, and the fragrant smells from Floral Whisper and the fruit stand awoke his muse for a more complex song. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect, from his lyre to his repertoire of songs for the lovely lady.

That way, with the surprisee happy, no one would notice if the bard took an extra free drink! Or four. At the very least, they shouldn't complain after such a fine performance! Feeling very self-satisfied, Venti gave the freshly-tuned strings a languid strum.

And that was when the trouble started.

"Oh," Venti said in dull surprise as the broken lyre string stung the pads of his fingers in its haste to escape the lyre.

It struck a sharp, sour note as well as his fingers.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, a broken string. Not when you occasionally used your musical instrument, a lyre, not the most hefty of weapons, in combat. Even infused with Anemo energy, a simple string could only take so much before it refused to play another note, blatantly weaponized or not.

"Which is why," he said, sliding a hand into his back pocket. "I have spares!"

And then brought forth a ball. To anyone looking, it certainly didn't look like spare lyres strings so much as a ball of slender shining threads, gleaming faintly cyan in the sunlight. To any other musical professional, perhaps it might have looked like a tragedy.

Venti hummed smugly at his own preparedness, then shook out his still-smarting hand before he began to pick at the end of one string. Had these been anything but astral iron, he would have been here until nightfall, picking and tugging. But these strings glided apart like silk, buffered as they were by Anem-

"Ah-choo!"

At that moment, Venti sneezed, violently. The ball of very expensive astral iron lyre strings leapt from his hand as if to avoid it and rolled across the cobblestones, glittering and tinkling merrily as they went. Venti sniffled and bent to retrieve the escapee strings.

At that moment, several things happened. The shadow under Quinn's market stand grew eyes, then, Venti sneezed again, and the shadow grew legs and darted between Venti's legs. The bard reared back in shock and the shadow, now revealed as a cat, took the opportunity to snatch the ball of very expensive astral iron strings and run away with them.

The Archon, seeing his life, and all the free dandelion wine he would not get to drink, flash before his eyes, shouted, "Stop! Thief! Er, cat!"

Steeling himself, and his respiratory system, Venti gave chase to the agile shadow. But it was not a particularly song-worthy chase. Instead of nimbly climbing across stands, balconies, and roofs in pursuit of his thief, it was more of a "run a few feet, have a sneezing fit, and stop" sort of chase.

Venti knew he was near Wagner's shop now, but could only tell by the sound of the man's rough voice scolding his apprentice, and then the rapid bursts of sound against his eardrums. His eyes were watering too much to see more than blobs as fuzzy as his little pickpocket.

"Stop! Come back here with those! Nnchoo! Do you know what I had to do to get those? Stop!" To his left, Schulz coughed and said something, and then there was a dull thump, like someone testing a melon at the market.

Of course, since no one could tell a cat what to do—which he appreciated within reason—the cat did not stop, and the bard did not get his strings back. So, he stood there, sniffling and being distressed as he watched the dubious form of the cat disappear with his strings. His gig. His free wine.

There was no way he could chase the cat safely by himself, not with allergies so severe. And not, he thought privately, with his stomach so empty.

It left him no choice, he would have to go to the Knights of Favonius if he wanted to get his strings back by nightfall. Venti sighed heavily and began the slow, careful trek up the many, many stairs to the Guild, sneezing miserably. His coin-purse was damningly light in his pocket. What did he own to even offer as payment? A lyre, a warbow, and a few artifacts, and absolutely not Mora.

He sighed again, less wetly this time, and skirted the fountain on the side of the Good Hunter. He could smell the food being prepared for Jean's party, hear Sara's nervous fretting, and tried not to let his mouth water. It did not, but his stomach did grumble in complaint.

Focus! If I don't get those strings back you won't be getting any of it!

"Prince! Here Prince-y!"

Venti stopped, startled by the sudden nearness of Margaret, owner of the Cat's Tail, who was a flurry of anxious energy and flashing red skirts. She looked as miserable as Venti felt.

"Excuse me, madame, but if I remember correctly, Mond hasn't had a monarchy in over a thousand years!" He was entirely too stuffy to rhyme at the moment.

"Oh…" She had turned to him with such a hopeful look that he almost felt affronted when her expression fell. "I'm looking for my cat."

"Your cat?" Venti blinked and tilted his head, suspicion growing in its recesses. No, how silly to even consider it was the same cat! There were so many strays in Mondstadt.

"Yes! He's solid black, so he can be hard to find! I had to ask the Knights for help, he's just too slippery for me!"

Funny thing, that. Well, yes, there were many strays. But not many at all that were solid black. Any at all, in fact. And she had already put in a request! Maybe he would still get to perform for his dinner tonight after all. And get a generous amount of wine.

And then his heart soared, because that was when he saw him, the Honorary Knight, looking quite determined as he ran toward them. His companion floated behind, struggling to keep up. Clearly, the noble Ordo Favonius had put Aether on the job! Now he was sure he would be able to keep his obligations. There were very few Knights who would be nimble enough to catch a wily cat and honorable enough not to also ask Venti for payment.

"So, yours is the cat that went missing..."