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On top of a messy pile of paperwork, Aventurine’s expensive-looking wing-tip shoes twitch intermittently. They’re all of Aventurine that Veritas Ratio can see at the moment and he huffs, mentally preparing himself for another lengthy verbal sparring match with the IPC executive.
Their few prior meetings have culminated in arguments and subsequent affirmation of their overwhelming physical chemistry and while Veritas doesn’t mind this, per se, today he is exhausted.
The baths were also closed this morning, upending his usual routine.
From his vantage point in the doorway, Veritas doesn’t know if Aventurine is sleeping or simply squandering working hours awake without doing anything productive. Shifting the pile of books in his arms, he steps into Aventurine’s IPC office, giving the door a tap with his sandal to shut it behind him.
The noise earns a loud sigh from Aventurine, who slowly moves his feet off of his desktop, sending a shower of papers and bettors’ chips onto the floor.
If anything, Aventurine’s workspace has only grown messier since Veritas’ last visit. How anyone can think clearly in these conditions, never mind work, is beyond his comprehension. Given that Aventurine has been doing anything but working the few times Veritas has stopped by unannounced, there’s obviously merit to this.
“To what do I owe the…pleasure of your company, Doctor? I wasn’t aware we had a meeting.”
Veritas watches as Aventurine’s eyes roam over his body salaciously. With a slight huff of effort, Aventurine heaves himself into a somewhat upright position in his chair, which is still leaning precariously on its two back legs.
“We do not. I had another meeting in the building and given our most recent conversation, I found it both prudent and efficient to see you at the same time.”
Raising an eyebrow, Aventurine folds his hands in his lap and looks up at Veritas. His expression is both snide and confused and he makes a show of staring at Veritas’ body again.
“Our most recent conversation?” Aventurine asks, licking his lips. “I don’t remember much…conversing happening.”
“Be that as it may, we spoke of supplementing your meagre education,” Veritas explains, ignoring Aventurine’s reference to their other shared activities and experiences that day.
“Doctor is not an academic title,” he continues, ire and annoyance entering his voice as he is reminded of how little others use their brains these days, all while claiming to be geniuses.
“Idiocy is a disease and what is most infuriating about your specific case is that you are an intelligent man who pretends to be otherwise, either due to your lack of education or harbouring anti-intellectual sentiment.”
Scoffing, Aventurine glares up at him. A curious expression twists his facial features into a bitter grin. Aventurine is always smiling. Veritas cannot remember a time where, regardless of whatever Aventurine was saying or doing at the time, the IPC Stoneheart hasn’t been smiling in some way.
“Have you considered that your efforts are patronizing at best?” Aventurine asks, his voice dangerously sharp.
Immediately, Veritas notes that Aventurine doesn’t bother to fill in the usual “at worst” part of the thought that conventionally comes afterwards.
“I have,” he says, because he truly has, “and found that ultimately, education is more important.”
“How magnanimous of you. I must say, Doctor, this—” Aventurine spreads his arms and gestures towards the books in Veritas’ arms, all while idly flipping a bettors’ chip in the air. “—is a lot of effort just to make an excuse to see me. You, of all people, have a permanent standing appointment.”
“You may be upfront if you do not wish to participate. I will not waste my precious time listening to your sarcastic remarks.”
Veritas sniffs and places the books onto Aventurine’s desk, grimacing at the disorganized state of it. “However, you are truly abominable for allowing your mind to go fallow.”
The remaining paperwork that had been under Aventurine’s feet drifts onto the floor as Aventurine clears his desktop by pushing nearly everything off of it. Bettors’ chips plink against each other and land softly onto the worn carpet. Aventurine catches the chip he had been flipping and tucks it up his sleeve. Grabbing the textbook at the top of the pile, he makes a show of flipping through it, turning the pages with a crisp rustling sound.
“Giving a field time to lay fallow is crucial to allow for better crop rotations and lower the chance of surpluses, yes? Maybe my mind is the same.”
Blinking, Veritas nearly startles at Aventurine’s words.
Unfortunately, this is not missed by the ever-attentive Aventurine, who smirks widely and taps his own head with his index finger.
From what little Veritas has been able to glean through the usual channels, Aventurine worked his way up through the IPC ranks courtesy of his own sheer determination and natural charisma.
From what little time Veritas has been able to spend around him, Aventurine is emotionally-intelligent and sharp-witted with an unfortunate lack of a formal education to supplement his natural qualities.
“You are correct,” he says, which is not what he meant to say, but there’s no way for Aventurine to know this. Still, Aventurine’s smile somehow grows even broader at the affirmation.
“Where did you learn such information?”
“Guess,” Aventurine says, grinning at him manically. His teeth seem to shine in the garish lighting of his office.
“I would rather not.”
“Can’t imagine that a 'lowly Sigonian thrall' would know anything beyond manipulation and thievery?”
“That is hardly what I said. In fact, I am insulted by the implication.”
Aventurine snorts, brushing off Veritas' ire easily.“Surely a genius like yourself can realize that it was implied in this…grand gesture. It’s almost as magnanimous as the Sigonian Sovereignty granting us ‘the right to autonomy.’”
Thinking back on his previous knowledge of Aventurine: Sigonian and likely one of the only survivors of the night of Kakava in addition to having a front-row seat to most of their recent conflicts, Veritas sighs loudly.
This is a mess.
He despises apologies and considers most of them meaningless, but now Veritas knows that he owes one to Aventurine.
How disgraceful of him.
“I am…sorry.”
When Aventurine doesn’t respond, Veritas crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you really rejecting my apology?”
“No…” Aventurine says, dragging the small word out until it nearly has multiple syllables. “I just didn’t expect you to apologize for it at all.”
Fleetingly, a softer and much more genuine look alights on Aventurine’s face. Veritas breathes in quickly — nearly gasps — at how stunning it is. Aventurine seems lit up from within in an expression of surprising trust and comfort.
It is, unfortunately, beautiful.
This thought lingers, staying with Veritas when he feels the searing touch of Aventurine’s lips on his. It persists even as Aventurine ruts shamelessly against him, and continues through Aventurine’s subsequently ridiculous striptease.
As they sink onto a nearby sofa that Aventurine has recently acquired for his office, Veritas briefly berates himself for being so fallible.
And then he thinks of nothing but Aventurine.
***
Something about Aventurine’s demeanour during their first meeting on Penacony had been off.
Admittedly, Veritas is hardly an expert on Aventurine’s emotions. However, Aventurine’s usual spark was missing from their conversation just now and as the door to Aventurine’s room in the Grand Reverie Hotel closes behind him, leaving Aventurine mid-sentence, Veritas finds himself preoccupied with why this was the case.
Walking into his own room, a few hallways down from Aventurine’s and, presumably, the Astral Express crew, Veritas takes a moment to study it carefully. It looks exactly like Aventurine’s — he presumes that all of the VIP floor rooms are at least similar if not identical — from the pumpkin-coloured long leather sofas to the ostentatious bouquet of flowers on the tea table. An oddly-static television rotates through a series of Penacony-specific brand advertisements. Beyond it, the patented Dreampool makes a soft bubbling sound.
He frowns and walks past the table, staring into a simulacra of a fireplace. The room is warm, meaning that the heat, while not from the fire itself, is also meant to mimic that of a true hearth.
Veritas expects that much of Penacony is like this: devoid of truth and full of artifice.
A pleasant crackling sound from the fire fills the room and Veritas is once again confronted by the effort put in by The Family and The Grand Reverie Hotel to ensure that everything is as close to something real, but just off enough to cause concern.
“What is it, Ratio? Why the long face?
Hey, I just realized, where's that handsome bust of yours?”
For as much as Aventurine enjoys needling him, Veritas knows that he has explained to Aventurine the meaning behind his bust. He hasn’t worn it in front of the IPC strategist since their first official meeting.
And, for as much as Veritas berates Aventurine for his lack of interest in educational pursuits, Veritas also knows that Aventurine has not only taken note of this, but relishes the fact that he is now routinely permitted to see Veritas’ true face. There’s a natural through-line from the absence of the bust in Aventurine’s presence, to the fact that he finds Aventurine an intelligent person.
He’s also plainly said as much during their conversations.
Veritas trusts Aventurine — whose intuitive nature and grasp of others’ emotions — would easily draw this conclusion, even if he doesn’t wholly trust Aventurine himself.
“So you don't trust me either. Now that was easy, wasn't it? Also, I didn't go to school, and my parents didn't teach me any of that. A pity, they left before they could impart any life lessons.”
This too was an odd part of their exchange that set Veritas on edge.
Having already covered Aventurine’s background in greater detail during their first lesson — if either of them could call it that —Aventurine had already been abundantly clear as to his thoughts on Veritas’ attitude and approach to a potential education. There was no need for Aventurine to reiterate any of his own past, and while Veritas has surprising regrets about pushing Aventurine so incisively with his retort, Aventurine’s response had been strangely detached.
Maudlin it may be, but Veritas had hoped that they were closer than that.
“Hah, you're funny, I'll give you that! It appears our erudite friend has done his homework.”
As if they didn’t know each other at all prior to this meeting.
Additionally, Aventurine had not mentioned the paper peacock that Ratio had purposefully left him at the front desk, effectively giving Aventurine his room number.
It’s not like Aventurine to forgo teasing him about something, especially when that act could be misconstrued as some sort of sentimentality.
The mechanical hiss of his door opening disrupts his thoughts. When he turns around, the worst-case scenario that has been making its way to the forefront of Veritas’ mind gathers both speed and validity.
“Aventurine, are you in need of something else?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Veritas looks sternly at Aventurine who, despite his usual smile, looks confused and a bit lost as he stands just inside the doorway.
“Something else?” Aventurine asks.
Veritas watches as Aventurine takes a similar stance while holding out the paper peacock in the palm of his hand.
“I merely wanted to thank you for such an…interesting gift. You’re a man of many talents, doctor.”
This is the interaction that Veritas had been expecting: Aventurine’s usual sardonic remarks and indecent insinuations.
His theory is looking even more likely now, and Veritas is not looking forward to the implications of it.
“Humorous,” he tells Aventurine, “especially considering the fact that I just spoke with you and you failed to bring this up at all.”
Taking a step forward, he plucks the paper bird from Aventurine’s hand, watching Aventurine’s eyes widen with surprise. The green-and-blue peacock is fashioned in a similar style to the origami birds that litter Penacony’s dreamscape. Veritas had taken care to fold it himself and now begrudges Aventurine for somehow inspiring this effort at all.
“Did you?”
The apprehension in Aventurine’s voice is palpable. “I assure you,” he continues, “that whoever you spoke to was not me.”
Veritas’ worst scenario is nearly confirmed: a Masked Fool had been parading around as Aventurine.
“Don’t you trust me, dear doctor?” Aventurine adds, casting another longing look at Veritas neck.
“Then, do you trust me?”
Swallowing, Veritas glares at Aventurine who smirks back at him mildly.
“Your supposed doppelgänger asked me the exact same question less than a standard half hour ago.”
He holds out the peacock towards Aventurine, lightly skimming his fingers against Aventurine’s wrist. Aventurine shudders and gasps softly as Veritas traces the soft skin between the seam of Aventurine’s glove and the cuff of his specially-tailored IPC jacket.
Nodding imperceptibly, Veritas sees the confirmation of his own conclusion in Aventurine’s captivating irises.
“We’ve been fooled…how banal,” Aventurine says. His eyes narrow and he grips Veritas’ hand in his. “Their impression of me must have been convincing enough, given how…close our relationship has been at times.”
“I had my suspicions.”
The sound of a fire crackling loudly startles them both, and while neither of them jump, they both look towards the faux-fireplace until Aventurine bursts into giggles. “How like you, refusing to admit when you have been bested.”
“I have not been bested.”
“Sure you haven’t, Doctor.”
“How like you to be overly-concerned with matters unimportant to this alarming situation. You have been compromised.”
Aventurine clicks his tongue between his teeth loudly and then licks his lips. “On the contrary…I find your reaction to be very important.”
“It is irrelevant. Your concern is unnecessary.”
“When did I say I was concerned?” Aventurine asks. “Maybe your reactions are just that intriguing.”
Veritas opens his mouth to refute this too but finds himself frozen when Aventurine places a gloved finger on his lips.
“‘Finally, when all the characters are in their place, Destiny brushes over the card faces that are in stasis, and assembles the unfathomable truth,’” Aventurine whispers, quoting the now-famous line from one of the Intelligentsia Guild’s most prolific novel authors. Veritas hadn’t known that Aventurine had read them.
“‘Still missing a card...so, I'll add one in.’”
“You planned this?!” Veritas’ voice is somewhat muffled by Aventurine’s index finger.
Aventurine adds his thumb and tugs at Veritas’ lower lip, pushing his finger inside when Veritas opens his mouth with an amount of obedience that should shock Veritas for its wanton nature.
Instead, he blinks and stares at Aventurine, nearly panting into the palm of the man’s hand.
“Hardly…I’m just saying that this previously-unaccounted-for card is now known by two of the game’s players.”
Aventurine leans in close. Veritas feels the warmth of Aventurine’s breath on his neck and the faint touch of Aventurine’s lips on his ear.
He shudders and feels Aventurine’s widening smile pressed into his skin.
“It’s our move now, Doctor.”