Chapter Text
Aventurine wasn’t very fond of the rain.
Even so, he couldn’t help but watch the children prance about the streets of Penacony; their shrill laughter ever so contagious. Parents were frantically waving them back into their respective homes, but kids will be kids — none listened, of course. A curve of his mouth at that.
In retrospect, it was a rather cruel twist of fate, really. The Aventurine from years ago would’ve joined these children in their delight. His home planet, Sigonia-IV, was far from a charitable host. Engulfed in scorching deserts, the most valuable currency there would have been water itself.
…If only it was just the heat that suffocated the Avgin there.
On days like these, left to drown within his own thoughts, Aventurine’s mind tended to wander into dangerous territory. Surely he wasn’t at fault; he was merely curious if the gods, too, possessed a sense of humour. It would certainly explain the irony that trailed after his footsteps with every decision he’s made in order to claw up the ranks of the IPC, and then to be dumped on the doorstep of Penacony. After all, he could only imagine that it gets boring to be all-knowing and all-powerful after a while: what better way to pass the boredom than to toy with some insignificant mortal?
Thunder boomed in the distance, and Aventurine couldn’t help the wince that followed. Gritting his teeth, he willed his hands to stop shaking. For all his perfect appearances, this was the one habit he never quite managed to shake. Foolish, really. It was a dead giveaway to the past he would much rather bury; it was an easy weakness to exploit.
Going out into the rain and attempting to enjoy it is a process he’s tried more times than he’d like to admit. Even he himself didn’t know what the end goal was — there was no rationalising it. Just on an endless fool’s errand, hoping to one day train the natural joy into him once again.
Running his fingers through his hair, a deep inhale was all that he allowed himself before the mask he reserved for the IPC slid into place. It didn’t take long for him to realise that people see what they want to believe anyway; all he needed to do was play the part of faithful puppet.
Sometimes he wonders if he would ever grow to enjoy flaunting the grandeur. That voice he fought desperately to suppress never fails to pipe up in these instances. “All that you are now is a fucking disgrace to the blessings you were born with. You taint the halls of the IPC with your presence alone. I know you see it too; those hushed whispers and glares shot your way. You’ll never be one of them…you’ll always be lesser.”
“Shut up,” he groaned. “I don’t have time to deal with you. I need to find that self-proclaimed Galaxy Ranger and see what she’s been up to.”
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What with most of The Family’s esteemed guests having already arrived, the hotel’s reception area should’ve been relatively empty. The sight that greeted Aventurine, however, was bizarre enough that he paused in his tracks.
“Fuck’d you mean I’ve already checked in?” the stranger demanded loudly as he gestured to himself. Untamed white hair, flamboyant cowboy hat, and carrying an absurd amount of weapons…Aventurine may not know his name, but he sure was intrigued.
“I’m sorry, sir, but it says on the records that-” the receptionist’s panicked attempts to placate this rowdy guest fell on deaf ears as he plucked the papers from her hands. “Acheron?” he boomed, “Who the fuck is that? Darlin’, there’s no one going by that name in the Galaxy Rangers.” As if for emphasis, he added, “I would know.”
Someone who might actually know Acheron’s true identity? Now, that was certainly an opportunity Aventurine wouldn’t pass up. Besides, the poor receptionist girl looked like she was about to cry. Surely he couldn’t just stand by and watch!
Sliding in between the two, Aventurine held up his palms in a gesture of good will. “Now, now, there’s no need for things to get so heated. Let’s all calm down and have a nice chat, like civil adults.”
The cowboy (cyborg?) narrowed his striking red eyes, thoroughly unimpressed. He sneered, “What’s it to you, IPC lapdog? I never realised you fuckers were so desperately out of jobs that you’d do anything for a bit of cash these days.”
Unruffled, Aventurine pointedly ignored him as he addressed the receptionist instead. “You know me. Aventurine, executive from the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department. I vouched for the Trailblazer’s spot in the hotel, and Sunday agreed, didn’t he? I’d just like to ask for you to see this one through too,” he jerked his head in the stranger’s direction. “Surely you can make one more exception in the IPC’s honour?”
“I, um, I don’t-”
“It’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ll take it up with Mr Sunday himself, that sound good?” Aventurine flashed her a disarming smile, and breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded at last. Glancing at the cowboy with the dismissal that he knew would make him tick, Aventurine waved him off lightly as he remarked, “No need to thank me. Figured you must’ve desperately needed that room.”
Eyeing the rainwater still dripping from the stranger’s clothes, Aventurine made a show out of sniffing the air and continued, “You smell like wet dog. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I have other matters to attend to.”
Satisfaction bloomed when only sputters of disbelief answered him.