Chapter Text
The tension in the room had not dissipated even after Aventurine’s departure, with the Stoneheart leaving behind a rather maniacal proclamation that would leave most people unsettled. Though Sunday was overall satisfied with the results of his (perhaps final) encounter with the IPC representative, it seemed that there were still some things that needed to be addressed.
Sunday hummed as he gathered the Cornerstones back into their box, not yet acknowledging the stiff man stewing in the corner. Only when they were safely put away that he spoke without a glance toward Dr. Ratio.
“I take it you find my methods rather… distasteful?” During his confrontation with Aventurine, he momentarily took a peek at the Doctor’s expression. He did not need to face the other man to know that his jaw was set and his long, scholarly fingers were digging into the meat of his arms. Dr. Ratio’s hazel eyes had always been sharp and straightforward, fearlessly gazing into Sunday’s own curved, fathomless ones as if he could gauge the depths of his thoughts, but ever since he entered the room, he averted his gaze. Even now, the Doctor refused to look at the Halovian as he took a sharp intake of air before releasing a subtle, biting laugh.
“That statement I made about seeing a shrink? I’m afraid it wasn’t a suggestion.”
Sunday’s responding chuckle was more airy and light-hearted, not taking the back-handed insult to heart. He turned around to face the acrid scholar with a gracious smile and a pleasant expression.
“You have claimed that Mr. Aventurine and I are of similar minds. Had our position been switched, would he have done any less?” Ah, Dr. Ratio finally looked at him, his eagle-like eyes still terribly sharp and oh-so indisputably sincere. The tune of the Harmony, ever-present and inescapable in his domain, let out a delighted vibrato that only he could hear.
“That kind of hypothetical situation would never occur given the current circumstances. He wouldn’t have the effective means to threaten you. Nor would you put yourself in such a position as he has done.” The Doctor’s tone was harsh, barely restraining his irritation, but it lacked a deceptive quality unlike the frivolous Stoneheart, whose entire being permeated an aura of deceitfulness. “Don’t treat me as one of your dull-minded followers and expect me to bark in your favor. I am a logical man, that— emotional appeal won’t work.”
Since their first meeting, the Doctor’s lips had always been naturally set into a frown— the opposite of Sunday, and Aventurine as well. That natural scowl now seemed to be pressed deeper and Sunday couldn’t help but respond to the dark, glowering face with one of his more serviced and gentlemanly smiles. Angelic, as many of the members of The Family had called it in fearful tones.
“Now, I wasn’t trying to appeal to anything, Learned Doctor,” Sunday appeased in a soft tone as if trying to placate an angry guest about being given the wrong room. He took three steps toward the ill-tempered man, slow but sure. “All that I’m trying to convey is that if Mr. Aventurine has a grasp on my weakness…” His footsteps, muffled by the surrounding rug, seemed louder during his pause. He stopped within a couple of feet in front of Ratio, observing the way the other’s expression had grimaced at their proximity. Nonetheless, the Doctor didn’t back away or react defensively, his hazel eyes and tense body language still candid and frank. “...Would he not use it to his advantage?”
Sunday’s curved eyes caught the twitch in Ratio’s jawline.
“Not to such— extremes .”
“Extremes? ” A disbelieving chuckle escaped from his mouth. “Dr. Ratio, you and I must agree that compared to what the IPC has done in the name of their interest, my methods would be considered mild under the eyes of the Aeons. Perhaps merciful to what the IPC would have done to Mr. Aventurine, had he left Penacony empty-handed without the Cornerstones.”
“The Cornerstones you have confiscated.”
“And I will give them back once an enticing offer has been made by the IPC. I’m sure this ‘Topaz’ will be very eager to have their Cornerstone returned.”
“Do you really think the IPC will be so eager to negotiate knowing that you have set up one of their Stonehearts for execution?”
“To the IPC, no one is indispensable. Not even a Stoneheart.” The hardened gleam in Ratio’s eyes and his pursed lips told the Halovian that the Doctor could not refute his statement. Sunday’s smile curved higher as he leaned forward until their faces were just inches apart. “Perhaps… they already have a list of subordinates to replace him?”
“Is—” Ratio hissed between clenched teeth. “—there a point to this discussion? If there is, then stop wasting our time and get to it.”
“Ah, my apologies,” Sunday leaned back slowly, his expression shifting into something more sympathetic, “I should know by our previous interaction to speak to you in a more direct manner.”
There was that twitch in the Doctor’s jawline again, made out of impatience. A narrow of eagle-like eyes due to displeasure. A press of lips into a grimace to display his building temper. So easy to read. So utterly open in his emotions. The Harmony in the room agreed with Sunday’s observation, its power creating a low chime that caused his feathers to shift ever so slightly.
“I mean not to aggravate you, Dr. Ratio. My intentions are only to ease your… sense of responsibility to your cohort, Mr. Aventurine.”
“My… Pardon me, my ‘sense of responsibility’?”
“Yes.” Sunday countered Dr. Ratio’s dubious tone with a benevolent smile. “You seemed upset by the… self-inflicted misfortunes fallen upon Mr. Aventurine. A righteous person such as yourself shouldn’t have to bear the burden of that villain’s misdeeds.”
Ratio couldn’t restrain the baffled scoff uttered from his throat as he unwound his arms from his chest. “How presumptuous of you. This— aggravation you perceived from me; it does not stem from some misplaced accountability. I am an adult, I know the consequences of my actions. When I assisted you, it was under the awareness that I would be putting my associate in a difficult place.” A gaze full of thorns, though Sunday could not bear to look away from it. “But not necessarily in a grave .”
Sunday’s amicable expression hadn’t changed as he put a hand behind his back. “It was a grave that Mr. Aventurine dug on his own.”
“I find it difficult to believe that a risky gamble, a scheme doomed to fail, warrants a death sentence.”
“Oh?” Sunday uttered with a hint of surprise, tilting his head in a faux innocent manner. “I was under the impression that the Great Doctor finds Mr. Aventurine to be… disagreeable.”
“I find many people disagreeable but that does not mean they are undeserving of life.” Ratio crossed his arms once more. “Which, apparently, don’t seem to correspond with your own principals.”
“Ah, so this isn’t really about Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday realized with a brighter smile, taking another step forward into Ratio’s space. They were now just a few inches from touching, close enough that the Doctor could smell the subtle scent of the Halovian’s cologne. The way the taller man wrinkled his nose in response to it was more amusing than insulting to the winged man. “But rather, a conflict of ethics?”
“To call it a ‘conflict’ puts your own moral standards into question.”
“Learned Doctor,” Sunday placed a hand over his chest, his face shifting into a wounded expression. “The IPC is a ruthless organization that will prey on any weaknesses I unwittingly expose. What I did to Mr. Aventurine is a necessary defense for myself and for Penacony.”
“No.” A shift of emotions, brown hazel eyes turning into a piercing gold. “I hate repeating myself. I am not one of your idiotic subordinates. It’s a direct insult to my very intellect if you think I would happily play along as a sympathetic character in this melodramatic spectacle you’ve created . These needless theatrics have never been about the IPC or the welfare of Penacony. Nor has it ever been about the Cornerstones or that fool’s tasteless gamble.”
There was a light chuckle as Sunday lowered his hand, his expression remaining docile despite the shadows in his eyes. “Perhaps the wise and discerning doctor can enlighten this ignorant soul on his findings…?”
“Heh. Ignorant, ” Ratio sneered, aware that such a description did not fit the head of the Oak Family. As if the man did not have eyes and ears fundamentally everywhere on Penacony, making it his job to know every single thing that brought interest to the Family. “Fine, I’ll cut to the chase. The gambler has nothing to do with Ms. Robin’s death.”
The room turned abruptly cold, and the light seemed to dim. This space, this entire manor was designed and created by Sunday, infused by the power of Harmony he wielded. The temperature and ambiance would not shift without its master’s allowance.
But despite the obvious change in atmosphere, Ratio stood his ground even as Sunday’s persistent smile dropped.
“…The Doctor is…” The hollowed laugh paired with the Halovian’s unsmiling eyes would send his enemies on the ground, begging for forgiveness. “…much more candid than I had anticipated.”
Ratio huffed. “I do not take joy in digging into open wounds. Neither do I wish to speak about this matter in such a crude and impertinent way. Your resentment is justifiable, but that does not give you free will to fatally condemn an innocent party.”
“Innocent?” Sunday gave the doctor a mocking glance. “Surely, you do not mean that crazed gambler?”
“While a ‘crazed gambler,’ he’s not a murderer. Nor an accomplice to the murder.” Those intense, vivid eyes narrowed once more, forming into a knowing glare. “However, I doubt I’m saying anything particularly novel to the Oak Family’s head.”
A fearless, sharp gaze like a bird of prey. Even in the face of a bigger predator, possibly trapped in the middle of said predator’s territory, his eyes looked straight at the truth, saw nothing but the truth, and refused to hide away from it. Such a clear and guileless gaze, so stubborn and sincere.
(“Brother.” A bright gaze, clear and guileless. Eyes that always seemed to be seeking something beyond the empty dreams of their ‘home’. So stubborn and sincere. “I’m leaving Penacony—”)
There was a cacophony of sounds in the Harmony , the dissonance rattling his breath. Sunday closed his eyes away from that unyielding gaze, forcing the discord in his chest to settle once more.
“...Indeed, a thorough investigation by my people confirmed that Mr. Aventurine did not kill my sister. And yet…” An empty laugh from a man barely holding back his hysteria, the wings near his head twitching in agitation. “And yet, he was the only one that saw her die. Tell me Learned Doctor, for all your knowledge and insight, why ?”
“Why?”
A hand suddenly snapped forward and Veritas didn’t have time to react when it clutched onto the chain near his chest. With surprising strength, the doctor was yanked forward until his entire vision was taken over by gold eyes drowning in grief and madness.
“ Why does she have to be the one to die?” Veritas heard how the gloves creaked around the chain, threatening to rip the attachment off the Doctor’s outfit. He grabbed the Halovian’s thinner wrist, finding it as stiff as steel. “Why is that villain allowed to walk around, unharmed and breathing, while my innocent little sister has to be buried in the ground and forgotten?”
Ratio recognized the reverberating quality of Sunday’s voice, saturated with the power of Harmony. With gritted teeth, the scholar tried to lean his head back to create some distance between him and the Oak Family head. “So that gives you validity to act as judge, jury, and executioner?!” The Doctor snarled, gritting his teeth as his collar stretched.
“Since he let her die,” Sunday’s smile was joyless. “Shouldn’t he accompany her so she wouldn’t feel lonely?”
“Irrational,” Ratio spat, tugging on Sunday’s wrist in a futile endeavor to get the other to let go. “Absolutely absurd. Killing that gambler would not benefit you or your sister.”
“Perhaps not,” Sunday conceded rather heedlessly, his grip not budging despite Ratio’s paltry attempts. Instead, he pulled the scholar closer, a cacophony of little voices emitted from the Halovian’s throat chuckling when the other wrinkled his nose in distaste. There was a barely visible twitch from the Doctor at the inhuman sound. “But I’ll be sure to make use of him before his final moments.”
At long last, Ratio managed to wrench his chain from Sunday’s grip, but only because the Halovian had decided to release him first. The Doctor’s bold and relentless posture had changed to something more defensive, instinctively turning his body to the side to avoid being touched once more, but his eyes…
Brighter than gold, glaring like the ‘suns’ he could only see in dreams, more profound than the stars above this gilded cage—
A blunt indignation, a transparent revulsion, a sincere and open fury— emotions that both he and Mr. Aventurine could not freely express. Even when the Family and the Dreammaster twisted his arm and held a knife to his throat to continue his duties despite his little sister’s murder, even when Mr. Aventurine had his feathers ripped out, unable to take flight or to escape, left to be trampled under the dirty soles of his enemies, they both put on a smile, a show, a composure without weaknesses or faults.
On a stage full of veils and elaborate gestures, of prefabricated scripts and dialogues, Dr. Ratio stuck out like a sore thumb. Regardless of his elegant words and undaunted attitude, he was an awkward and ill-befitting performer in their entire play.
It makes the Doctor’s association with someone like the Stoneheart rather baffling, yet at the same time…
“Now…” In a blink, the air became warmer, the lighting back to its previous setting, and Sunday’s unflappable mask placed back on his face. The madness (grief) tucked away, the emptiness (resentment) hidden behind curved eyes and a cordial smile. “How does the Learned Doctor wish to obtain his reward?”
Ratio was momentarily bewildered by the change in topic before his jawline tensed and his face scrunched up in disdain. “Keep it,” the Doctor spat, the acidity in his tone potent enough to melt through even the thickness of Qlipoth’s defenses. “The conditions have changed. I have no desire to be— rewarded for such a thing.”
“You shall be rewarded regardless, Doctor,” Sunday refuted kindly, putting a graceful hand on his chest. “I’m sure our research findings on the Stellaron would be put to great use under your experienced and compassionate hands. Your reputation as a humanitarian is well-known throughout the cosmos. Certainly, you won’t forsake the lives of countless planets just because of one, insignificant Sigonian?”
“I said, Keep. It.”
Ratio evidently had enough of their interaction because without a clear dismissal from the master of the pavilion, the Doctor rudely turned away and began to head towards the door.
“Please Doctor,” Sunday called out lightly, unbothered by the other’s curt behavior. “Let’s not be irrational.”
The answer to that ironic statement was a loud and aggressive exit from the fuming scholar. Sunday heard more than saw the double doors leading into the meeting room open and then slam close. The sound echoed through the large space, a single reverberating note to the overall melody of the Harmony humming pleasingly in the air.
Sunday closed his eyes and let it wash over him—both the Harmony and the potent, lingering emotions. He could easily visualize the deep scowl, the narrowed, fearless eyes, bright and as inevitable as the dawn, the acrid words that conveys more than what the Doctor articulated.
(He visualized another person just as open with their feelings. Of a bright and kind smile, of green-blue eyes so lovely and beautiful that many wrote poems about them, of a laughter that twinkled like bells, always in tune with the Harmony, her wings carefree and lively despite the fatigue she could not hide. From her own blood, from her ever-meticulous brother, she could not hide the woes of her heart, preferring to drown in her sorrows, to suffer from heartache, than to be less than the generous and virtuous image that many saw her as.)
The Doctor would undoubtedly seek the gambler because that was within his nature to. Most people riddled with guilt would avoid the object invoking said guilt, but Dr. Ratio was a man of compassion and responsibility. Sunday, without having to spy on them, could already foresee it:
The Doctor finding the gambler in a difficult state, the brand of Harmony eating away his essence in the most painful way possible.
In his suffering, perhaps Mr. Aventurine would sneer at his former associate, reject his presence and any form of explanation about the ordeal.
Regardless, somewhere in between, the disgruntled Doctor would offer his help. Not because he wanted to alleviate his guilt or to redeem his sense of honor, but because of his sincere nature. Because he truly felt a sense of concern and benevolence for even the most pathetic of creatures, unable to walk away from anyone in dire straits. And Aventurine, for all his arrogance and reckless behavior, would be a fool to turn it down.
Except the Doctor was not wrong when he mentioned Sunday’s and Aventurine’s likeness to one another. And no matter how gentle or forgiving that offered hand could be, both of them could only either spit or bite at it. After all, how else should a hurt, cornered animal react?
His eyelashes fluttered as he focused his sights on the Cornerstone box. It sat there harmlessly, almost benignly, but an aeon’s blessing could be anything but. And a pathstrider blessed by an aeon known for their indifference wouldn’t be considered ‘flightless’ even with all their feathers plucked and their wings tied together.
Walking up to the meeting table, Sunday placed a hand on top of the case, a long and graceful finger tapping on the smooth surface in contemplation.
Now that he dragged that gambler down to his level —desperate and greedy for answers, for a means to alleviate the gnawing agony digging into their very beings— what should be their next course of actions? As two wretched, cornered beasts, defanged but not entirely defenseless, how should they tear the throats of their enemies?