Chapter Text
Lilacs and Sandalwood
"Is that Aventurine? One of the Ten Stonehearts? What's he doing here?" A woman is boldly assuming that Aventurine is out of earshot from her when he is not. Maybe it's on purpose.
At least her companion has the decency to lower his voice when he answers. "I mean, this is Strategic Investment Department business, but... stay away from that man. I mean it. Stay away from all of those Stoneheart freaks."
The pair are walking away quickly now. Aventurine still hears the man mumble, "That one literally sold his own two eyes for good gambling luck."
The IPC's largest, most lavish ballroom in all of Pier Point is bustling with activity. The room hums with conversation, excitement, the pouring and clinking of glasses. The smooth, rich chords of classical piano music pour into the room like a gentle breeze.
A new, highly ambitious project is about to begin: the IPC, the Strategic Investment Department as the spearhead, means to take back Penacony soon, its old frontier prison turned amusement park. Today is the day that the corporation's shareholders are being let in on the secret, still hush-hush to both the public and lower ranking IPC employees.
The meeting went well and the shareholders are delighted. The money will come pouring in afterwards. That's how it always works, and that's all that matters.
So here stands Aventurine at the bustling after party.
While one might expect someone as socially cunning as Aventurine to thrive and network during a work event like this — he tends to stick to the background once he's fulfilled all of his goals. Large events are overwhelming.
Aventurine has been completely blind for over a system decade now. While he is exceptionally confident and independent — partially thanks to his high-tech and very stylish pair of glasses that assist him with navigation and description — he still gets overwhelmed sometimes and might rather die than to seek out the assistance of others.
Parsing out overlapping descriptions from his glasses against conversations happening in front of him, hearing things above the music and laughter when things get rowdy, trying not to stand in anyone's way... Aventurine is exhausted.
He idles far away from any crowds, leaning his back against a solid marble pillar. There's a mostly full champagne glass in his hand, smooth and cool to the touch. Aventurine keeps meticulous track of how much alcohol he consumes at work functions like this. It would be incredibly easy for him to say something he shouldn't otherwise.
"Doctor?!" Aventurine overhears someone, a man's voice. He barely listens, more focused on his glass of champagne that he's not drinking than eavesdropping. "I can't believe someone so famous is here. Sign something for me, would you? Oh! And let me talk you through this really cool idea about—"
Another harsh voice cuts into Aventurine's periphery like a knife, masculine and deadly, stern and full of venom.
"—Time. And. Place. If you're looking for validation, you won't find it here. My time is extraordinarily valuable, and I don't have the luxury to entertain every unsolicited half-baked idea spoken at me. Activate those last few neurons in your brain and take the hint. Leave. Me. Be."
Wow. Direct. Footsteps follow, authoritative and rhythmic against the smooth floor.
The left temple of Aventurine's glasses gently rumble towards the source of the disgruntled doctor to alert him of his presence, but the man's shoes are clacking so aggressively against the floor that Aventurine doesn't need the help of his glasses to locate him. Aventurine stays put against the pillar, not wanting to get in the way of an annoyed man.
When the doctor stalks past him, his footsteps reach their loudest point. He's walking so swiftly Aventurine feels a gust of air against his face as he passes. The scent that follows is so subtly alluring and unexpected that Aventurine nearly loses every other thought in his mind. Lilacs? A hint of sandalwood. Is that perfume? No, too faint. It's soap. Old soap.
The bone conduction speakers on Aventurine's glasses identify the doctor before him with a soft, friendly chime. They relay the following information to Aventurine in a way that is audible to him, but silent to anyone near him:
Doctor Veritas Ratio. He/him. Muscular build. Purple hair. Walking away. Background: A renowned educator and scholar of the Intelligentsia Guild with honors in biology, medicine, natural theology, philosophy, mathematics, physics, engineering, computer science—
Aventurine mashes at the temple of his glasses to mute the damned things. He gets it. Heavens, what a long description. In a place with so many people around, for the sake of his own sanity, Aventurine has put the glasses in short description mode, where they usually only pick one accolade from the IPC's database that Aventurine can comment on during strategic business small talk. It seems that Veritas Ratio from the Intelligentsia Guild is too accomplished for brevity.
But more memorable than any description Aventurine's glasses assist him with is the scent that follows Ratio's departure. Something about that soap was remarkable. A hint of sandalwood, lilacs. Perhaps the cleanest scent Aventurine has ever smelled.
Sage
So much planning, preparation, and recruitment for the Penacony project, still in its infancy. Aventurine has been stuck in the IPC's headquarters on Pier Point for what seems like an eternity now, cooped up in his office working, making phone calls, exchanging emails. Aventurine's job is much more exciting when he gets to travel.
Aventurine is returning a favor for a middle manager from the Technology Department and is currently sitting in on a research grant proposal meeting to record it for her. Aventurine is exceptionally crafty when it comes to business politics and knows that this maneuver will lead to more favors in the future. It's looking like Aventurine is going to need all of the help he can get with the ambitious Penacony Project.
Though the meeting is not set to start for another ten system minutes, Aventurine hears who he can only assume to be the speaker, arriving with loud and purposeful footsteps that echo through the boardroom. Aventurine leans back in his chair.
Doctor Veritas Ratio, his glasses relay once again. Aventurine brings a curled hand to his lips in mild surprise, hiding a smile. That good-smelling, angry doctor from the party the other day? He/him. Muscular build. Alabaster sculpture head — What does that mean? A mask? — Setting codex on podium. Clothing: A gold and purple embroidered suit. Background: A renowned educator and scholar of the Intelligentsia Guild with honors in—
Aventurine gingerly silences his glasses, having heard the doctor's lengthy list of accolades the last time he was in the same room with him. Well, most of them. Aventurine wonders if the doctor is in a better mood today and if he smells the same as he did back at the party, but unfortunately, he's much too far away from him to tell. That floral scent mixed with the doctor's directness has been fluttering through Aventurine's mind all week.
Attendees flock in at their leisure. Eventually, Ratio's sharp voice cuts through the room, eliminating all small talk and side chatter.
"Sixty three seconds past this proposal's start time, and there are eighteen empty seats at the table before me," Dr. Ratio says. And then Aventurine hears the doctor... lock the door. Yes, that's the only thing that distinctive click could have been. Wow, Veritas Ratio really did just lock the door. Are his key investors even here yet? Aventurine curls his fingers and covers his lips again, amused.
Ratio continues, his voice as sharp as ever, "I will begin. Now. Pay attention."
Aventurine pays attention. The doctor's tone is rather vicious for someone requesting grant money for a research project, but Aventurine's only purpose here is to record the meeting, which he's diligently doing. Still, Aventurine pays attention and is interested in the idea: some kind of... Revolutionary cognitive support device? A brain interface? Ratio's explanations are rather dense. Electroencephalography, near-infrared spectroscopy... What is he talking about?
Oh no. Aventurine is lost.
"Doctor," Aventurine boldly interrupts the meeting. Ratio does not snap at him, so he continues. "What is electroencepha...? Sorry. I'm a little lost."
A sigh escapes Ratio, faint but audible. He says, "Neuroscience. Electroencephalography is an archaic form of brain activity measurement that I mean to fund the replacement of by means of this very grant. This is clearly spelled out on the hologram before you, so do yourself a favor and look at it."
Hologram? Aventurine frowns. His glasses, while exceptional at detecting physical objects and hazards around him, have quite a ways to go with accurately discerning the full contents of complex holograms, particularly text from them. Neutral neck, neutral spine. Aventurine hopes that he's taken on the appearance of someone who's paying attention and reading the words on the hologram before him. Aventurine likes to think that he's good at pretending to be sighted. The doctor does not call him out again, so he must be pretty convincing.
The presentation continues with no more interruptions. Aventurine is still lost during its conclusion, but he's interested in the general subject of the proposal, even after he's turned off the recording. Aventurine has always had a curious mind. According to augmented descriptions of the meeting from Aventurine's glasses, someone banged on the locked door during the meeting, and Ratio threw a heavy codex to silence them — that was fun.
When the attendees begin to leave, Aventurine leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. Aventurine usually lingers for a while after meetings end like this, not wanting to get in anyone's way. "Dr. Ratio," he calls. "Can I speak with you? It's about the proposal."
"You may," Ratio answers. It sounds like he's cleaning off the podium, gathering his things. That harsh tone of Ratio's sends chills down Aventurine's spine, and not in a bad way — but there's no time to be thinking about that sort of thing right now.
"Sit with me once you've cleaned up," Aventurine says.
And Ratio does just that. The cushy office chair next to Aventurine squeaks with the doctor's weight when he sits in it and scoots it closer to the table. Aventurine smiles in Ratio's direction. The doctor's scent fills his nose again, sage this time, earthy and pure. Like a walk through a garden warmed by the sun.
Ratio asks, "Do you have a question, Mr. Aventurine? I'm listening."
"Ah, you already know who I am." Aventurine's lips curl into an easy grin.
"Naturally," Ratio says. "And I noticed that you weren't taking notes during my proposal. But you showed more interest than any of the other idiots in attendance who didn't even bother to ask any questions at all, so... Acceptable."
So harsh. Ratio's bluntness is kind of cute. "I recorded everything. I can take notes later," Aventurine says.
"Hm."
"And I apologize about the hologram, doctor. I couldn't see it very well."
"You couldn't see it very well? What do you mean?"
Does Veritas Ratio somehow know who Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts is but nothing about the rumors chained to him? Impossible. They've been spreading across the entire corporation and among the IPC's partners since before he took on the name Aventurine. The crazed gambler who sold his own eyes. Perplexed, Aventurine rests his hand on his cheek, using his other hand to rap his fingers gently against the tabletop.
Maybe Ratio is just trying to be polite, but his question sounds genuine. Or maybe Ratio has better things to do than to listen to rumors. Good for him.
Aventurine eventually admits, "Well. I couldn't see the hologram at all. I'm blind."
"You're blind." A little huff escapes Ratio's lips. His chair creaks when he adjusts into a new position. Aventurine isn't sure what to make of that reaction until he speaks again, his tone domineering and sharp. "And none of the genius minds of this meeting's conception thought to inform me of this? Hmm."
Aventurine laughs, weaving his fingers together and folding his hands before him in his lap now. "Aww, lighten up, doctor. I'm doing a favor for a friend and was only here to record the meeting for her. Your research definitely caught my interest, though. I can't imagine there's too many neuroscientists out there."
"No, no. I will not lighten up. Your comprehension of my proposal has been unjustly limited due to my own incompetence. I take back my blame and cast it onto myself. I sincerely apologize." Ratio seems weirdly passionate about this, despite his notorious reputation for being harsh and uncaring. It catches Aventurine off guard. Ratio sighs again. "Please allow me to re-frame my presentation in a way that does not inhibit your understanding of any part of it. From the very beginning."
"Sure. Thanks, doctor."
And just like that, Ratio thoroughly explains his entire proposal again, dictating and describing every word, graph, and diagram from his holograms. The full picture has Aventurine even more interested. A revolutionary brain scanning device that will vastly improve the treatment of brain abnormalities in the near future, should the proposal be accepted, of course. Unfortunately, Aventurine has very little influence over that. Aventurine listens with intrigue, occasionally interrupting to ask for clarification— and to add in his own thoughts and ideas.
"So you're trying to diminish some of the harsher emotional spikes of certain mental illnesses," Aventurine summarizes.
"Correct."
"Okay. I understand now." A small smile reaches Aventurine's lips. "That's rather ambitious."
"And completely realistic with the current state of neuroscience. If the IPC rejects this proposal, I might start diagnosing those responsible with some of the aforementioned illnesses. But my grants are almost always accepted. As they should be."
Aventurine chuckles again, completely charmed.
Ratio asks, "If you have no further questions, I should take my leave. Do you need my assistance with getting anywhere?"
Aventurine does not need help, nor does he typically want help from others — he does not want to be perceived as weak or vulnerable, especially to colleagues. Still, Aventurine is fascinated by the doctor. Allured by him. So he gives him a confident, "Yes. Take me to the elevator. Maybe I'll put in a good word with the senior manager of the Technology Department about that grant in exchange, hmm?"
Ratio scoffs. "Oh please. No. My words during the meeting were enough to woo the grant givers. That was the whole purpose of the meeting. I don't need to be trapped in the cycle of corporate favor giving. No, thank you. But yes, I will gladly accompany you to the elevator. Take my arm."
Aventurine takes Ratio's elbow after he stands, which Ratio makes easy for him to find...
Heavens. Good heavens. The doctor is not just muscular, as Aventurine's glasses described him. That was a complete understatement. The man is built like a statue, and Aventurine is only gathering this from touching the doctor's elbow. Feeling cheeky, Aventurine pretends to be lost for a second, feeling the doctor's tight forearm and then the strong, bulging muscle of the beginning of his bicep. Oh heavens. He's tall, too — much taller than Aventurine is, perhaps by a whole head.
This is ridiculous. Aventurine needs to stop. He returns to the doctor's elbow quickly. Ratio doesn't comment on the exploration, so perhaps he didn't notice. The doctor's muscles tensed a little, though — Aventurine could feel that. Aventurine can barely hide the intrigued little smile on his face, which he manages to simmer down into what could be considered friendly and neutral instead of romantically captivated. Not at work.
"Thanks," Aventurine chimes. "Let's go."
"It's nothing," Ratio snaps. Aventurine is beginning to think that the harshness in the doctor's tone is just always a thing for him. It's quite endearing.
Dr. Ratio makes for a decent guide. He clears a grand path for Aventurine, pushing abandoned office chairs back into their proper places at the table while muttering under his breath about both the mess and the danger. The two proceed to the elevator.
Although Aventurine only asked Ratio to guide him to the elevator, Ratio ends up accompanying Aventurine all the way up to his office on the 99th floor. Aventurine had to scan his badge and input an access code to even have the elevator recognize the 99th floor. He scans his badge again at the locked glass door that leads into his office space. Bullet-proof, the IPC claims. Aventurine's glasses confirm this with their info module every time he works up here.
Notoriously, Aventurine is completely unmotivated by any sort of consequence that might come out of his wrongdoings in the workplace. And any management above Aventurine is either acutely aware of this by now should be. Aventurine does not play by the rules. A partner of the IPC is definitely not allowed to be on floor 99, but Aventurine simply does not care.
Ratio holds the door open for Aventurine — how chivalrous — before continuing to lead him to his office.
"Here you are," Ratio says. "Office number eight, is that correct?" He tsks, frustrated. "No braille on the plate, I see. Fantastic."
"Yep, that's the one. And I can't read braille anyway, so it wouldn't help me if it was there," Aventurine says, unperturbed. He knows exactly where he is, as he is here almost every day. Aventurine is independent, but it's kind of nice having a buff sage-scented man willing to help him. "Thanks, doctor. You're so helpful."
"Mhm."
Aventurine scans his badge to unlock his office door with his left hand this time, not wanting to take his hands off of Ratio's arm for a little while longer. How selfish of him. The door clicks when it unlocks, springing slightly ajar.
Reluctantly, Aventurine un-weaves himself from Ratio's arm. "Best of luck on that grant, doctor. Let me know how it goes, all right? If it gets rejected... Well, I might have a genuine interest in independently funding it — no IPC involvement at all. I would bet on it getting accepted, though. That grant money is as good as yours."
There's a long bit of silence. Aventurine almost asks if Ratio is still there, but his smooth voice says, "That's... very kind of you. I'll keep that in mind. Have a good evening, Mr. Aventurine."
A pleased smile finds itself onto Aventurine's lips. "You too, doctor. Thanks again for everything. Bye bye."
After Ratio departs, Aventurine props his office door open all of the way. He doesn't mind the lack of privacy most of the time and enjoys the feeling of the central air conditioning trickling into his office from the hallway rather than blasting in from the vents on his ceiling.
"Hey." The voice of Aventurine's co-worker Topaz fills the air shortly after Aventurine settles down at his desk. He's leaning back with his hands on the back of his head, thinking about Veritas Ratio like a damned fool. Aventurine has Topaz's description turned off on his glasses. He knows very well who she is.
"Hey there," Aventurine chimes.
Despite getting demoted after her blunder on Jarilo-VI, Topaz's office is still right next to Aventurine's. Aventurine has already exhausted every variation of the 'I'm your boss' joke at this point. Or perhaps not — he's sure he can think of a creative few more.
"Who was that?" Topaz asks. She's standing outside of Aventurine's office.
"Doctor Veritas Ratio. He/him. Muscular build."
Topaz doesn't get the expansiveness of Aventurine's joke, but she laughs nonetheless, perhaps a little weirded out. Aventurine smirks. He elaborates, "Just a kind-hearted man who helped me to my office. I was attending his grant proposal meeting for someone from the Technology Department. Interesting stuff. You should have been there."
Topaz isn't someone who's going to rat out minor rule-breaking, but Aventurine can sense her disapproval nonetheless. "...I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not," she says.
"Completely genuine. Something about—" What was the word Ratio taught him, again? Aventurine's mind is still on about that muscular arm of his, that clean scent of sage on his silky suit jacket. It's not that he's forgotten about the research. It was of interest to him, but what was that word again...? "—Brains. Neuroscience. Some sort of revolutionary new brain scanning thing."
"Oh."
"You sound bored. Would you have preferred it to be some math thing? A grant to discover a new number? I'm sure Veritas Ratio is very capable of such a feat if we were to give him enough funding and time to count that high."
"What are you even talking about? Oh, shut up," Topaz whines, half-playful and half-annoyed. "You are too much."
Aventurine maintains his smile and changes the subject, twirling a pen between his fingers. "Wanna go to the casino after work?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"What if I get lost on my way there?"
Silence. "I'm rolling my eyes right now," Topaz eventually says. She knows as well as Aventurine does that he's not going to get lost.
Aventurine scoffs out a dainty, "Well, don't let them roll away."
Topaz sighs. Aventurine imagines that she's leaning against the doorframe. "Well, have fun. I guess. Don't do anything too risky."
A little laugh bursts from Aventurine's lips. He's the crazed gambler who sold his eyes at the casino floor for the tiniest edge. Of course he's going to be risky at the casino tonight.
Antiseptics and Sterilized Air
Kakavasha's eyes have been stolen from him. Surgically removed from his body and sold. He feels completely violated.
One week after the operation, Kakavasha's mind, sluggish from the pain, finally accepts that his vision is not going to magically come back. The only sight he has are his dreams and memories, but who knows how long those will take to fade.
Hallucinations greet Kakavasha in the place of his vision, on the bridge between his mind and his barren optic nerves. Visual and strange, like daytime dreams with no tether to the appearance of reality. Kakavasha sees his own face in these visions, abstract and inhuman. He sees his big sister, standing far in the distance from him, crouched on the ground but smearing away in an array of brand new colors that never existed when he was sighted.
Kakavasha needs to get used to this. He needs to be strong and adapt.
The gruesome details. Kakavasha has little to do but fixate them in his recovery room, all alone and chained to his hospital bed like some kind of dangerous animal. How much did two, whole Avgin eyes from a live specimen — the last of his kind — sell for? Who would purchase such a thing and why? Did his eyes sell at all, or are they rotting away in a refrigerated warehouse somewhere? A researcher's laboratory?
Most importantly: How has Kakavasha's monetary value decreased now as a blind slave? He must be worthless now. Utterly, completely worthless. Will the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach ever go away?
Weeks pass.
Eventually, Kakavasha is fitted for prosthetic eyes. It's medically necessary, the doctors tell him. Kakavasha can only hear their voices. It's hard to trust them when he can't see their faces. Is it medically necessary for him to be chained to the bed still, too? Kakavasha hasn't tried to fight them for a whole week, but his right wrist is still restrained by a heavy iron cuff, too tight, too cold.
The prosthetic eyes. Kakavasha needs his eyes to be Avgin, just like before, but the doctors offer him normal eyes.
Normal.
Eyes.
Vivid memories flood Kakavasha's mind. His sister, his mama, his papa. They all had normal eyes. Normal, pretty Avgin eyes.
Kakavasha's blood boils hotter than he knew his veins could handle, and he breaks his week of non-violence — to little effect while chained up like this. Kakavasha demands that his prosthetic eyes look exactly the same as before. Exactly the same as before. Pretty Avgin eyes. But how can Kakavasha know if the doctors will fulfill his threatening demands? He can't look in the mirror and check. He can't trust anyone's descriptions.
Worthless slave. Worthless slave. Worthless slave.
That feeling never escapes Kakavasha, nor does it change when he becomes Aventurine, sparkling yet hollow. Worthless slave. It rattles around at his core, even after he kills his master, even after he buys his freedom. Even after Diamond invites him into the Ten Stonehearts.
Worthless slave.
Bergamot and Gunpowder
Today, Veritas Ratio smells like bergamot, tangy and powerful, but not offensive or overbearing to Aventurine's nose. The doctor's clean soaps never are. He's wearing a silky suit again, different from last time — softer to the touch. And Aventurine is closer than he's ever been to the doctor with a death grip on a pistol that's aimed directly at his own chest. Exhilarating. Intoxicating.
Click, click, click.
"Life is a grand gamble, and I'll always be the final victor." Aventurine pulls the trigger a fourth time before Ratio violently yanks away. The revolver was so tight in Aventurine's grasp that it doesn't fall to the floor, but remains in Aventurine's hands. He puts the gun back in its holster, nearly shaking with adrenaline.
"You're insane," Ratio barks, furious. He nearly stumbles over those words. Aventurine can tell. Aventurine laughs — Ratio certainly does not. Of course Aventurine is insane. Of course he is.
He's the crazed gambler who sold his eyes for good luck. Everyone knows that.
"I'm looking forward to working with you for the next few system months," Aventurine says. "Welcome to the Penacony Project."