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“Are you here to gloat?”
The prison cell was a cold, damp thing, set in one of The Oak Family’s basements where the oxygen circulation wasn’t quite as good and the memoria was a thick film coating the outsides of its surface and forming web-like translucent bubbles down the hallways. It was enough to breathe just fine, but comfort was definitely not on the designer's mind. That much was far more obvious looking at the chains and singular metal chair centrally stationed in the otherwise bare room. It was a steep decline from the lavish and expensive Oak family residence that the cell’s singular occupant previously enjoyed, and that was a point Aventurine took a great deal of pleasure in.
“Of course I am.” Aventurine grinned, although, on instinct, his expression tried to sour somewhat, thinking of the chords of Ena and the Harmony running through the Halovian’s veins. He decided against letting Sunday in on his thoughts on that matter. “How are you finding your imprisonment?”
“What level of clearance did you have to circumvent to get here?” Sunday ignored the question. The blonde felt the tendrils of that damn voice reach into his mind and pull at the honest answer– good thing he was accustomed to keeping his cards close to his chest.
“None at all. You know, being one of the Stonehearts has that as a perk.”
Sunday’s eyes narrowed. He looked pathetic, strung up like the puppet he was with those chains which sprawled untidily across the floor to fit into the hooks drilled into the stony walls. It was a far cry from the outwardly benevolent and impenetrable leader that the Oak family had paraded so proudly around, and an even further one from being the Emanator of the Order; the control, pride and self-righteousness drained right out of him. His appearance reflected his situation well enough too, feathers out of place and his hair hanging in a mess around darkened under eyes.
While Aventurine had been given more official duties to attend to, of course he’d come to brag. He’d ached to see the man in this state after being stripped so mercilessly to one similar only a few days before. As always, he’d come out of it the winner, and the opponent who had seemed all so confident in his bet had fallen. It was always satisfying if not a little hollow.
“You’re lying.” Sunday eventually surmised. Down here, the thick bubbles of memoria clouded the barrier between reality and the dreamscape, but it was blurry enough for the former family head to reach in and grasp onto his previous convictions and draw out the truth.
“And yet knowing the truth will do nothing to serve you. Such a pity.” Aventurine shrugged, feeling his smile tick up again, realizing the power he held now. Obviously, he couldn’t do a thing to hurt a hair on Sunday’s head- Jade had her own plans, and he was not in the position to get his hands dirty fiddling with whatever she had managed to negotiate with that other Halovian girl. He’d just been sent as a messenger - given a few sets of words and largely empty promises from Jade to try and coax Sunday out of this damned cell. It had been enough effort to just get down here, let alone trying to convince this man to join an organization he so clearly hated. Unlike the guards, Sunday seemed immune to any sort of bribe, no matter how generous. “Have any of your precious Family members come to visit you?”
“No. But if the Family has fallen so far as to allow the IPC’s dogs to sniff around, I’d rather not.” Sunday said bitterly. Aventurine just laughed. He would have been more offended if Sunday weren’t having to actively crane his neck upwards to meet his gaze.
“Haha… Seeing as the IPC is likely the only way you’ll see day outside of this cell, I’d suggest keeping that to yourself.”
The Halovian perked up a bit at that, his brows furrowing imperceptibly. Aventurine may despise the man but had to give credit where it was due for that ironclad poker face he had. Searching in the dim light for anything resembling a tell was nigh impossible.
In the man’s sparing interactions with other members of Sunday’s kind, they were deeply emotional beings, and their wings tended to give away every thought in their heads. This fact didn’t seem to extend to Sunday, wings eerily still as he sat there. He looked up now, those off-putting yellow eyes meeting the distinctive mark of Aventurine’s Sigonian heritage.
“You are to tell me what the IPC wants with me.” It wasn’t worded as a question, and the man’s voice warbled and sang the words, silver-tongued and sleek. Those chains mustn’t be normal, for that influence didn’t grasp the Stoneheart with nearly as much sway as he’d expected. They were far too easy to shrug off, even accounting for Sunday’s weakened state. It drew another laugh out of him.
“Ah ah! I don’t think you’re in the position to make demands.” Aventurine tutted, although he didn’t draw any closer. Being under the Harmony’s power was not something the blonde was willing to gamble again since the gains on the table here were not quite to his taste this time around. Sunday’s sneer just managing to crack through was enough to fill him with glee, so he decided to throw the poor man a bone. “The IPC tends to pick up strays. You fit that bill just fine.”
“You think that I would fall for that pitiful idea of charity? What a farce.” Sunday spat.
“I never said you’d fall for it. It’s a mere chip on the table. It’s up to you if you fold.” If the other’s fate was left to Aventurine, he’d be in this cell for however many Amber eras it took for that temperament to be hammered flat by Qlipoth’s hammer, purely out of spite. The gamble Jade had presented had high returns if it pulled through, but Aventurine was not eager to have the man as a coworker in any capacity. Having the Harmony’s cancer forcibly put inside of his brain for those hellish seventy hours had very much cemented that opinion. It was enough having to deal with the other Stonehearts, let alone an evangelical diplomat turned disgraced war criminal.
“Then they should prepare for disappointment. I have no interest in accepting whatever proposition you may have.”
“Be that as it may, there’s a chance we’ll leave you without a choice,” Aventurine said.
“I am sure it will delight you when I say that I am willing to take such a gamble.”
“Haha. You see through me so well. Well… mostly.” Aventurine flashed the cracked stone still in his possession. It wouldn’t be for much longer, but Sunday needn’t know of the trial that was soon to commence. He’d been put under some kind of ‘house arrest’ within Penacony until his verdict was decided. Said house arrest was probably why he’d been sent down here instead of Jade; if things went sour with negotiations, having someone already so tainted to be the fall guy was much easier than needing to account for not one, but two Stonehearts.
Sunday’s gaze bore into the stone with a hungry glint in his eyes, a silent rage, and desperation tinging the air alongside it. None of that bled through when the man began to speak again. “If you’d fully seen my plan I suspect our roles may be switched.”
“A shame. In the end, I suspected that the Doctor did not truly betray you like I had first thought.” Sunday sighed “I shouldn’t be surprised. A man of his erudite status is a remarkably difficult one to convince of any path other than his own. It is a miracle that he saw fit to reward your reckless foolhardiness.”
“Says the one in chains.” Aventurine’s smile curled a little, absolutely relishing where this conversation was going. Some part of him wished Ratio was here to partake, but knowing his temperament, he’d act the ever-pragmatic spoilsport and ruin the fun somehow.
Unfortunately, he knew the time in this cell was running out. The family was on high alert of the IPC, and with the memoria so thick down here, some of the more vigilant Dreamweavers were probably going to realize that there was someone in the cell who shouldn’t be there. Negotiating with the family could only go so far, and from the impression Aventurine got, the IPC was far from welcomed by most. It had taken a mighty lot of reasoning and some rather pragmatic instructions from Ratio to not get his head blown off by that galaxy ranger. And the other ‘galaxy ranger’ quite nearly did.
“Please enlighten me how you would go about inducting me then.” Sunday urged.
“Why, that’s not quite up to me. I’m simply offering you a proposition for exchange. One that could prove to be quite lucrative for you.”
“Trading one prison sentence for another? I have no wish to serve the Amber Lord. To do so would be akin to blasphemy. No perceived reward would change that fact.” Sunday glowered (or at least, this is what Aventurine assumed that fractional darkening behind his eyes was.) “Do you all blind yourselves with this illusion of divine purpose?”
“Of course not. Serving has never equaled faith. THEY couldn’t care less about your internal devotion to the Amber Lord, because at the end of the day, regardless of who you pray to, the only Aeon that has any true power in the IPC is the one who wields the hammer.” Aventurine felt his arms raise outward, revelling in his words. It was a mere performance, but the walls echoed little of the sound.
It was a poor stage to stand on, and the audience was a man who hated him. His speech had some sense though; He’d learned early on in his time working for the corporation that Gaiathra Triclops could make him the luckiest man in this sector of the universe, but it couldn’t truly scale in relation to the enormity of Qlipoth. He was mortal enough. Avgin’s weren’t long-life species by any means- barely a hammer’s swing remained left in him, and by Aventurine’s own doing, he’d likely have much less. One of two thousand, one hundred and fifty-eight. They weren’t great odds to make any sort of impact.
Aventurine had won with less, however.
“Then you are an instrument. It makes no difference. You may have your sound, but you do not choose your tune. I have no interest in your proposition. Leave me.” Sunday said, an air of finality in his voice. It was a shame to see such potential wasted, but it was very little love lost when Aventurine conceded. This was something he had no stakes in, and one he’d preferred to stay out of. It was a comfort knowing that Sunday wouldn’t join him, and even more so entertaining the idea they would never have to speak after this.
“Tut tut. Such a waste, Mr Sunday. I hope you enjoy your cell, for I doubt you’ll be seeing much else again.” Aventurine closed the door after realizing he’d get no answer. No doubt, Jade would visit him again, but he knew she’d have no more luck than he did.
Of course, Aventurine was completely fine with that. He had bigger problems to attend to anyway.