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It’s not the first time Aventurine’s seen a person’s brains be blasted out of a skull.
Never gets old though, much to his regret.
Pink bits of flesh soaked in red drip down his face and clothes, the bone shards mixed in leaving behind annoying little scratches as they’re pulled out with the falling viscera.
It stinks, and he can feel a warm dampness sinking in through his clothes. The scent of blood is so thick he can actually taste a hint of copper on his tongue, and the brains and exposed innards have a fishy smell that will definitely cling to his hair and skin.
With his hands clasped hard underneath the table, he turns to smile at the man standing at the entryway, noting from his seat how those shoes are planted in the remains of a door. The woodchips and metal neither shuffle nor clink, as flesh and blood stand as still as an Intellitron.
“May I ask why you did that?” he asks. His voice must take on a peculiar quality for this task. It is not quiet, yet still sweet. It is loud, yet not aggressive. With clear and confident enunciation, he vocally approaches this stranger with his big sister’s tone. It’d been her specialty—speaking in a way that soothed someone without them knowing.
She’d be a bit annoyed if she could see him right now, copying her gift without much trouble.
The circulation in his hands is getting cut off, so he laces them together and puts his elbows on the table (heresy, in Jade’s eyes, he knows), letting his chin rest in that small cradle.
A bit of brain rolls down and he charmingly tilts his head right at that moment, so that it avoids going straight into his eye. Needing to blink and rub at his face would ruin the illusion to say the least, and put him on par with other mortal men.
“Something the matter?” he says, trying again to fish something from the murderer.
Aventurine doesn’t follow the gun with his eyes as it drops, merely notes its movement in his peripherals. He keeps his gaze locked on the other man.
“I apologize to one of the Ten Stonehearts. That over there… I believe the best way to describe it would be a ‘fraud’?”
“You have great timing, Your Highness. The former prime minister was about to sign a rather important document. Let’s move to an office more suitable for the continuation of our discussion then.”
“I appreciate your generosity.”
“I work in a way befitting of the Amber Lord.”
“... I see. Well, my aide will lead you to another room in the Palace, as I currently have some other matters to attend to. I hope you’ll understand.”
“Of course,” he replies with his sister’s smile.
Ah.
This project is a bit fucked, it seems.
There’s a generous amount of corpses spread about the palace floors, making the white walls dyed red up to his hips and the pearl floor panels a shimmering ruby instead. The sound of water splashing under his heels as he gently steps would be soothing, if it was actually water and not even more blood.
He sighs.
Not only is this project fucked, but so is this entire outfit—literally, from head to toe.
The walls and windows are soundproof, but why can he still hear muffled screams, gunfire, and explosions from the fiery mess outside?
The aide walking ahead is feigning calmness, but he can hear those steps splash a bit too hard in the blood, and those long robes snap and shudder with movement at times. They aren’t talking, but luckily the awkward silence is broken up by the surrounding sounds of violence.
He’s led to a functioning door, and after the aide pushes aside some bodies with his feet, Aventurine is ushered into a pristine office. White surfaces, white furniture, white surfaces polished to a glassy sheen, but with, oddly enough, warm lighting recessed into the ceilings.
His first move is to rest on the nearby couch, and not sit at the desk, swinging one long leg over the other as he waits. There’s a camera staring at him from the far left corner, a stark contrast from the small and fortified room the prime—the former prime minister took him to.
Gold shimmers and ripples over his body, a veil that folds over and sinks into his body.
A clear show of the Preservation for anyone that may be watching. Scrolling through his phone is a privilege quite a few citizens and even officials may not have right now, and he uses this time to go over the data collected and relax a bit.
That prince really was as ridiculous as he’d heard, and now that entire contract and its terms will need to be revised.
The blood that’s soaked into his socks is getting cold and uncomfortable, his gloves are sliding all over the touch screen, and the cuts on his face and neck are beginning to sting.
Did Jade throw him here because she knew this ridiculous coup was on the horizon?
“Why does Topaz get all the fun ones?” He complains to the person on the other side of the camera.
The silence is a rather nice response.
Neither agreement nor disagreement—perfectly ambivalent and neutral, which is exactly the response nonsensical complaints should receive.
The door opens and the prince comes in. His eye twitches at Aventurine lounging on the couch, an obvious tell rather unbefitting of royalty.
”What-what are you doing?! You’re in the midst of royalty! I don’t care if you’re from the IPC, get up-!”
Another gunshot later and the aide is enjoying eternal sleep on the ground.
”He should’ve retired last year,” the prince explains. “Let’s start off where the traitor left off.”
”Sounds good.”
He stands up in a single movement, slim, composed, and physically able. Some brain needs to be flicked off of the briefcase before he takes a seat at the table, and the prince allows for the delay.
”Now, my former conversation was focused on food and construction supplies for the next Amber Era, as well as making this planet more hospitable to promising startups once things have stabilized. Do you still want to follow this train of thought, or-“
”Different.”
”Well then, elaborate,” Aventurine says with a smile, fixing his vivid eyes on the other
”I wish to borrow some IPC personnel for a few years. When looking so far ahead, they neglect the present, which is what decides a civilization’s future to begin with.”
”Well spoken,” Aventurine replies. “I must note that we at the IPC are rather fond of our rules and regulations. When we send over troops and specialists, they will be working in teams underneath a variety of leaders. If you wish for something to be done by our people, you will need to work through our regulations and bureaucracy. Though,” he says with a chuckle, “you won’t need to jump through hoops the way others do. I say you will need to work with our rules, but it’s not that hard to adjust the terms of the contract, so that team leaders will directly report to you.”
Finally, actual emotion on the prince’s face.
Even Avenurine had been spooked by the prince’s wide eyes set into a loose, putty-like countenance unmarked by expression.
A row of perfect white teeth are revealed, with a large amount of gum exposed as well when the prince smiles, his eyes scrunching up with pleasure.
”Sounds wonderful.”
”Bonus, bonus bonus bonus,” he chants under his breath. He’s managed to get the entire palace and leadership of this planet stacked with IPC talent.
Give or take a few years, and this place will be added to the IPC’s roster of assets.
The prime—former prime minister had been a much shrewder opponent, but interacting with the prince was stressful in other ways.
Spa day? Yeah that sounds great after this mess, and he’d consider going in person for a tailored outfit, but online shopping is fine too.
Other office workers passing by are openly staring or doing double takes hard enough to get whiplash. It’s not the first time he’s just come back from a war, but returning after a bloody coup is definitely a new experience for them all.
His personal assistant is already waiting for him in the hallway, where she ignores his condition while making a small bow.
”Welcome back, sir. I’ll drive you back.”
”Sounds good.”
Private lots are a godsend, as no one is supposed to bother them as they go down. Their steps echo off the concrete walls and floors, when a new sound presses through.
”You look horrible, Gambler.”
His assistant pauses and steps to the side, so that Aventurine and Ratio can have an unimpeded conversation.
”It’s a long story, but I can tell you all the sordid details over a drink later,” he offers with a playful lilt to his voice. Ratio merely scoffs to the side, before meeting his gaze again with a frown.
”Absolutely not . You look horrible.”
”Obviously I mean after I clean up!” He knows Ratio well enough to be sure that his faux, teasing indignation won’t do much to keep the conversation flowing smoothly, but whatever.
”Also, drinking? Right after a job? It’s a useless habit with no pro—“
Aventurine holds up his hand, grinning. The blood is pooling in his soles, these cuts are really starting to sting, and his clothes and skin reek of decomposing blood and brain. All slimy and fishy.
”Sorry, but not right now, Ratio. Maybe later.”
”What do you mean ‘later’? You’re jumping to conclusions—“
”Not right now,” he emphasizes again, palm still up. He can’t feel the smile on his face anymore. “See you later, Doctor.”
”… I’ll see you around.”
They get to the car and he buckles himself into the passenger seat as his assistant starts up the car. Thank god the bonus is hitting his bank account sooner rather than later.
”… I’ve never seen you tell the doctor to back off.”
”First time for everything, no?”
”I know you can’t get much better than the Veritas Ratio, but sir… You can do better, right?”
”Sure I can.”
”You just don’t want to.”
”My personal assistant knows me so well~!”
She groans and forces her hands to stay on the wheel.
”I’ll be rooting for you…”
”Appreciate it.”
And he does.
Despite everything that’s happened to him and their small, small department, she has never lied to him.
“Send the Doctor some flowers later, as an apology.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“As an invitation.”
“He’ll decline.”
“That I’ll have to rescind my drink offer due to not feeling well.”
“Got it. What kind of flowers?”
“Pink tulips and blue hyacinths,” he requests, knowing full well that procuring the flowers will be a tough but doable task.
Her hands tighten on the wheel, but he watches with interest as her attention is pulled away from him, now split between driving and forming a plan for the flowers.
“Okay, but it won’t happen until tonight.”
The sun is shining at its apex currently.
“It’ll take me until the evening to clean up and pull myself together, anyways. Ah, bring me another tube of my usual sunscreen after the flowers, as well.”
“Duly noted.”
When they finally get to his building, he deposits a hefty amount into her account.
“For everything I asked about, plus extra.”
She glances at the notification, then sighs.
“That doctor is…” she mumbles and trails off, smartly deciding to not speak aloud her thoughts in front of her employer.
“As always, my ever reliable assistant~!”
Lots of people get tired of the night view in Pier Point after enough time passes. Aventurine has long gotten used to the scenery as well.
But sometimes, after a long day, he goes out onto the deck of his penthouse, and gazes upon the neighboring skyscrapers on one side, and the rippling ocean on the other.
Ships are docked in all the time, the lights of heavy machinery are always visible, yet…
Yet, further past the commerce and business, is just the ocean.
Rippling, fluttering waves, like grooves being dug through a sheet of silver glass.
He applies the plasters to his face under the full moon while letting the waves hypnotize him.
It’s useless and indulgent, but that’s exactly why he does it.
This salve is an herbal remedy his mom and sister used when they could afford it, and he regularly cobbles some together for himself, even now. It’s not as effective as a real ointment, but he feels like using it today. The bitter herbs and faint florals smell like his childhood, with all of the pain and joy those memories bring.
He swipes some over an annoying cut, tapping it in with his finger before covering the whole thing with a plaster. Going through all the nicks and cuts on his face is methodical and soothing, especially so while under the silver light of the moon. The salty breeze cards through his hair and gives him goosebumps under his nightclothes, cleansing his mind even more.
Is there enough in the fridge for a whiskey sour?
That sounds good before bed.
He sighs and drops his head into his lap, the scent of salt and herbs mixing in with the smell of his shampoo and skincare.
… That’d been rude.
He’d been irritated, and prematurely ended the conversation.
That’s called being rude.
“She didn’t mean anything bad,” he mulls to himself. When his assistant said he didn’t need to apologize, it sounded right in the moment, but maybe it wasn’t. “Well, the flowers are probably enough, right?”
He’s done patching up his face, and closes the sliding door to the rooftop deck behind him. The blinds are drawn and secured in place, before he saunters over to the kitchen, searching for any spare citrus or something to cut the whiskey with.
“Whiskey soda instead then, “ he mumbles. With a block of ice inside his glass and a rough eyeball of booze and seltzer poured in as well, he sits on the couch and starts drinking. Phone in one hand, drink in the other, and a random show playing on the TV.
It’s a trashy mix of drama and nonsensical arguments between moderately wealthy families within Penacony, but for some reason he feels like Ratio would enjoy it as well.
Every character within this reality show is hopelessly honest and upfront about their desires after all, no matter how ridiculous or mean-spirited.
However, he doesn’t think he can take verbal aggression right now.
Aventurine worried and bemoaned over how rude he might’ve seemed, but the urge to get a break from constantly being told to back off or address some flaw is still there.
Ratio doesn’t have any ill will behind his abrasiveness, but right now Aventurine just wants…
The salve on his face is similar to Sister’s handmade solid perfume, and the gold button from Mother sewn into his nightclothes—replacing the original button over his heart—has been warmed by his own body heat.
What Aventurine wants right now isn’t here.
And so he drinks and watches people who don’t matter fight over things that don’t matter.
His head is floaty and his extremities are a bit numb as he nurses his third or fourth drink, now lounging on his stomach over the cushions. What sort of takeout should he get, before the drunken cravings kick in?
The doorbell rings, breaking some of his haze.
He checks the camera on his phone, squinting at the person on the screen.
“What the fuck…?” Well, as usual, he needs to test the person. “Well well, why is the handsome Veritas at my humble abode right now?”
“It’s the furthest thing from humble, and don’t talk to me like that. I’m real.”
“Mmhm, mmhm~.” He wanders over and opens up the door to face Ratio. “Did you get the flowers, Doctor?”
“I did. A rather interesting choice.”
“Looked good though, I bet.”
“... It did.”
Ratio looks good right now too. Business casual, most likely fresh from a lecture. A loose, ribbed turtleneck that, despite the larger size, still looks pleasantly tight over the man’s firm chest. Charcoal slacks to go with the cream sweater, since Ratio is a genius who can save billions of lives with his findings and still have enough brainpower left over for fashion.
“Did you drive? Feel like drinking anything?”
“Didn’t drive, and a wine would be nice.”
“Gotcha.”
The pantry has a small wine fridge, and he ends up picking a dessert bordeaux. Absolutely no way Ratio is going to eat junk and drink with him while watching reality television.
“How much have you had, so far?”
“It’s fine,” he preemptively answers. “I’m not doing anything tonight.”
“The cuts on your face.”
“Bone shards from the prime, I mean, former prime minister. Anyways, I’m alive, so you can drink and leave in peace.” He pops out the cork with deft motions, and even he’s impressed by how nicely he did that, despite his numb fingertips.
He looks between the freezer and cabinets.
Would a chilled glass work better right now?
He can’t quite remember.
“It may not be ‘traditional’, but I’d prefer a chilled glass right now.”
“Alright, alright~,” he hums, plucking a glass out of the freezer with two fingers.
“It’s cool outside, but the temperature inside here is blistering.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Ratio’s always a good looking man, but sometimes it’s so cute watching him get all frowny and insistent like that.
“I like the warmth. Anyways, what’s the reason for your first time visiting my cozy little space?”
“Again, it’s anything but that. Cozy, yes, but not little.”
“Mmhm, mhm, drink your wine,” Aventurine drawls, sipping his drink. He peers over the edge of his glass, shoulders untensing as Ratio finally starts sipping as well. “You might as well take the bottle home, since it’s wasted on me.”
“Your disturbing habit rears its head once again.”
Aventurine tilts his head to the side, then meanders back over to the couch, splaying himself across the cushions. Ratio’s not answering the question, and he’s not going to pry.
“Anyways, I’m fine, and let me call you a cab before you leave. And again, just take the wine.”
He starts up the show, and rolls onto his back, half his attention on the shouting and the other half on his phone.
“Junk, junk, junk…” he mumbles, starting to add fries, popcorn chicken, a burger, pizza, and… “Ratio, what else should I order?” he calls over.
“You don’t need to shout, I’m already here.”
That ever so slightly raspy voice is pronounced and clear, and Aventurine drops his phone. Ratio is leaning onto the back of the sofa from above. The glass sparkles and shines, blinding him with flashes of light as Ratio swirls the wine within.
“A creme brulee would work well with this.”
Aventurine turns over to get a nice swallow of his whiskey soda, glancing over while half twisted towards the coffee table. The episode on television marches on.
Oh wow, Melanie and Mira are getting into a fight about floral arrangements for their best friend’s wedding.
Oh wow, they’re now arguing over who’s “actually” the bride’s “real” best friend.
“You’re staying?”
Why is Ratio giving him that look?
It’s difficult to notice, but sometimes the ever present fierceness in Ratio’s eyes softens, and when his brow furrows by just a dip, it’s less hostile and more charming. It creates the perfect canvas for a small smile that one almost has to sense, rather than see.
Right now everything is there, except for the smile.
The softness and faint furrow of the brows, but no curved bottom lip or the feeling of warmth.
“Yes,” Ratio replies, catching himself in an unseemly and discourteous bout of silence. “I’m staying. Who knows what sort of ridiculousness you’ll get up to unsupervised and drunk.”
“Your loss,” Aventurine says with a cackle, dutifully adding two creme brulees to his order.
“Anyways, what is happening in this show right now?”
“Oh, lemme get you up to speed. So far, Mina is the one getting married, and she considers Melanie and Mira her best friends. However, Melanie and Mira both consider Mina their one and only bestie. So during wedding planning, things are getting strange as these two are grappling with the future loss of the person they value most, and taking it out on each other instead. Because, guess what?”
“What?” Ratio asks, the previous expression absolutely bleached off of his face.
“These two hate each other, and have only been playing nice with each other for almost ten years , just so they can stay by Mina!”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And it’s about to get even dumber!”
Ratio’s being responsible and only on his second glass of wine, eating his creme brulee and staring at the screen, almost horrified by the amount of attention he’s giving this mess. Aventurine meanwhile is getting more and more sloshed, enjoying everything that’s happening more and more. His hand is hovering around the coffee table, indulgently deciding between adding another fry or piece of chicken to his plate that’s already full with a slice of pizza and half eaten burger. At some point Ratio started splitting the pizza with him.
“I understand why so many reality show stars end up falling apart afterwards, but I admit seeing the reasons why in person is rather… enlightening.”
“Oh yeah,” Aventurine mumbles, “Apparently Melanie and Mira were dating at one point.”
Ratio looks at Aventurine, then back at the screen, where the two have been arguing for almost three minutes nonstop.
“Must’ve been a tumultuous relationship.”
“That’s the weird thing. Fans are always hoping they stay together, because in between seasons, they look really happy together, but when the show starts up again and they’re encouraged to pick at each other, it ends. Kinda a shame that that’s all it takes to ruin their happiness, and they make so much money from the show there’s no way they can stop.”
“I see. Huh? Wait, those are the party favors Mina picked out!”
“Wuh-oh my god, you’re right! What’re you doing, Melanie?! Melanie, stop!”
The two men stare, eyes wide as Melanie, angry and unfocused during her scuffle with Mira, kicks a box of customized glass coasters into the memoria.
“Oh wow, they’re screwed.”
“Isn’t that putting it lightly?”
“Mina’s so nice she might just roll with it.”
“I feel no matter how tolerant someone is, they have a limit, no?” Ratio touches his throat as soon as he finishes speaking, frowning.
“Are you hurt? Did a piece of sugar cut your mouth or throat?” Aventurine asks, fighting through his drunkenness. “I have a saline solution that you can gargle with, and some lozenges. Sit here and lemme get you a glass of water, since you shouldn’t be drinking then-”
“No, I’m fine. I just thought of something.”
Relief washes away the temporary clarity that pierced through the haze, and he’s back to slothfully lounging, laying down with his legs kicked over one arm of the sofa and Ratio seated next to his head.
“Then, is it another idea that’s gonna save billions of lives?”
“No.”
“You always sell yourself waaaaaay too short,” Aventurine drawls, looking up. “You’re the amazing Veritas Ratio, and as long as the Doctor is here, I know everything will work out.”
“Someday you’ll regret all this empty flattery.”
“That’s only if it’s empty,” Aventurine says. He groans, then looks back down and reaches towards the table. “Doctor, can you pass me another slice?”
“Yes, here you go.”
Aventurine can hear the exasperation growing in the man’s voice, and he giggles while taking the pizza from Ratio. The booze makes him fumble, and despite the food having long cooled off, a glob of sauce and cheese plops onto his collarbone. He can’t be bothered to care, and just starts eating.
“You should clean those off. I remember seeing those clothes in a magazine.”
“The only thing that matters is the button,” Aventurine replies, happily eating. It’s okay for him to have the temperature set so high, since the nightshirt is barely buttoned at the chest and leaves his midriff bare.
“It’s gold,” Ratio notes, staring near his collar and the button.
“Mmhm.” Aventurine doesn’t elaborate. It’s close to his heart and that’s what matters.
“Gambler, what happened during that business trip?”
“A shitshow. Oh wow, see, I told you! Mina’s so nice!”
Ratio glances at the screen, where Mina is most definitely holding back her fury while still speaking so gently.
“She looks rather angry to me.”
“She does? Damn, must be the alcohol.”
He blinks as Ratio grabs a napkin and cleans the mess off his skin, lingering near his neck.
“Aventurine, I apologize. Please speak to me.”
He drops the entire slice onto the couch cushion, making a mess of the velvet.
“Wha-oh, oh shit!” He slides himself off the couch, stumbling to his feet and heading towards the kitchen. “Shit, shit, I don’t want it to get a grease stain!”
“Aventurine-”
“Couch first! Couch first!” he snaps.
The couch has been saved, and unfortunately some of the alcohol metabolized in his system while moving around. There’s another drink sloshing in his hand, and Ratio is on his third glass. He sits on the coffee table while the other sits across on the couch.
“Alright Doctor. What are you talking about?”
“I should’ve given you some space the moment I saw you, but I insisted on continuing the conversation.”
“And so? We’re arguably friends, definitely acquaintances at least, but nothing warranting a home visit. I gave flowers because it seemed right and I was being rude.”
It’s be nice if there was more, but he’s been trying for a while and not expecting any sort of breakthrough soon.
“You weren’t. You told me how you were honestly feeling.”
Aventurine takes a deep breath and presses his face into his palms.
“Okay, appreciate that, Doctor. But you still need to tell me why you’re this torn up about a professional connection; not something personal.”
“Because I still value it.”
Aventurine stares, gathering up his thoughts.
“Nothing’s changed. It’s all fine.”
“You’ve never told me to actually stop and step away, before.”
“It’s just been a long day.”
“So how many times have you wanted me to stop, but just didn’t say anything?”
“Uh…” It honestly just rolls off of him by now. He knows Ratio only means well, and to not take things personally. “I’m used to it by now, and I was a little tired today.”
“Saying you’re ‘used to it’ implies that there’s something unpleasant that you became acclimated to.”
“I know you mean well,” Aventurine scoffs, waving about his drink. He takes a gulp, trying to chase away the sobriety starting to sneak up on him.
“I know people don’t always think the best of me, but the smart ones simply leave.” Ratio stares into Aventurine’s eyes without flinching; the strong colors of Aventurine’s irises mean nothing to him. “And I know you’re smart. While I appreciate it, why haven’t you long since abandoned this friendship of ours?”
“Because I’m fond of you. Oh yeah, romantically, not platonically.”
He pours the last drops of his drink down his throat, then stands up to make himself another one.
As he adds another block of ice to his drink, and mixes up another whiskey soda, he takes the moment to just let the words sort of float in the air.
There’s nothing really in his head right now.
None of the elation or anxieties he thought he’d have.
“... Did I just give up?”
He should be pondering over that question more, but can’t muster up the energy for it.
Now that Ratio’s mentioned it, yeah, it is kind of tiring trying to talk to someone and getting either a cold shoulder or biting words. Tiring trying to flirt or whatever to a wall, or worse yet, a wall that scolds you.
Then again, contrary to what his assistant says, Aventurine can’t do any better.
This miracle of even being able to regularly converse with someone of Ratio’s renown is a blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, and maybe he should’ve seen the blessing for what it really was.
Just a blessing.
Not a chance.
His face burns at the realization.
He’s been chasing after nothingness this whole time.
“This day just keeps getting worse, huh?” He meanders back over to Ratio, who’s begun eating again. He takes a seat next to the man and also starts picking at the food again. “Sorry for making this awkward—just disregard what I said.”
“...You have tomorrow off, correct?”
The sudden question makes him blink a few times, and he almost makes a joke before stopping himself.
“Yeah. A bit unprofessional for someone to show up to a business meeting with a cut up face, no?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then. When we can discuss this better while you’re sober.”
“Sure,” Aventurine replies with a smile. “Ah wait, the cab. I gotta call it.”
“It’s fine. There’s one already coming over.” Ratio shows him his phone, and sure enough there’s a blinking dot moving towards their location.
“Okay. See you tomorrow then.”
“See you.” Ratio stands in place after that oddly informal goodbye, then moves towards Aventurine.
“Don’t forget the wine-!”
Ratio kisses him on the cheekbone, neither of them able to see the expression on the other person’s face.
“Please have your hangover in check before lunch tomorrow.”
“... I will.”
Ratio strides out with scarlet ears, that blue hair swaying under the lights like ocean waves under sunlight.
And even though Aventurine had just marked off any potential of something more as a loss, it’s embarrassing how much that little thing changes everything.
Everything he did wasn’t in vain.
He pours the rest of his drink down the sink, finishes a whole bottle of water, and gets ready for bed.
The next day at lunch, Ratio gives him red roses at the restaurant, and it’s charming how the man will blush over an evening kiss on the cheek, yet feel no shame over such a ridiculous show of affection.
Of course, he accepts the flowers and texts his assistant, who can only respond in shocked emojis.