Work Text:
“Not heading off for your timely lunch, child?”
Aventurine doesn’t bother tilting his head away from the reports he’s reading–they’re forever more interesting than whatever Jade has to say to him, anyway. Probably. He doesn’t bother taking his legs off his desk either: he dropped 395 Credits on his new shoes! Why not show them off as he pleases? Not that anyone had looked at them proper since he walked in, anyway. Save for Topaz, of course, who’d given him the pointiest of pointed and annoyed looks that rivaled the bitchiest of his bitchy and smug, shit-eating looks, such as the one he had on his face right then. Said something about how he ‘never comes in this early’, before saying something else about how he ‘perhaps, potentially, maybe, possibly, likely, came in just to shove your stupid shoes in my face’.
Even then, he’d just left his feet propped up against his desk, peering over his sunglasses to take in the perfect comedy that was Topaz’s annoyance and sarcasm. Make no mistake: he was reveling in the increasing exasperation on her face as multiple words failed to express the flavour of annoying Aventurine was being. Eventually, of course, she left with a simple, whatever before huffily marching out of his office.
“Work calls, Topaz! It needs you to sign 10 forms–one of which is in my own hands!” It was the icing on the cake, calling her back in just as she was about to twist that glistening green doorknob. Oh, oh that was the highlight. He waved his arm about jauntily, the papers in his hand fluttering about in the air to call upon the lady of the hour, who had a mixture of livid and baffled on her face, trying to comprehend just what the fuck her stupid coworker was trying to do.
And just when did Numby hop onto his lap? In Qlipoth’s name, it’s as if she wanted to enable him even further by making him look like a cartoon villain. Perhaps some treats were involved…he’d always been fond of animals, whom, in turn, seemed to be quite fond of him. She grit her teeth and glowered at Aventurine, who’d now begun to stroke Numby’s head.
“You know, if you’re going for ‘cartoon villain’, you’re doing it wrong. All you look like is a damn cartoon, without the villain,” Topaz starts, bringing a pen out of her pocket, before snatching the papers from his wretched grasp. She brings her hand down on the signature blank with an aggression that could rival the gentle Doctor’s arm strength, the ballpoint nearly making a hole in the paper. “Maybe try auditioning for the role of Hanu, hm? At least some of your dramatics will be put to use,” she deadpans with a sneer. Aventurine raises both his hands up in a pleased shrug as he lets Numby hop off his lap to return to her mother. “And I’d rock it, admit it! ADMIT IT!” he calls after Topaz while watching her storm out with her daughter in her arms.
A notification popped up on his monitor about ten minutes later:
–
Dear officer
Workers are to refrain from arguing with P44 Leader, Senior Manager Topaz of Debt Retrieval today. Disregard the laughter heard from P45 Leader, Senior Manager Aventurine of Stratagems’ office. We apologise for any concerns raised.
Regards
IPC P47 Leader, Diamond of the Ten Stonehearts
–
Aventurine let out a very pleased, very amused snort. So all in all, this was a very productive morning, really! Ah, warm memories. Though…there was a new question on his mind.
“Say, Jade, did you enjoy my little joke with Topaz?” he asks, ignoring her initial question as he finally decides to put his reports down. Jade’s expression doesn’t change, save for the slight one-degree head tilt and slightly pursed lips that were the perfect indicator of her exasperation. Why wouldn’t she be? She’d already put out six fires between Topaz and Aventurine that week, and it was only Tuesday.
“Your antics are entertaining from afar, child, but toss a coin to those who have to deal with the trouble that stems from them, would you?” she states, her tone almost a tired deadpan. Almost. It’s Jade, after all. She shifts her weight, and tilts her head, now fully exchanging eye contact with Aventurine. There’s the bright light of the afternoon pouring into his office, making his gorgeous and well-cared for blond hair light up like gold glittering under a spotlight. The heat of the beam of sunlight on his back certainly told him that the lunch hour had arrived, yet he’d refused to get up. Curious. Her eyes fall half-lidded, deciding to attempt at getting him out the door.
“...The Doctor told me to keep an eye on your eating schedule, Aventurine."
And a minute later, the Stoneheart found himself in an elevator, a sandwich in hand. Damn you, Ratio. 1 - 0.
He stares out of the glass elevator idly and zones out. There’s a bunch of folks chattering behind him, some talking about business shit, some chatting about the stock market; the folks he could eavesdrop on most clearly, though, were giggling over the latest gossip that had been circulating within the various group chats and friend circles at the IPC. And well, judging from the fact that their chatter had instantly died down the moment he walked into the elevator, it seems that his name was once again making its rounds. Perhaps Trotter Protection Society Honorary President had gone online to complain and not-at-all vaguely vaguepost about The Golden Touch. Getting under her skin was entertaining enough, but knowing that it was enough to get her to yell about it online? Oh, now that’s great. He wonders how many replies and rechirps it’s gotten on Chirper.
He refuses to call it by its stupid rebrand. “Z”, how utterly unremarkable and lame.
Now, he could check the app, given the fact that it was going off almost aggressively in his pocket and had annoyed everyone in the elevator, but the rules of social media are akin to the rules of being at a party: arrive fashionably late to everything. He strolls into the surprisingly sprawling garden in the middle of the IPC, one hand in his pocket, ready to fish out his cellphone, and the other still holding onto that sandwich he’d bought earlier. Admittedly, this had become a bit of a spot of respite for him. The garden lended that splash of colour and life to this dreadful concrete jungle that it so desperately needed. He leans back, and maybe he does, in fact, need that chiropractor visit like Ratio said. If not for the gushing of the mini waterfalls around the pond, perhaps his back cracking in three separate places would be heard by everyone nearby–can’t have that, certainly not, he’s far too young for that. He looks to the trees above as the wind starts kicking up. The songbirds sing ever so sweetly, and maybe he releases the tension in his balled-up fist too, just slightly…he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow gently–huh, each of these fellas do have a different bird song. He hums along softly, before realising he’s listening to one of them sing Hope is The Thing With Feathers. Aventurine pulls the cling wrap off, an amused smile on his face. Her impact…astronomically and universally transcendent. Great album, great crying music.
He continues staring at his phone, scrolling through business emails on IPCLook and planning his responses in between bites of his panini. This period of focus lasted all of three minutes, after which the Stoneheart switched back to Astralgram to mindlessly scroll for the next hour. With each flick of his thumb, the more his unread work texts pile up, but alas, the more the wind blows and reminds him of his fleeting youth, and time utterly wasted away as he sits behind a computer that dares to increase the power on his transition sunglasses. The longer he sits between the greenery between dreadfulness, the more he thinks about all that he loses by continuing to sign and type and talk and lecture–oh, the misery. And yet, when he looks down at the final bit of his sandwich left in his hand–the crunchy, crispy panini bread, the gorgeously nutty and smooth pesto, the charred heirloom tomatoes a wonderful mix of acidic and sweet, the creamy and fresh mozzarella–he frowns, mourning the loss of such a wonderful day to another few hours of work…he mentally notes to crack open that new wine bottle. Aventurine’s about to pop that final piece into his mouth, until he sees a brown head next to his knee.
Perhaps most would flinch, or call security, but Aventurine simply grins, ecstatic. “There ya are, fella! Where’ve you been…” he says to the waterfowl, scratching under its chin. This bird–this goose–showed up at the IPC a week ago, roughly when a Foxian delegate from the Xianzhou Luofu came to Pier Point for some business meetings…which could mean nothing. No matter, for this little thing was absolutely adorable, and surprisingly open to interacting with people. The first day Aventurine met it, he’d tried to shoo it away from his Caesar salad, but perhaps it was fated for these two to become friends, for it wasn’t long before he was feeding it little cherry tomatoes and playing with it. He remembered getting lectured for not washing his hands after touching a wild animal, after Topaz (of all people) saw the photo of the goose wearing his hat. Not that that’s ever stopped him in the past, of course. He’s always been incredibly fond of animals, and they seemed to be rather fond of him.
Something to say about the Mother Goddess’ blessing…or whatever. Dr Ratio tells him it’s his “innate gentleness”, or something. He’s never believed in ‘luck’, so maybe that’s just Dr Ratio being Dr Ratio. He’s a teacher of the universe, so of course he’ll believe in the humanity and inherent kindness of everyone in it, even if one is too blood-soaked and afraid and undeserving of it. Aventurine plucks the last tomato from his lunch. His hands are a little shaky. The grin is still on his face.
“You’re in luck, bud,” he says, holding the slice of tomato a little away from the goose’s beak, “Not everyday that you get to taste an heirloom tomato, eh?” He grins softly in the privacy of the sprawling garden as the little thing delicately takes the slice from between his fingers and eats the tomato, his other, free hand automatically reaching out to pet it once again. The goose stretches its neck out, resting its head on Aventurine’s lap as he continues to pet the waterfowl, this time with his gloves off so that he can feel the silky down of it. The wind’s blowing, the day is balmy, and he has a creature sitting in his lap. Perhaps this is what peace means. Aventurine hums a familiar melody. He’s not sure what the words mean, for they are in a tongue lost to the sands of time, but the melody sits safe in his mind. He looks down at the animal in his lap–eyes shut, breathing slowly and softly. Aventurine hums, unsure why his heart feels this warm, nor why there’s a faded memory trying to make itself known.
Ahem.
He twists his neck, looking for the source of the noise and shadow that had formed over him. Well, not that he was unsure or surprised to begin with…there’s only really one person who would bother coming up to him during his lunch break.
Aventurine’s smile turns playful as he looks at Dr Ratio’s face. It’s his normal expression of boredom and exhaustion, though this time his signature curiosity was taking center stage, as seen by his raised eyebrow. “If you’re concerned about my eating habits, doc, then don’t ya worry-” he pauses midway, pulling out the crumpled packaging with his free hand, “-All of this was eaten by me. Well, almost, at least–I had to feed this lil’ guy.” Dr Ratio only looks slightly less tense, a short sigh escaping him. “I assumed as much. Getting animals to trust you this much is bigger than just a stroke of luck, and even more so for the specific waterfowl you’ve made friends with.” Aventurine raises his hands. “Well what can I say, doc? Animals love me.” He looks at Dr Ratio again, who seemed to have processed something. “Say, gambler,” he started, folding his arms, “what exactly did you feed this bird?”
“What?”
“Which part of your sandwich was fed to the goose?”
“Now, hang on, Doctor, surely you don’t suggest that I’m incapable of safely feeding the wild animals!”
“Oh, don’t you twist my words you minx, you know very well that that is not what I mean–”
“You of all people would know how messy tones can be, Ratio–”
“...Gambler.”
“–I mean, sure you sounded like you were just curious because how in Qlipoth’s name would you know what was in there–”
“Gambler.”
“–Like you weren’t there with me at All'antico Vinaio today morning, so–”
“GAMBLER.”
Aventurine stops trying to rile the scholar up, his face only inches away from Dr Ratio’s, whose hands were on his shoulders. Aventurine glances down at his chest for a split second, before looking up at the other. Dr Ratio blinks, before clearing his throat once again and standing up straight, a mild scowl now on his face.
“First of all, eyes to yourself–”
“Bit hard when there’s double Ds staring at me–”
“Second of all,” Dr Ratio says, teeth grit telling Aventurine to shut up, “Have you noticed a change, gambler?” Aventurine pauses for a second. He looks down at his lap–no goose. “Huh, looks like the birdie left,” he raises an eyebrow at the other man, “Why’s that a problem?” Dr. Ratio lets air out through his nose, fingers on the bridge, thoroughly annoyed now. He just points at the eerily empty pond.
Not a moment later, there’s a triumphant honk, followed by a screech, somewhere.
Huh. Fascinating.
“...Doc, did ya happen to see where it ran off to?” Aventurine asks, glancing at Dr. Ratio out of the corner of his eye. Somehow, both gentlemen had the same look of blank confusion on their faces, the expressions on their faces a portrait of what the word ‘gobsmacked’ meant. Dr. Ratio’s the first to speak: “Does it matter if I saw it, if you and I both know that it’s now in the building?” Aventurine shifts his weight (system reboot: complete), letting out a short breath. “The bird’s in the IPC.”
He looks at Dr. Ratio. Oh…oh, the goose is in the IPC building. Ohhh.
Okay. Cool. Aha is in charge of the fucking day. Sure, why not.
See, to Dr Ratio, the missing animal at first wasn’t the biggest deal–he thought that it’d waddled off somewhere, away from the Gambler. Understandable, really. He loved that gambler, don’t get him wrong, but he doesn’t appreciate being disturbed while preparing for lectures. Especially not when he locked the door from inside, so first of all, why had he taken that as an invitation to pick the lock–ugh, oh, not the point. Now, however…the situation at hand seemed to have changed. Just a little.
It’s then he realises that Aventurine was still standing there, like things hadn’t changed such that he had a new, unique task at hand. “Gambler,” he calls out. Aventurine blinks and sharply turns to Dr Ratio. “Wh- huh?”
“Why in Qlipoth’s name are you still standing here?”
“Right. Right! We’ve gotta find that thing.”
“We?”
Aventurine raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, we. You’re a part of this now.” Dr Ratio scoffs. “This is in no way a ‘we’ situation, Gambler.” He glances at his phone before popping on his alabaster headpiece, beginning to walk away. “YOU WERE HERE WHEN ALL THIS STARTED!” Aventurine calls after him, in half a mind to drag the Doctor along with him. But that argument doesn’t last for long, not when they enter the lobby of the IPC to discover the cloak room’s door open, with expensive jackets and furs scattered everywhere, vases broken and water on the floor, soggy documents lying in the water, two marble busts broken…oh, it was just a mess.
“Well…good luck. Call me if it gets a bit much, Aventurine.” And with that, Dr Ratio walks away.
He stood there, feeling his throat dry up a little. It could be argued that he shouldn’t be the one to be too bothered about this, but he couldn’t help it: he liked that little bird. It brought some life to an otherwise dreary workspace. What if they caught it? Would they catch it and remove it from the premises?
So that was the decision he made: find that bird. Hard as it may be, that was his only choice, if he wanted to keep it in the IPC. As he started towards the elevator, however, one thing became clear: Peace was definitely not an option at the IPC.
xXx
There’s a soft ding from the elevator as it reaches the second floor, and out comes an Aventurine who has an expression on him that can only be described as ‘confused, yet concerned’. Perhaps he should’ve gotten that extra cup of coffee. Then again, it’s harder for him to justify paying 7.50 credits for 12 ounces of coffee twice in a day. And that’s the price outside the city. He’ll never understand the price gouging of every day food and drink just because spending power within the city goes up. Well, yes, he understands the theory or whatever, but in practice…c’mon. Sometimes it feels like the long queues outside of Old Oti Coffee and Tea should be a bigger sign of a generation in collapse than anything.
And that’s what makes central business districts odd places. From the outside, those tall imposing buildings are cold, distant, and lend the atmosphere they’re in that distinct feeling of careless and ceaseless money-making. Yet, the density of the concrete and glass jungles often means that daily, normal life is tucked away in the same spaces, somehow cutting the air of daily hustle and bustle. He walks around, scanning the environment slowly for any trace of brown downy feathers. The heels of his shoes clicked softly against the marbled floors, his pace slower yet more alarmed than usual as he stared at each nook and cranny for the slightest sign of the fowl beast.
And then came yet another crash. Two for two, there’s probably going to be a third later that’ll finally have Aventurine just tired, but for now, it still caught him off guard. He turns the corner, and is immediately met by an even louder and more vindictive honk than last time, as the goose dives to yank the piece of parmesan and onion focaccia from the cafe owner’s hand. The young lady yelps, but decides to waste her energy on a game of tug-of-war with a fuckass bird. Aventurine makes his way to the front of the onlooking crowd, peering round the fight and ignoring the folks wondering out loud what Director Aventurine was doing checking on a minor commotion (even if it was a rather strange one).
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but, oh Mother Goddess, his eyes shot up to the moon the moment he laid his eyes on the wreckage that once used to be the cutesy and bright Aestral Express Café and Ristorante (no relation to the Astral Express). Between the cakes on display completely smashed to bits, the forks, spoons, and knives all on the floor in a messy pile, the vase of flowers shattered and scattered, the register open while some credits were pecked and ripped to shit, the mop water spilled all over the floor, and the stolen stack of sandwiches and the…random bunch of ingredients sitting tucked away in the crevice in the false ceiling…perhaps ‘mess’ is too generous of a word.
He starts to think about just how expensive repair work and stock replacing is going to get, when he hears an enraged scream, before immediately moving out of the way as the owner of the cafe stumbled back, defeated in a fight with a bird…that now had a kitchen knife in its beak?!
"How in Qlipoth’s name…” he wonders out loud, leaving a comforting hand on the shoulder of the distraught owner. The lady catches her breath, hands on her knees, before letting out another very impassioned and irritated growl, shaking her fist at at the bird, who was now gleefully pecking away at the array of sandwich fillings it had collected, a knife still sitting under its webbed foot. Aventurine walks towards the bird’s perch, just as people start shuffling away from the scene. He stares at it, and it stares back at him. A beat passes, and the blond huffs, putting a hand on his hip. “Right,” he starts, raising the other, trying to coax the animal down, “c’mon, fella, let’s get you back to the pond.” The goose looks at Aventurine, and Aventurine looks at the goose, displeased with how his day is going, before careening down the hallway with said knife in its beak once again. A ten-second stunned headstart and a screamed-out cuss word later, Aventurine starts running down the hallway, his coattails flapping in the breeze with how fast he was running.
Somehow, the day’s antics have only gotten even zanier, and not in the way he appreciates. Normally, it’s him being the one to bring a little fun chaos to the workplace. He runs, ignoring the fact that his brand new shoes are definitely not made for running at an athlete’s pace, and that he probably looks incredibly silly holding his hat down while sprinting.
The only real good thing that came out of this was the reassurance that a few days of missed cardio did nothing to dampen his stamina. With each curve and turn and lane drift the goose does, Aventurine stays right behind it, pursuing it with all the determination and adrenaline the world had left to give him–‘HOOK A LEFT’ his brain yells out, breaking him out of the self-conscious spiral as the bird swerves out of nowhere, breaking the path it was initially following. Aventurine hops over cafe tables, hearing them crash with a big BANG as they hit the floor. He whips his head around to yell out a “Sorry!” as fast as he can, but is quickly met with his next obstacle that took the form of a large wall-mounted TV screen being removed from the information counter on the floor. Sure, it was already broken, but he certainly did not want to piss anyone else off, especially not the handymen. Logically, the next best move would be to hop up, grab one of the overhead signboards, and swing and launch himself in the direction of the bird without breaking anything else (including his bones, hopefully).
This worked, but only if working meant falling flat on one’s stomach and losing sight of the bird as it flew above the crowd of people, cruising right out of the open window. Aventurine groaned, laying completely still on the floor, spread out as if he were the chalk outline in a murder scene. Sure, maybe that’s attracting attention, but eh, it’s the city, this is not the weirdest thing people have seen today. Probably.
His phone rings in his pocket, and he answers without much of a thought, all while still sprawled out on the floor.
“Aventurine?”
And just like that, he shot back up on his feet.
“Oh! Director Sugilite!” He crooned into his cellphone, the mask of self-assured general assholey-ness creeping back into his tone in an effort to not make it seem like he was on a literal wild goose chase. “And to what do I owe the absolute pleasure?”
“And a wonderful afternoon to you too, Director Aventurine, how kind of you to inquire after my well-being.” There’s cheeriness to Sugilite’s tone, but to take it as genuine kindness would be akin to thinking that there would be flowers in winter. The blond enters the main atrium, walking towards the center, where an array of bushes and flowers stand vibrant and proud. The planter boxes sit around an octagonal fence that surrounds the crowning jewel that is the glass ceiling. Each glass pane was tilted to form the perfect diamond-like apex right smack in the center of the skylight. It sparkled in the bright daylight as if it were made of real diamond, too. Aventurine leaned against the railing to look down into the skylight, letting Sugilite's voice drown in the background noise. His eyes scan the lower floor, trying to look for any sign of either complete chaos and disarray or a (much more preferred) feather or beak.
"—I get the feeling I'm being ignored."
Aventurine hopped back onto his feet. "Only feeling? Am I not doing it loudly enough?"
"Not at all! You were perfectly loud about it with your lack of presence at my welcome back brunch earlier."
"Oh, that was today? So sorry, my Squads calendar must've glitched. Only thing I had today at that time was the chairing of a universal meeting for a little million-dollar transaction. Much more important, I'm sure you can understand, Sugilite."
"Completely, Aventurine. Just like the time I took over that big conference on Risk Management that you were supposed to lead but couldn't because you were still in suspension after your Penacony mission."
The thinly-veiled bickering continued and even increased in intensity as the blond walked around the building, keeping his eyes peeled for some, any, sign of that damned bird. There was something ominous about it really—it could be fuckin' anywhere.
It wasn't just any normal shopping center or mall. The IPC Mall was the beating heart of this well-oiled machine: it was where tired faces of mothers light up with smiles when the laughter of their children in the daycare are let out for the day, where the everyday man slogs and sells to a public with a smile on his face, where schoolchildren run in and out of different shops with foods and drink in one hand, and books and binders in the other. The sun rises, the sun sets, and calloused, sometimes ink-stained hands keep trying, keep going, keep working to colour those in-between hours mean something. Because that's how you fill countless pages of the scrapbook of life up…one by one, day after day.
THEIR gaze is for the patient, the sacrificial, and the protective. THEIR gaze is for those who look up, hair tied up with dirt on their noses, bandages wrapped around their arms and legs, yelling at the heavens to part to pick a fight with the Aeons above, raring to go against fate with fire rushing through their very core.
"So forgive me, Diamond," he thought to himself, stepping out into the sprawling, well-tended to main garden, "I'm not sure I buy that you sat in your ivory tower summoned the Amber Lord to bless the tenacious souls of Pier Point."
But then there's a screech, followed by the sound of a shovel being thrown down, and the flutter of a pair of wings.
"And another thing is—"
"Yeah, yeah, nice chat Sugi, listen, I gotta deal with something." Beep.
As Aventurine's eyes adjust to the sunlight, a pit of befuddlement immediately formed in his guts, reflexively letting out a "Ha?". The sprawling and proud IPC Gardens were reduced to carnage, the normally cool-tempered elderly gentleman who kept things prim and proper now angrily complaining to someone over his cell.
"It's like a bomb went off in here, jeez…" was the passing thought through the blond's head as he tried his best to not get his shoes stained while walking through the minefield that was whatever was left of the usually impeccable sprawling garden at the IPC.
It wasn't long until the harried man rushed up to Aventurine, sputtering something about how he should not be here, how he was just pruning the flower bushes when he was attacked.
"RIGHT IN THE BACK! That fuckin' thing just swooped right down and—" the man clapped his hands together to create a loud slap-BANG noise, before continuing, "—The motherfucka' hit me right where I'd been hurtin' all week! ALL! WEEK! D'you know how bad my back's been, Mista Aventurine?! Real bad, I'll tell y' that much," he continues to describe his horrendous muscle pain, how he'd been lucky enough to be paid so handsomly by the IPC despite being a gardener (because the IPC's run by villains, not monsters who underpay skilled workers). He talks animatedly, his gruff voice making for quite the comical sight in combination with his aggressive hand gesturing.
"A-Alright now, Mr Murphy, just tell me what happened. I'll make sure we get all hands on deck to get you the help and financing you need to get this place looking good as new again," Aventurine says, placing a comforting hand on the shorter man's shoulder. He stops, feeling his glove absorb a concerning amount of water a little too quickly. It's then he realises just how soaked to the bone the gardener is. "…For starters," he says, tone a bit hollow upon realising he'll have to send his 340 Credit gloves to be dry cleaned, "How did you get this soggy, dear Xipe…you oughta go dry yourself off. Take the rest of the day off or something…" Aventurine trails off, not because of any sort of insincerity or ill-intent with respect to what he said, but rather because he notices a rake, followed by a very depressing, soggy sandwich, and a rattan picnic basket floating down the false river that had been created. As if today hadn't been enough of a fever dream.
He snaps out of his exhausted "Some fuckin' bird came outta nowhere! At first it was just floatin' around on the river, real cute honestly, but then it came into my garden and started peckin' and shit at my veggies. Tried scarin' the sucker off but oh no it put up a damn big fight!" His tone was filled with indignation and irritation. "And then as if that wasn't enough, the stupid thing started stealin' all my shit! Took my radio, my lunch, my hat, kept me on my toes the entire time." He shook his head, sighing as he turned to fish his rake out of the water to try and put his prized possession back together. "Got me caught in my own sprinklers and ruined everything." The older man sighs, and maybe it was just the shadiness of the old willow trees, but all he could see was the weight of exhaustion in Mr Murphy's eyebags, the frustration in each drag of the rake, the fading light and spark in his eyes. Grey strands stood out against jet-black hair, much like the way a diamond glitters in the smallest bit of light in the dead of night. Aventurine's pretty sure he's a little too young to be greying this way.
He feels his phone vibrating in his pocket, but his hand moves instinctively into his pocket to cut the call. Instead, he opts to take his coat off before grabbing a pole and net. He's only halfway decent with taking care of plants, but perhaps the bare minimum he can do here is to fish out the trash out of the water. Hey, everyone has a responsibility to keep things clean. And Mr Murphy didn't seem to mind.
The afternoon was…nice. It was him, the rippling water in the spring, the sound of a rake and broom, and light small talk between two people. It was almost enough to drown out the noise of Aventurine's phone ringing so loudly it might be the poster-phone for the phrase "drama queen". Almost.
Not that it matters—one tap later, and there the phone call goes, disappearing into the list of missed calls from god-knows-who and who-fucking-cares. If it's important, they'll call again.
"Let me know whenever supplies run low, Mr Murphy. I sent an email to the maintenance staff to let them know you need some assistants down here," Aventurine says, pulling his coat on, almost slipping his cell into his pocket when the aggressive ringing started again.
He fights an overwhelming urge to immediately roll his eyes, fishing his phone back out to answer. "Where'd you say the thing went?" It's the combination of the direction in which the older gentleman pointed, and the booming, almost irritated voice he's oh-so acquainted with he hears over the phone that makes his blood run cold, and his legs start moving.
"Gambler."
Ah.
"Ratio! A midday call, how fun!" he tries, but his voice peaks a little too much to be believable. Not that Dr Ratio would've believed him in the first place.
"Now is not the time to hone your acting skills. I better see you here in five minutes." The line instantly drops.
Five minutes…yeah, sure, run in brand-new dress shoes he'd just begun to break in, with a missing hat, and a soaked 5000 credit coat. Sure. Compared to most of the bullshit he's been through before, this wasn't the worst…but in the moment? Oh, in that exact moment, Aventurine was contemplating setting the IPC on fire. Take three.
Now, the IPC is a big, big place. So by "five minutes", there was the silent understanding that he really meant "find the nearest bloody waypoint, and get your ass to the Intelligentsia Guild NOW." Further translation only had one meaning: a loud, mischievous, bird of pure terror had made its way into a building full of the most nerdy and irritable people he knew. Amazingly funny concept in fiction, horrible evening waiting to happen in reality. Entering the vicinity of the waypoint, he found himself frowing at the idea of the worst case scenario: decades and centuries of stored papers and works by the greatest minds in the universe's history being ripped to shit, grad students' and professor's presentations and lectures alike being disrupted, scholars on their fourth day of no sleep getting their trains of thought ruined because of loud honking down the corridors…oh, now that will put the fear of the Aeons into you. Throwing money at investors and helping business owners get back up on their feet is one thing, but getting jumped by muscled and angry super-geniuses is a completely and utterly other thing.
And so, in the fair corridors of geniuses' past, present, and future, we lay our scene. The rays of light switch from blinding white to soft and orange as the day starts to nod off. The heavens need entertainment—so face the feather'd demon, let its beady little eyes stare into yours, and give THEM a show. It's almost like a shootout, only with a lack of guns, and more running after a bird. The bells in a church somewhere strike, making it known that Pier Point's local time was 6 PM. Aventurine takes one step towards the beast. It takes a step back. He takes another step, the second stride longer than the first. It stays put, almost daring him to come any closer. Aventurine stays still as a statue, only his eyes darting about to map all the potential escape pathways.
Life is a funny thing. You can be as prepared as you'd like to be, but then the doors on a lecture theatre creak open and WOOSH! The bird you're chasing flies off and that becomes your signal to start running instead of whatever else you were waiting on. He starts pushing through the crowd—Stoneheart comin' through, official business—mentally prepared for another round of hide and seek, when the world's loudest and stupidest squawk is heard just a few feet away. Oh, he knows that self-important voice anywhere. The fact that he couldn't stop and make fun of Skott for getting into this was just painful.
He gives chase, turning into the main atrium of the Guild, and only just manages to catch a glimpse of a quickly retreating white tail at the other end of the grand hall, running past Skott trapped and throwing a tantrum in the malfunctioning glass elevator, screaming about an evil bird. He laughs to himself quietly, before picking up the pace again and booking it out of the atrium.
What came next was a series of long, winding corridors, with doors and plaques outside them that Aventurine was quite accustomed to. His legs carry him swiftly past the first row of discussion and consultation rooms, students sat on benches outside them not particularly bothered by him sprinting past them. Not that that was surprising.
He continues sprinting down the hallways, his focus completely zeroed in on the bird he was now closing in on. His heels click rapidly against the tiled floors, blue and purple eyes blazing with a renewed sense of belief, a crazed smile on his face, all sense of caution thrown to the wind. Faster, faster, faster, he just needed to go faster, his hands needed to stretch out longer, longer, fingers raised up higher and higher and higher! Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, all sense of soreness and exhaustion evaporating from his limbs as fingertips stretch out, curl upwards to the heavens to grab on to sweet victory that seemed so close, so bright. It felt like time and space had slowed down and stretched out to frame a snapshot where the moment of conception of victory was to be framed, as man battles nature and then flies his flag of victory.
Alas, this is not a fictional world. No flags of victory were flown, but the goose certainly did. Upwards, and into a vent, that is. Aventurine on the other hand, realised that he was above the ground, and promptly falls onto his face, watching the bird and, consequently, his day fly away from him and into the vents.
His cellphone trills in his pocket again, and if it weren't for the ringtone he'd changed specifically for teasing purposes, he'd have stayed flat on the ground for a few minutes longer after hanging up. But oh, when the gentle Doctor calls, he must answer. Over the phone, or otherwise. He blearily pulls his phone out, not too bothered to get up yet, instead opting to flip onto his back, one leg crossing over the other while his other hand moves behind his head, as if he were curled in bed, calling Dr Ratio to kill an hour after work or something. His actions are automatic, too automatic to convince anyone that he only thought of the Doctor as a coworker, a conversationalist.
Is that what a best friend is? Someone who can transport you back home, back to warmth? Someone who takes your shaking, clenched fist and unfurls it, instead pushing your favourite Penaconian chocolates into the palm of your hand? Or is that just how his heart works?
"Evening."
"You sound like shit," comes the matter-of-fact voice from the other end. Oh, so that's how it is, eh? Aventurine rolls his eyes. "Yeah? Is the sky blue too, Doc?" he asks, an odd sort of dry sardonism in his tone, rather than his normal amount of glittering mockery and sarcasm. There's the sound of a slow exhale, and Aventurine knows that's Dr Ratio biting back his own sarcastic response. Well, their friendship's been like that for a while now, hasn't it? Gauge the mood, then go to make fun of the other.
"I'm sorry for not following the previous phonecall up, Gambler—"
"Eh, I get it. Busy with your students and all."
"It's no excuse," he stops short, like he's tripping over his words, trying to put his sentence together, but failing. Aventurine feels the side of his lips twitch upwards. There's something oddly sweet about it all. He's a perfectionist, always saving his speech for when his thoughts are all penned down perfectly in essay format, probably in 12px, Arial, 2.0 spacing. So to hear his trips, his pauses, his struggle to find a word from that dictionary of a mind of his is…well, now Aventurine can't find the words. He'll have to settle for 'warm'.
"Well, if you'd like to apologise, dear Doctor, you could lend me a hand here. See, the damn thing flew right into a vent right as I was about to catch it. Any ideas?" He's not sure what he expected, but to immediately hear 'Which hall, which building' caught him off guard, almost. He sits up. "Block C, ground floor, benches between C1-06 and C1-07."
There's a thoughtful silence between them as Aventurine stands up. And then, for the nth time that day, came a very determined honk, followed by the sound of a keyboard clattering to the floor.
"…Ratio?"
All Dr Ratio could do is stare in disbelief at the vent at the bottom of the lecture theatre, the call temporarily forgotten. In another world, this would've been the reason for him to have checked himself into the hospital again, this time not because caffeine-induced heart palpitations, but because of a lack of sleep.
Walking closer to the grate, hands on his hips, he stares into the void of its eyes, and it stares back at him. Not much else runs through his mind, save for the scratchy sounds of Aventurine's voice over the phone in his hand. His gaze is fixed on the bird, though often flitting up to the slightly beaten up hat perched on its head. The peacock feathers are more ruffled than usual…he wouldn't like that.
He holds the phone up to his ear again, the idea in his head fully formed. "…Get up to Level 3. C3-06."
xXx
It drives Aventurine a little insane sometimes whenever he hears how people perceive Dr Ratio. Not because he's mad that they think he's this super strict stick-in-the-mud (well, sometimes he is), but moreso because he has to hold his breath and not let out a laugh when he hears said perception. Those people would be flabbergasted to see the phrase "baffle them with your bullshit" in action with the plan that he'd cooked up to catch the bird once and for all.
"You're insane," he remarks, arms folded as he looks at Dr Ratio in disbelief. The vents around the Intelligentsia Guild were wired up such that they could be remotely controlled via a control panel by the front doors of every room in all the buildings. For every other day, this was just something that made cleaning easier, but for today, the automation served one purpose: to catch a fuckass bird. Dr Ratio was sat right next to the unopened grate, flinching away when the bird lurched forward to chew on the iron bars on the vent.
"Well given the fact that I'm friends with you," he starts as he gets up with a grunt, "Insane is a given. This plan, however, is as straightforward as things could get. I already informed the Pier Point Animal & Veterinary Services that there's a goose in the Intelligentsia Guild roughly seven minutes ago. Our task is simply to coax it out, and keep it from destroying anything else in here." Aventurine levels a steely stare at Dr Ratio, much akin to the one Dr Ratio normally shoots him when he's very obviously saying something to piss him off on purpose.
"You see, Doc-tor, the insane part isn't the plan, but rather the singular part of the plan where you think you can use your toga to wrap the bird while it's midair."
"It's certainly not impossible, if that's what you're insinuating. If timed right, it should be possible to grab it out of the air, wrap my toga around it, and then hold onto it before passing it to the vets."
"Look, Doc, I take risks at the expense of my life, but that's always for a reason, a gain for the IPC if you will. This…this is to catch a bird."
"Well do you have a better idea?""
The two just stare at each other, resigned to the fact that there was nothing much else that they could do. In many other cases, their faces would be only centimeters away from each other while bickering about something stupid, something irrelevant, something that was going to be solved five minutes later and apologised for wordlessly over a Clockie Pizza and Alfalfa Salad. A silent agreement passes between them, their expressions a portrait of shared exhaustion.
Dr Ratio watches Aventurine's retreating footsteps. The idea was simple: he catches, Aventurine releases. Nothing more, nothing less. Before pushing the lecture theatre's door open, the two share a nod, a nod that carried the promise of achieving peace sooner rather than later. And then, the button on the panel was pushed, and the vent door began to rise.
The Doctor kept his eyes trained on the vent as more and more of the bird became known to him. He plays with the edge of his toga, ready to unclip his belt and catch it the moment it spread its wings. The vent lifts, and there is nothing but stiff, tense air between the two of then.
And then…something unexpected happens. The bird hops out of the vent, its wings not even close to being in take-off pose. His body stays tense, even moreso when it starts waddling towards him. He keeps still, breath held as his eyes dark down to the bird, the sunsets of his eyes resting on it as it stops at his feet. He looks at it in confusion as it just shakes its head once, then twice, and drops Aventurine's hat down on the tiled floor of the Guild, before picking it up again with its beak and holding it up to Dr Ratio. A second passes as Dr Ratio's hand hovers in the air, unsure what entirely was going on.
He eventually takes the hat in his hand, gingerly holding it by the brim. He lifts it up closer ot his face, examining it slowly, delicately. His traces the peacock feather on it, smoothening it out. Fingers tuck under the satin ribbonthat wrapped around the fur hat, the exquisiteness of it temporarily making him forget about the existence of 'excess' alongside it. Dr Ratio's hand trembled a little, like he was touching something fragile, something destructible, something that could slip away from him easily…many descriptors and memories connected to its owner flew through his head, but 'icy' was not one of them. He'd heard that word thrown around about the fedora in his hands. He couldn't find himself contending with calling it 'icy' and cold to the touch…no, it was quite warm, really.
In the next second, about three things happened all at once that jolted him out of his daze. Firstly, the veterinary services had arrived and made their presence known by the way of a megaphone. Secondly, Aventurine called out to Dr Ratio to make sure he'd heard them come knocking. Thirdly, the goose bit the fingers on Dr Ratio's left hand when he turned around and dropped said hand by his side to look at the door. He doubled over slightly, gritting his teeth hard enough to shatter them to stop himself from yelling out loud, all while shooting the goose a look of "The fuck is your problem?"
But the goose just honked at him, before waddling toward the front doors and pauses the moment it gets there. Standing where he was from the start, the goose points its beak at Aventurine's hat, before pointing up at him, and then towards the door. Dr Ratio blinks, and then, he finds a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he connects the dots.
Oh…oh, so that's how it is. Well, he can't say he's too surprised. Geese are known to be smart little things.
Much like someone else he knows.
…
The next few minutes are boring. The door opens, and Dr Ratio exits the lecture theatre, the goose swaddled in his arms. The goose is handed over to the veterinarians who immediately fawn over it, while another talks to Aventurine, who's all too happy to fill someone in about the day he's had. Dr Ratio exhales, feeling the coolness of the marble wall hit his back. He shuts his eyes, just feeling the cool late evening breeze against his skin. Aeons, it's been a hectic day…started slightly funny when it was just Aventurine, but not as much when he got involved. His eyes sting.
Aventurine tuns away from the now leaving vet services, and laughs to himself when he sees Dr Ratio in the distance once again. He whistles, calling out to him.
"You look like shit."
He watches as the doctor approaches him, the boyish and playful smile back on his face. He blinks, and in the next second, almost loses his balance when he feels Dr Ratio's weight on him. It's when Aventurine opens his eyes again that he realises that his hat's back on his head, and that Dr Ratio's hand is gently resting on his hat still. Incorrigible, you're incorrigible—he says so, but oh, the amusement and kindness behind his sunset orange eyes and the way his gentle touch lingers tell a completely different tale. Aventurine just lets out a short laugh. "Careful, now, Doc," he starts, leaning into Dr Ratio's space, "Keep this up, and you might convince me you like me." He looks at the Doctor, crooking an eyebrow at his confused expression.
"…Convince you? Gambler, I spent my evening catching a goose with you," he says, carefully. Aventurine's eyebrow stays raised, flickering only for a second.
"…So?"
"So? So? Gambler, I do like you. Who else but someone who likes you would spend their evening doing something that insane!?"
Oh.
…Oh!
And Aventurine laughs. Not in that malicious, self-important and haughty way he does when his mask is up, but in a way that's giddy, lovestruck, and completely and utterly sugar-sweet. "Is that so?!" he exclaims, and, Aeons, the energy in his voice is electrifying, sparkling. The sunglasses perched on the Stoneheart's face may be red-pink-orange, but the happy view in front of Dr Ratio was the one that was rose-tinted. The smile on his face was the purest definition of lovestruck, a snapshot of pure philia, eros, and ludus all blurred into one flurry of emotion.
The sun has finally set over Pier Point. Somewhere, the city slows down, and somewhere else, the city starts to get lively once more. For the Gambler and the Doctor, nothing else matters, except for the two of them stood side by side, alone together in a world that refused to see them. Two hearts, two heads, two hands, bound together in a way that's unavoidable, ineffable, if you will. People ask, 'Why does life slumber'…well, there's no correct answer there. But to Aventurine…waking up the next day and to his true friend's texts, to his cats feels good enough in that moment.
Ridiculous. It feels ridiculous that, against all odds, the luck that seeps, that bleeds from his hands, the very hands that toss poker chips in a gamble against fate has snapped pure logic in half…Aventurine exhales for the first time that day. "…It's been a long day," he gestures towards the exit, beckoning Dr Ratio over. "I have some laundry to pick up. Are you going home?" he asks, head tilting in a way the eyebags under his eyes become obvious in the street lights. Dr Ratio shakes his head. "Not immediately. I need to grab some groceries." Aventurine hums in response, nodding his head. He glances up at Dr Ratio, only to realise he'd been looking at him from the start.
"…I don't mind doing laundry with you," Dr Ratio mumbles out, almost instantly looking away from Aventurine. Oh…now here he was thinking the cold night was going to get lonely again. He clears his throat. "I don't mind getting some…fuckin' lettuce with you," he says with a chuckle. He hears him laugh too. There's a silent agreement between them as they walk into the night. Time marches on. Tomorrow will come, and so will more chores. Not that that's a bad thing. But even in the mundane, the normal…it's nice to have a friend. That much we can be assured of in this life.
"Hey, one more thing, Doc," Aventurine asks, "How'd you get the hat back?"
"Magic."
"Oh you little—"