Chapter Text
It would not be wrong to say the IPC put some consideration into work life balance, though it might be more accurate to think of the supercorporation’s employees as assets that must be maintained in order to derive every possible iota of value from them.
Whatever it was, it caught up to Aventurine after Penacony. He wasn’t on top of his game and he knew it, and the rest of the Stonehearts knew it too. The entire mission had been enough to scar anyone’s psyche. Getting mind controlled by an Emanator of the Order and then getting sliced in half by an Emanator of the Nihility, with some fucky hallucinations in between, would be enough to knock anyone sideways. And Aventurine had never been the most mentally healthy to begin with.
He flubbed a minor mission, his head still not in the game. Instead of a punishment, or maybe as a punishment, Diamond ordered him to take his sabbatical early. As in: now.
Aventurine was not someone who was great at self-care, or at knowing his own limits. But even he could tell that a month of unrestrained debauchery might be the end of him. He needed to not be alone.
He wasn’t exactly spoiled for friends, and Diamond had expressly banned him from Pier Point anyway. But there was one person who had given him something like a welcome, as well as the access codes to his home.
Now, standing at the spaceport with a suitcase in hand, Aventurine punched in the access codes and held his breath until the train door slid open and let him in.
There seemed to be an intense discussion going on in the Parlor Car. Something about the “will of the Trailblaze” and their “next destination.” But they all got quiet when they noticed him.
“Hey, Mr. Stellaron,” Aventurine said, grinning at Caelus. “Astral Express crew. Thought I’d stop by for a little quality time with my friends.”
“Ah, Mr. Aventurine.” Welt looked him up and down, eyebrow raised. “Are you planning to travel with us for a while?”
“You won’t be the first stray we’ve picked up,” March said, glancing at a figure in a dark coat, sitting quietly off to the side. Aventurine followed her gaze and nearly did a double take when Sunday Oak looked dispassionately back at him.
He hadn’t seen Sunday since that discussion back at Dewlight Pavilion, where he’d left victorious but with the thrum of the Harmony pressing incessantly on his brain. Topaz had filled him in on all the rest—the Order and Sunday’s grand plan to blanket the universe in mandatory happiness. Aventurine still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. If Sunday’s utopia was a world where the Avgins would have survived, well…
It wasn’t worth dwelling on, at any rate.
“If it isn’t my good friend Sunday,” Aventurine said, his smile never faltering. He turned back to the assembled Nameless. “Yes, I’m here to take part in some Trailblazing. I figured, what better way to spend my sabbatical?”
“Well then, welcome to the Express,” Himeko said. “It’s always a pleasure to be joined by the friends we make on the Path.”
“Hello hello.” Pom Pom waddled up to Aventurine, giving him a careful once over. “Hmm. This guy smells like new money, but he seems nice enough. Pom Pom approves!”
“That’s a relief.” Aventurine hid his annoyance at the “new money” comment. All of the trust fund babies at Pier Point—raised to be IPC execs just like mommy and daddy—never failed to make snide comments about how Aventurine was no legacy hire, and in fact came from nothing and no one.
“We’re just about to make our jump to our next destination,” Dan Heng said.
“How exciting.” Aventurine didn’t particularly care where they were going, only that he was getting away from where he had been.
Sunday had said nothing during the entire discussion, not even a greeting for Aventurine. There was a darkness to him that hadn’t been there before, an anger in the set of his jaw even as he kept his expression passive and disinterested.
What must it have been like, to fail at such a grand ambition? Aventurine had walked away from Penacony a winner, but Sunday had bet it all and lost. Now he had nothing, not even his sister. Jade had shared the details of her deal with Robin, and even Aventurine, whose heart was harder than a gemstone, had felt for them.
Dinner on the Express was served on one long table with benches down both sides. Pom Pom piled heaping plates of berrypheasant skewers, assorted meats, and an entire Clockie Pizza onto a sidebar and instructed the crew and Aventurine to “dig in.”
“You know,” Caleus said, around a mouthful of Belobog sausage, “we fought both of your boss forms.” He gestured from Aventurine to Sunday as though this made some sort of sense.
“Oh, that’s right,” March 7th added cheerfully. “Sunday, you were the giant choirmaster with all the angels. And Aventurine, you were… very flamboyant.”
“I suppose that’s one way to describe my awe-inducing Stoneheart power.” Aventurine tried to sound nonchalant, but did wonder exactly what he looked like on the outside when he used that ability. There hadn’t been an opportunity to check out a mirror.
“I very much liked your thigh highs,” Dan Heng said with such a deadpan expression Aventurine couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or complimented.
That inspired the first noise from Sunday since Aventurine had arrived, a soft chuckle. Aventurine was surprised at how his face flushed at the thought of Sunday laughing at him.
“You don’t exactly have room to talk,” Himeko told Sunday. “Your transformation was equally impractical.”
“You dropped musical notes on me,” March 7 added, rubbing her head. “It really hurt, too.”
“Yes, well.” Something flashed in Sunday’s eyes, a current of dark anger that had definitely not been there before. But his voice was mild when he replied. “I’ve always been musically inclined. I suppose I used what came most naturally to me.”
“That makes sense,” Himeko said. “All of Aventurine’s fighting abilities revolved around gambling, after all.”
“Okay, but who do you think would win between Sunday and Aventurine if they had all their powers?” Caelus leaned forward eagerly, like he was debating the strengths of different fighting monsters in a video game.
“Do you really think that’s a tactful question, Caleus?” Himeko smiled gently at him. “I’m sure Mr. Sunday and Mr. Aventurine are both powerful in their own ways.”
Aventurine was grateful for the deflection, but he knew the truth. He would have been no match for an Emanator. But his goal hadn’t been to win a fight. He’d gone into the battle intending to die, and he had made it a glorious death, one to be proud of. He wondered how it would have been if Sunday had been the one to make that final strike. If he’d be able to do it at all.
“Our spare cabin is undergoing renovations,” Pom Pom informed Aventurine after dinner. He stood with his hands on his hips, his strange ears flopping to either side. Through the windows beside them, the stars studded a black velvet sky.
“I can sleep on the couch,” Aventurine said.
“I don’t think so.” Pom Pom cast a concerned look at the couches that filled the lounge. “You’ll bunk with the rookie. Right, rookie?”
A soft sigh. “My name is Sunday.”
“Sure, sure.” Pom Pom herded Aventurine towards the door to the connecting car. “You’re responsible for our guest, rookie. Show him where he’ll be sleeping.”
“Very well.” Sunday sounded as resigned as Aventurine felt. “Please come with me, Mr. Aventurine.”
Aventurine put his head down and followed Sunday into the next car and along a line of doors to the furthest one. It slid open and he stepped inside.
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the space was spartan and unremarkable. The walls were bare and the furniture was utilitarian, almost ugly. The only personal touches were on the nightstand—a slim book of poetry, a string of prayer beads, and a picture of Robin.
There was only one bed. Aventurine stared at it in dismay until he heard the shuffle of Pom Pom’s feet as the strange creature deposited a pile of bedding in the middle of the room.
“One of you will have to take the floor,” he said. “Sorry. But Dan Heng says it isn’t half bad!”
With that, he left again, bizarrely cheerful.
After some argument, it was agreed that Sunday would take the floor. Aventurine sighed and gave in, just so they could stop talking about it.
He did not sleep. Long after they’d turned the lights out, he found himself staring at the ceiling. His mind was back on Penacony, the weight of the Harmony pressing in from all directions. And then the giddiness of the fight, the impossible sharpness of the blade that had sliced him nearly in half. The feeling of dying, and how it was so much like letting go. It was what he had wanted all along, and not just because it was his job.
The Nihility, and how easy it would have been to dissolve into that sea of nothingness. To let his past fade away and his non-existent future cease to matter.
And Kakavasha. The boy with his sweet smile, cheerful despite his harrowing circumstances. If only he knew what was going to happen to him.
The cold mocking of his future self, who’d despised him just as Aventurine despised himself.
The survivor. The lucky one. The legacy.
What a pitiful ruin of a person he was. What a sad and bloodied scrap of what was once a human being. A mark of bondage on his neck and a brand of sorrow on his soul.
“Can’t sleep?” Sunday’s voice was gentle, but Aventurine knew the ruthlessness with which he ran his affairs.
“I’m fine,” he said dismissively.
“Alright.”
There was a long, heavy silence. Then Sunday broke it again.
“Does it bother you to share a room with me? I’m sure any of the others would take you in.”
Aventurine huffed a cynical laugh. “I’m fine.”
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just… I didn’t expect kindness from the guy who fucked with my head.”
“That is an unnecessarily crude way to state it.” Sunday sounded a little scandalized by Aventurine’s phrasing. Of course the buttoned up choir boy probably never cursed.
Aventurine huffed a bitter laugh. “Not that I expected an apology, but you could show a little remorse for trying to kill me.”
“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Sunday sat up cross legged in his little pallet of blankets, facing Aventurine where he was still lying on his side in the bed.
“Not in the slightest.” Aventurine pulled himself into a sitting position too. “So ironic that you wanted to save the world but didn’t have any problem mindfucking me to death.”
“There it is.” Sunday sounded quietly satisfied. “I knew you were angry. Go ahead, get it out in the open.”
Aventurine wanted to throw something at his head. Preferably something heavy, or sharp.
“Tell me, Aventurine.” Sunday’s voice was infuriatingly calm. “Did you ever stop to wonder why I gave you seventeen hours?”
“Because you wanted to amuse yourself watching me run around like a mouse in a maze.”
“But why seventeen in particular? Why not ten or twenty-five?”
Aventurine shrugged. In his opinion, the number of hours was beside the point.
“I chose seventeen hours because the Charmony Festival would reach its apex in only sixteen hours. At which point you and every other soul in Penacony would be assumed into the sweet dream, where the Harmony would have no power over you.”
That had not occurred to Aventurine, in the many times he’d replayed the events of Penacony in his head. But Sunday was probably right—once in Ena’s sweet dream, the brand of the Harmony would lose its potency. And Aventurine would have been freed.
“You still mindfucked me,” Aventurine said, holding Sunday’s gaze. “I’ve been hurt in a lot of ways, but I think I liked that the least.”
“Tch.” Sunday shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that bad.”
“How would you know? Ever been on the receiving end?”
“Yes. Many times.” Sunday said it with complete nonchalance. “My guardian used it to discipline me. Once for an entire week. It is… unpleasant, but leaves no lingering aftereffects provided one acts in a manner resonant with the Harmony.”
Aventurine felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to feel the crushing press of that psychic attack as a child.
“What did you do to deserve it for a week?”
Sunday smiled, like it was a fond memory. “Robin snuck out of worship service to go to a concert. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“So you were punished just for not snitching?” Aventurine was mildly surprised. Sunday was such a rule follower. Even as a child, it was hard to believe he wouldn’t police others. But maybe his sister was a special case.
“Yes. Robin was grounded for a few days as well.”
There was so much Sunday wasn’t saying. Aventurine’s experience wasn’t the best to measure what was normal and what wasn’t, but he’d seen enough movies and received enough love and care as a young child to know that Sunday’s story was far from healthy.
Maybe it explained a little about what he’d become.
“I will not regret my attempt to end suffering or bring happiness to the universe,” Sunday said. “But… I do wish I had dealt with you differently. Losing Robin made me cruel, and you were the victim of that cruelty.”
“Huh.” Never before had anyone apologized for harming Aventurine. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. It didn’t make him hurt any less.
“Get some sleep,” Sunday said, and rolled on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Aventurine closed his eyes and, a little while later, slipped into blessed sleep until morning.