Archive of Our Own ^beta

Aventurine is a man of many things. 

Flamboyant, extra, infuriating —words that Veritas associates with the Aventurine of Stratagems.

Above all, however, Veritas thinks of him as nothing short of confusing.

Being an educator, the ability to read the language of the body is a skill necessary to wield in order to discern his student’s innermost thoughts; their true feelings, buried beneath the telltale signs of fidgeting or eye contact failure. It would be no exaggeration to say that he has mastered the art of perception.

But despite this, it matters not how frequently his path crosses with the Stoneheart or how extensively he tries to scrutinize him like a lab rat, for he can never grasp just what that man is thinking.

The way Aventurine carries himself is fickle, however calculated; unlike any of what Veritas has ever seen. It’s almost as though his awareness is heightened with every step he takes, with every breath he takes—like he has to conceal every inch of himself away from prying eyes. Unpredictability is his closest companion, and it drives Veritas mad. It is but a natural instinct for people to hide their unsightly parts, but just how much should one go through to construct such air-tight walls?

It is not only Aventurine’s perplexing mind games that irk him, but Veritas finds frustration, too, in his moments of rare transparency, where the strangest things slip past his lips as he leaves Veritas on his own with broken pieces of a grand, incomplete puzzle scattered across the floor, its core pieces nowhere to be found.

Left with so many mismatched pieces, yet with nowhere to begin. Yes, that encapsulates the essence of that damned gambler excellently.

“Have you ever thought about what it’s like to fake your own death?”

They were in Veritas’ room, lounging—or at least, Aventurine was, making himself home to the couch, sprawled out while tinkering with some of the trinkets that Veritas brought with him to Penacony. On the other hand, the owner of the room himself sat across from him, busying himself with what remaining stacks of paperwork he had left to organize.

Aventurine’s question, though very sudden and thought-provoking, did not hinder him from his work. In lieu he kept his gaze carefully transfixed on the numerous documents as he attempted to digest his words.

He then answered monotonously, “And why would I do that?” To which will be met with an overexaggerated whine and plea, “Come on, Ratio, indulge me just this once.”

“Do you take me a fool? ‘Indulge you’ I have done plentifully,” scoffed Veritas, “As for instance, our current state of affairs, with your own inviting yourself to my room regardless of my consent. Is this not ‘indulgence’ enough? I expect you’re aware that this can be considered trespassing of the third degree.”

Aventurine only laughed merrily in response, now moving on to fiddle with the jewelry resting on his fingers, wholly unbothered by the snark in Veritas’ words. “You say that, friend, yet you didn’t kick me out the second I waltzed in. I might even begin to think that you enjoy my presence.”

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“Oh, how scandalous,” he purred, foolishly smiling, “but I digress. Back to my question, dear doctor—does it not intrigue you? How the masses would react if the renowned scholar Dr. Ratio was to suddenly… perish one day? Does it not pique just a smidge of your interest?”

Veritas had yet to pause, feathered quill swishing as he wrote, ink flowing steadily, elegantly on paper. “I do not care,” came the sharp, short answer.

Then, the long one. “To allow oneself to be tethered by such unnecessary prospects is imbecilic, and it is frankly insulting that you’d think of me to be so stupid as to bother with meaningless speculations about people that matter not. Instead of sullying my thoughts with the endless probabilities of the future, directing my focus into doing something worthwhile now is far wiser; such as this,” he gestured to the mountains of papers in front of him, sighing. “Should you learn to do the same, perhaps you may begin to think twice before invoking useless suppositions.”

Aventurine looks at him from down-up, all the while continuing to play around with his rings, twisting them out of his finger before sliding it back on and repeating the motion. “Is this your roundabout way of telling me to do my work?”

Veritas pointedly answers him with a question of his own. “Do you really have so much free time as to be prancing around other people’s rooms as you please? Or has the Corporation made your work scarce?”

Lazily, the bastard trailed his half-lidded eyes back to him, sinking further into the couch to give the impression that he wanted nothing more but for the conversation to end as swiftly as possible. “Trust me, you don’t have to remind me,” he sulked, “I have it under control. I’m not one of the mighty Stonehearts for nothing, you know?”

Growing impatient, Veritas quipped, “Then why waste time loitering around asking foolish questions?”

“It’s not foolish,” he argued, although not denying that he was, in fact, ‘loitering around’. “It’s so that I can get to know you better, friend. What better ways to bond than by indulging oneselves in deep and meaningful conversations?”

The quill in Veritas’ hands had gone long forgotten as he finally looked up to face him, skepticism written in his expression. “And your understanding of a ‘deep and meaningful conversation’ is to start one by inquiring as to whether or not I fantasize of falsifying my death?” He asked, almost incredulous.

“Precisely! You’re getting it!” Aventurine grinned, straightening up from where he was slumped on the couch, “It’s like a little guessing game—I mean, who doesn’t imagine what it’d feel like to disappear for a day or two or ten?”

“‘Disappearing’ and ‘dying’ are two different things, idiot.” Veritas deadpanned.

He waved him off dismissively, rolling his eyes as he did so. “Same thing, close enough! Really, I don’t think that the concept is quite as absurd as you make it out to be, doctor. You’re being dramatic, overthinking with that big brain of yours again—”

“I do not overthink —”

“—You know, I’ve fantasized about dying plenty of times; dreamed of it, even.”

Veritas’ lips drew to a line, with whatever retort he had on his tongue dying completely. Yet the man across from him had yet to realize the tonal shift that he had just caused, carrying along like it was any other typical exchange, like it was normal. Ordinary.

“I just think that it’s interesting,” he mused aloud, “How the Stonehearts would react, it all interests me verily. Would they grieve for me, or for the inconvenience of having to find a new ‘Aventurine’? Do you think they’d arrange a funeral for me? I mean, I’d be a little touched if they did, but I doubt if the IPC even cares enough for that kind of thing. To save face, maybe, but… oh, well.” He shrugged, words trailing off.

These questions Veritas didn’t dare answer. Aventurine didn’t look like he was expecting him to say anything either, as he kept going on, “Ohh, how about an eulogy? Do you think anyone would bother enough to write one for me? Jade, perhaps? Or maybe even Topaz— oh, or Diamond himself if I’m lucky!” He laughed to himself, “Well, I’m always lucky, but here’s to hoping that luck transcends even death!”

How Aventurine can ramble endlessly about his own death was beyond Veritas. He said it with so much nonchalance, like he’s already come to terms with it, and the worst part is that he’s still going.

“I wonder if they’ll bring flowers to my tombstone, or would that be asking for too much? Hm…” His eyes began searching for Veritas’. “Would you, doctor? Would you visit my grave? I’d feel very honored if you would, actually.”

Now Veritas is faced with a conundrum.

“...The way you phrase your question alludes to the fact that you are insinuating death will take you first before I,” he countered, deflecting from the question completely. “How are you so sure?”

Aventurine looked at him pointedly, almost perplexed. “...Because it’s true?” He said, like it’s a matter of fact. “I do not expect them to give me more than just a handful of months. You said this yourself, Ratio, or has that ‘spectacular memory’ of yours begun deteriorating already?”

Ignoring the childish jab at him, Veritas swallowed, narrowing his gaze. “I implore you, disregard my words. The subject of the IPC sentencing you for failure is but a baseless assumption.”

“It’s not baseless,” he shot back, before adding quietly, “You of all people don’t make baseless assumptions.”

Veritas curbed the urge to grit his teeth. “Then answer me this: was Topaz executed for her failure on Jarilo-VI?”

Aventurine knits his brows, growing more exasperated by the second. “Well, no, but that’s because she’s—” different. It’s different when it’s me. Isn’t it always?

Veritas interrupts before he could finish.

“As such, you shall be no different.”

That got Aventurine to shut up quickly. Ladened in his face was a weird, placid look, unbefitting of how animated he usually is. Veritas can’t help but think that this sullen expression matched those eyes of his for once, but it’s there only for a fleeting moment before that smile slid back into place. “What’s gotten into you today, doctor? This is really unlike you.”

Veritas, too, was lost.

What had gotten into him?

He deflected. Again. “Should I not be directing that question to you instead? I am not the one who just went on a tangent fantasizing about his death under the pretense of ‘bonding’.”

A chuckle was pulled out of him, though mirthless. “I suppose so.” Aventurine said, before standing up abruptly, slinging his coat over his shoulder and carrying his hat along with him.

“Well then,” He gave Veritas an enthusiastic wave as he turned to leave. “I’ll get going now. Thanks for indulging me today, doctor.”

Aventurine slipped out of his door before Veritas could even say anything back.

He’d wanted to dismiss that entire conversation then, pretend like it never happened, but as the hours passed, Aventurine’s words never seemed to leave the confines of his thoughts. He does not think that he will live for any longer than a few months, and he is so sure of it that he’s anticipating for it to happen anytime soon. The thought of Aventurine being so at peace with his ‘fate’ makes his stomach churn.

Foolish, Aventurine is, because he fully believes that the galaxy has no place left for him. Veritas chastised him in his mind; doesn’t he know that all lives are still worth living, no matter the circumstances?

Veritas groaned. He didn’t look at his papers again after Aventurine’s hasty leave. He had obstructed his concentration with feelings that he’d rather keep locked up.

A few days later, Veritas found himself seated in one of Golden Hour’s many, many bars. Someone of his caliber is ill-suited to go to such frivolous places like the bar, but alas, coming here on his own volition he did not, but rather, because of the person beside him.

The person beside him, who was downing his third glass of champagne for the night.

Watching Aventurine, he could not help but ask, “Might I ask why you’ve chosen to haul me along for your… nightly affairs? I do not recall this being part of our agenda.”

“It’s not part of our agenda now, but it can be,” smiled Aventurine as he picked his glass up, mindlessly swirling its contents around. “And quit grouching so much, Ratio. Take a good look around us!” He gestured to their grandeur surroundings, “Surely it gets exhausting to focus on such serious work all the time. Places like these are good for stress relief, so loosen up a bit! I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Then it is a shame I must inform you that I am already beginning to have doubts about agreeing to your midnight escapades,” he sighs, taking a sip from his own drink.

“Don’t say that!” Aventurine tutted disapprovingly, “We’ve barely even started!” He set his glass down, throwing one leg over the other as he turned to face Veritas, “You didn’t even order anything alcoholic! What’s the point of going to a bar when you’re just going to walk away without indulging in at least a glass of wine or champagne?”

A huff. “You and your indulgences…” muttered Veritas under his breath, setting his glass down. “I simply refuse to partake in consuming such mind-dulling beverages. Need I remind you that I was, in fact, against coming here in the first place? In case your daftness has caused you to forget, of course.”

“So the esteemed Dr. Ratio appears to be a lightweight, I see!”

“…I said nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, so you are! I would have never guessed!”

Veritas let out another ragged sigh, pinching his nose. “Regardless of my tolerance, I must reiterate that I choose not to drink, unlike you,” he grimaced, the tang of alcohol in the air washing over him like a wave. “Pray tell, dear gambler, since you are so fond of the sport—just what kind of joy do you derive from getting yourself intoxicated?”

As the question hung in the air, Aventurine blinked at him owlishly; almost innocently. “Intoxicated?” He repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. “Why, I don’t get intoxicated. Where might you ever get that idea from?”

“I merely inferred based on my observations,” Veritas answered coolly. “That, and the fact that you carry the scent of alcohol wherever you walk. It feels as though you live in these kinds of places.”

Aventurine hummed, his lashes fluttering shut with a wide smile. “Well,” he chuckled, “It’s true that I undoubtedly belong amidst the splendors of bars and gambling houses, but you misunderstand, Ratio.” He slowly peered his eyes open. “I do not drink to get drunk. It’s truly a pity to see that you, too, have fallen victim to such common misconceptions. I perform better sober, doctor, surely this is common sense?”

Veritas found himself puzzled. That, and saddled with the familiarly unfamiliar feeling of curiosity. It was not curiosity that was foreign to him, but rather the curiosity to better understand Aventurine.

The question rolled off his tongue before he realized his mouth was even moving. “Then why drink to begin with?”

As if to demonstrate, Aventurine held his glass back up once again, bringing it to his lips to take a generous sip, finishing whatever’s left of its contents. He set it down with a light sigh, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He grins. “Because I like the burn,” he answers, gesturing to the drinksmith to pour him another one. “Because the burn satiates me. Because it makes me feel something that I alone am in control of. Is that answer enough?”

Alarming, Veritas thought. He had not anticipated this kind of answer.

He made a throaty noise in response to Aventurine, neither confirming nor denying him.

“Great! Now, back to what I was saying—some drinks won’t hurt you, Ratio, come on! Who knows when you’ll be able to visit another bar after this? My bet is never!”

Veritas clicks his tongue, glaring at him. “Don’t bother with trying to convince me any further, for it is all in vain. The atmosphere of this place is already enough to make my head spin. I need not put myself through any more than I already have by being here with you.”

“A shame,” lamented Aventurine, dropping his shoulders dramatically as he extended his hand out to accept the newly refilled glass of champagne from the bartender. “It seems that I cannot force you to share a drink with me, even for just a night—”

Veritas was about to cut him off, to tell him of course he wouldn’t; who does he think he is?

That is, until Aventurine continued, and suddenly all words had dissolved on his tongue.

“—but I do hope, dear doctor, that perhaps you would at least care to have our first and final drink together sometime soon before my impending departure from this world. A toast, even, to commemorate our time working together. Surely, our camaraderie is something worth remembering, don’t you think so too?”

Aventurine, face flushed with softened eyes, smiled as he drank. Perhaps this was the closest that Veritas will ever see of him in his entirety, raw and ladened with unadulterated solemnity. The wish that slipped past him was nothing short of genuine, he realized, for his voice lacked the overexaggerated sultry quality of tone that he loved to use so much. Something in his chest squeezed at the revelation.

Veritas’ gaze dropped to his own drink, seeing the reflection of his fallen expression staring back at himself.

Was this what he looked like, brows creased and lips thin, pulled down to a crestfallen frown? Was this the effect that Aventurine held over him?

This was dangerous. Everything about this was dangerous. Veritas was playing with fire. He should sever this, salvage whatever’s left while he still can. Attachment did not fit into the character of Veritas Ratio.

But alas, he is but a man.

“Very well,” he murmured, looking up into Aventurine’s atypical forlorn features. Then, more resolutely, he added, “Though, I suppose that that will not be until a very, very long time. Ample time there is for us to savor the drinks for when the occasion arrives.”

Aventurine was quiet as he stared back at him, eyes minutely wider than they usually appear, slicked lips parted slightly ajar. It was as though he hadn’t expected Veritas to actually answer him, like he had forgotten that he was listening to his mindless musings.

The corners of his lips then tugged upwards, and almost shyly, he laughed. “Is that right? Then I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Exploring Dream’s Edge brought a sense of tranquility to Veritas. The wind blew gently against his skin, tousling his hair like a mother’s loving fingers, and he is at peace. It seemed to be that way for Aventurine as well, given by the fact that he had yet to utter a word since arriving at the peak of the city.

Like this, Veritas might even daresay that he enjoyed the company, but he found himself thinking that he’d sooner break all his sculptures first than admit the sentiment out loud.

Then, uncharacteristically soft, Aventurine spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “I wonder where life would lead me if I’d simply had a normal childhood.”

While in their previous encounters Aventurine had heartily talked about death, in this exchange, it is about the possibilities of what could have been for him had he simply been more fortunate.

“I cannot answer that,” Veritas responded.

Aventurine breathily chuckled. “That’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to.”

“You never seem to expect a response from me whenever you muse upon your life. Why is that so?”

Aventurine leaned back against the cool metal railings, smiling with his eyes closed. He shrugged, “I’m not so sure myself. You make it easy for me to talk, doctor.”

“...I see.”

His smile turns sad then, if only but minutely. “As much as I’d like to spend my time pondering about what my life could have been, I think I’m content with the way it is right now.”

Veritas didn’t say anything then. With the way Aventurine grew progressively more honest towards him, he found it difficult to answer back when he wasn’t faced with deceit or lies.

“Had my life gone any differently than it has, I do not think I’d be anywhere near as close as the ‘Aventurine’ I am today. Perhaps I’d be a different person entirely.” He fell silent for one second, two, and three, before turning to look at Veritas with an indecipherable expression, “A universe where I am not the Aventurine of Stratagems, but rather someone who’ll understand happiness and trust far better than I ever will.”

“...What are you getting at?”

Aventurine’s gaze never left him. “I will ask you this question again, Veritas.” The use of his given name caught him off-guard.

“If we were to meet in another universe, would you trust me?”

There was something so strangely different about the question than when he had asked him the first time back in the Reverie; something so oddly intimate that he could not fully wrap his head around, a concept as foreign to him as it was for Aventurine.

Yet as foreign as it was, his answer came as naturally as he would breathe. Familiar words slipped past his lips, and he could not help the smile that crept up his face.

“That depends on you.”

Veritas still hardly has all the puzzle pieces to fully understand Aventurine.

The moment he thinks he’s getting closer to solving him once and for all, a new piece abruptly introduces itself. Sometimes, these new pieces fit perfectly between all the existing ones, while other times it’d require Veritas to rearrange everything from start to finish again. A tedious process, but one that’s well worth the effort.

Perhaps there will come a day where he’ll stop receiving pieces entirely and the puzzle will end up forever incomplete, but Veritas would nevertheless admit to finding beauty even within an imperfect puzzle.

A puzzle that was never meant to be solved, built to be never-ending; eternal. Yes, that encapsulates the essence of his dear gambler excellently.