Like Real People Do ✶ Aventurine

IV. Waiting in the wings.

"WHAT BUSINESS MIGHT PENACONY'S LOVELIEST GALAXY RANGER HAVE IN A DUSTY LIBRARY LIKE THIS ONE?" The raindrops bestowed tender kisses upon the prismatic panes of the exorbitant rose window, a feature that had captivated (Y/N)'s gaze the moment she sought refuge in the library from the inclement weather. She'd heard that it never rained in Moments such as the Golden Hour and Morning Dew, but she supposed the occasional cloudburst would be more at home in the Moment of academics and erudites than anywhere else.

Letting the book cinched between her fingers fall shut with a soft snap, her gaze found the clarion voice's benefactor. Behind muted sunglasses, she discerned the dichotomous eyes of the IPC ambassador encountered earlier in the hotel lobby. His countenance, too cheerful for one fresh from an encounter with Sunday. She'd only met the latter for a brief minute, but he didn't seem too pleasant. Superficial conversation for the sake of conversation repelled her.

With the way the man's eyes flashed under the subdued sunlight, she anticipated that this exchange would offer little reconsideration. "Got nothing better to do?" 

"You sure are rude, friend, I'll give you that. Have you no decency?" The man didn't seem to care about – well, she'd start with her immediate indifference to his provocative greeting, but he didn't seem to care about anything. Recalling the first time she'd met him, he'd held the same expression even then. Perhaps it was the effect of a vacation.. "I'll save you the breath, then. You're (Y/N), no? My name is –"

Everyone here seemed to know her name.

"I know your name." (Y/N)'s retort carried a veneer of coldness. She was about as sociable as an oyster; with the calcified exterior to complete it all. She knew it was tiring to be around, but there was nothing she could do to change it. "We've met."

The man smiled, all pearly teeth and no veracity, spreading across his countenance. "And here I was, thinking that you'd forgotten me!"

"Hard to forget a face like that, blondie." His perplexing demeanour left her disoriented. His words didn't have enough of an affect to agitate her, her resilience against pestering remarks steadfast. Their interaction lacked the weight of past grievances, and her sentiments towards the Interastral Peace Corporation harboured no malice. Observing his response, she interjected before his lips could part once more. "Not in the way you're thinking. You're Sigonian? Those eyes hurt to look at."

He deftly removed his sunglasses, tucking them away into a pocket lined with no doubt opulent material with practiced swiftness. The familiarity to his gesture was met with her raised eyebrow. He was asked this question often, and he'd always respond like this. Were the glasses merely a theatrical flourish? A twinge of impending headache prompted her to stifle these ruminations; enough with the unsettling encounters, from the man of the Astral Express to Sunday.

"Need more of a hint? I'm an Avgin."

"A pity." His utterance bore neither the gravity inherent to a race dwindled to a single survivor nor the fervour one might expect from such a revelation. Being Sigonian was tragedy enough, but to carry the weight of an Avgin heritage? She couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him. Yet, such sentiments held little relevance to their discourse. She suspected he harboured no desire to delve into the intricacies of their pasts, and neither did she. "But you're not here to talk about that."

"You're as sharp as I'd expected, friend! Yes, yes, you're right, there are a number of certain matters I'd like to talk about, but must we start with those tedious topics?" His voice dripped with saccharine charm, a honeyed affectation she recognised all too well. He was an ambassador, and this was what ambassadors did. They built bridges. "I'm just trying to get to know you!" 

(Y/N)'s foot tapped impatiently against the carpeted floor, the rhythmic cadence punctuating the air in muffled palpitations. "Start talking, blondie. I have better things to do." 

"So impatient, Miss (Y/N)!" He shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance, his voice carrying a melodramatic lilt. "I shouldn't have expected anything less of a Galaxy Ranger like you. Now, if you insist on expediting the so called 'point'–"

"I do"

"– then allow me to broach the topic of that.. sui generis, Acheron."

A subtle shift in Aventurine's countenance, a supine turn of the lips, a diversion in his gaze; these signs hinted at an intention to incite her consternation. It was a tactic that had proven effective, as anything did when it involved the woman with the two swords. Especially now, with an IPC representative mentioning her in their exchange..

While she hesitated to reveal her thoughts, she suspected a man well-versed in the subtleties of financial advisors would discern enough from the faint widening of her eyes. Once the words were spoken, she had no inclination to retract them. "Did she do something? Attack one of your colleagues, confront one of them? It's not common, but I wouldn't put it past her –"

"Oh, no, friend! Merely a personal interest." Aventurine's bichromed gaze gleamed, purple and blue in peculiar dissension as his sight remained inert. Fixated on her, unyielding like the monolith. "Though, I couldn't help but notice your own interest. She really isn't a Galaxy Ranger, is she?"

"Where did you hear that?" It was growing increasingly hard for her to keep all questions and queries out of her mouth, but it was a terribly challenge. Suppressing her burgeoning inquiries proved a Herculean task; her mind whirled with thoughts, particularly since her usual source of intel had become inaccessible upon her arrival on Penacony, and her encounter with Sunday had left her on edge.

"I didn't. I guessed." He guessed. "I have a knack for these things, y'know? And it was a fifty percent chance – those are some pretty decent odds, don't you think?"

"Listen, blondie, if you know anything concerning her location or – really, anything at all, you have to tell me." Her words tumbled forth in a frantic cascade, akin to a fox retreating to the sanctuary of its burrow. "This is a matter regarding the Galaxy Rangers, and if Acheron's done nothing to your precious IPC  –"

"I know a few things, I'll admit," Aventurine interjected. The satisfaction in his tone palpable. He clearly relished the shock his revelations incited. Despite his words, his admission did not carry the weight of a confession; rather, it bespoke a penchant for privy knowledge. "But I've been waiting for someone, and now that he's finally here, I probably shouldn't keep him waiting. As much as I'd like to."

Disconcerted and vexed, she cast a glance over her shoulder to find a purple-haired man, a book in hand and an irate expression upon his lips. Returning her gaze to Aventurine, she disregarded the scrutiny of the former. "You'll find it funny how little I care, blondie. This is important."

"I'm sure it is, friend! But, as I've said, I really shouldn't keep him waiting. And, if I'm not wrong, you have somewhere to be, don't you?"

"What?" Disconcerted and vexed and bewildered. A torrent of thoughts surged through her mind, chasing after a revelation that seemed to elude her grasp. "No, no, I don't."

"Oh, word hasn't reached you? Mr Sunday of the esteemed Oak Family wants to meet you! The Dewlight Pavilion, he mentioned. You probably don't want to keep him waiting either."

It could have been a ruse or an excuse of sorts, yet she sensed that her prospects would not fare well if, by some minuscule chance, he spoke the truth. Resigned and hesitant, she shook her head, closing her eyes momentarily. "Right. I trust you'll contact me."

"And if I don't, I'm sure you'll find a way. Now, if you'd excuse me."

──── ( ♱ ) ────

WAITING IN THE WINGS,

Chapter Four.

( A / N ) what if aventurine was called

𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 and 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓭 till acheron

drew her sword?