[Use the theater of your mind to imagine exceedingly polished coding with maybe a funny meme or two to underscore the fact I'm approachable, but know my way around HTML.]
[ It is through a truly maddening series of events that Aventurine successfully navigates the maintenance halls of the waking world's hotel, blind, obnoxious luck just as much at play as quick thinking. (And, admittedly, everything gleaned from memorizing floor plans in the lead up to all of this Penacony nonsense; don't tell anyone.) If it makes Sunday feel any better, he does not discover the Fallen Oak behind the first door he tries, but he does behind the third.
There is no surprise on his face when he finds him, just that intolerable, inscrutable smirk. Whatever he feels when he beholds Sunday looking like he might be halfway to a panic attack well hidden behind a cat-like mask. ]
Well, look at that. There's a bird in the hotel.
[ He takes his time stepping into the laundry room, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it with feet firmly planted. One palm flattens against the door. No one has followed him this far, but just in case a shield becomes necessary. ]
We're almost home free, and it's best if we play this casually. I've got a cart full of bags and gift boxes waiting. If I can trouble you, Mister Sunday, to carry a few of them to my shuttle for me, I think that might obscure your face without risking more Tuning. We take it slow. No reason to rush. [ A pause, he tips his chin down to look at Sunday over his glasses. ] Do you need a minute to collect yourself first?
[There's that intolerable, inscrutable smirk and he hates it, and, even now - wings clipped, thrown into the mud - there's a part of Sunday that itches to rip Aventurine apart and he kind of hates that there's a part of him that wants this. He sits, very still, and wills himself to something approaching calm.
He's not calm. He feels as calm as an active volcano. But he can pretend to be calm.]
No.
[He does.]
I'll be fine.
[And he stands, very rigidly.]
But I thank you for your regard, Mister Aventurine.
[ Ah, here is a reaction that is a bit less fun than gnawing frustration when Aventurine is purposefully annoying. Though he can no longer claim the title Bronze Melodia, it seems Sunday still has a knack for exerting the same dense, chilling pressure he did when he was in charge. It also seems that Aventurine is still primed to hate being in the presence of that stillness. Fear unfurls in his chest, jolts down his spine and out to his fingertips.
Aside from standing a bit straighter, flattening his back against the closed door, he refuses to show it. Consecration can't possibly still be a threat, right? ]
Hold on.
[ Sunday does need a moment. They both do.
So Aventurine pulls out his phone and busies himself starting the remote check out process. Room emptied, access returned, shuttle called for. With luck, it'll be there waiting when they get topside. A bit of administrative work, a bit of planning ahead, sets his head back on straight. ]
Alright! Stay close.
[ Now, finally, he turns, and tosses a lazy glance back as he opens the door. His grin goes crooked, and he squirrels up a bit more control for himself, saying the first and most fearlessly obnoxious thing he can think to say: ]
We can even hold hands if you want, so we don't get separated if we have to make a break for it.
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There is no surprise on his face when he finds him, just that intolerable, inscrutable smirk. Whatever he feels when he beholds Sunday looking like he might be halfway to a panic attack well hidden behind a cat-like mask. ]
Well, look at that. There's a bird in the hotel.
[ He takes his time stepping into the laundry room, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it with feet firmly planted. One palm flattens against the door. No one has followed him this far, but just in case a shield becomes necessary. ]
We're almost home free, and it's best if we play this casually. I've got a cart full of bags and gift boxes waiting. If I can trouble you, Mister Sunday, to carry a few of them to my shuttle for me, I think that might obscure your face without risking more Tuning. We take it slow. No reason to rush. [ A pause, he tips his chin down to look at Sunday over his glasses. ] Do you need a minute to collect yourself first?
no subject
He's not calm. He feels as calm as an active volcano. But he can pretend to be calm.]
No.
[He does.]
I'll be fine.
[And he stands, very rigidly.]
But I thank you for your regard, Mister Aventurine.
no subject
Aside from standing a bit straighter, flattening his back against the closed door, he refuses to show it. Consecration can't possibly still be a threat, right? ]
Hold on.
[ Sunday does need a moment. They both do.
So Aventurine pulls out his phone and busies himself starting the remote check out process. Room emptied, access returned, shuttle called for. With luck, it'll be there waiting when they get topside. A bit of administrative work, a bit of planning ahead, sets his head back on straight. ]
Alright! Stay close.
[ Now, finally, he turns, and tosses a lazy glance back as he opens the door. His grin goes crooked, and he squirrels up a bit more control for himself, saying the first and most fearlessly obnoxious thing he can think to say: ]
We can even hold hands if you want, so we don't get separated if we have to make a break for it.