[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.]
[ Aventurine turns, pressing the small of his back against the railing. He really is at a disadvantage at the moment, unable to read any Sunday in the Intellitron beside him, but he looks, anyway. There is, Aventurine thinks, at least a new certainty to him. He wonders how well the resolute Mister Sunday will fare against the backdrop of Pier Point, all the ruthless greed of Penacony without the glitz of the Dream. At least it isn't half as debauched -- where people can see. ]
Well, assistant.
[ Aventurine fiddles with the hair falling over his ears, leaning in closer to Sunday. From a distance, it looks like he's dipping in to flirt, ever the ostentatious cad, the Stoneheart of Stratagems. There is nothing lascivious on his mind, however, as he murmurs, ] Where can I find you outside of the dream? Did you stow away, or find an unoccupied bed?
I spent the last 2 months having to identify as an elf (v long story) I totally understand
[It takes a great deal of self-restraint to keep from reacting as Aventurine leans in closer, and he tenses, torn between flight and fight. Ever the bird. but either would land him back in the chains he just escaped from, whatever peace Penacony had gained shattered by it.]
The lower levels of the hotel. [So, an unoccupied bed, of sorts. Always a maintenance tunnel to be had when you know how the hotel works.] There's always a few spare beds to be had - you'll never know when you'll need extra Bloodhounds or a dreamweaver to put in overtime. Not as luxurious as the one you're currently in.
That's a lot of rooms to explore. Hang a sock or something on your door knob so I can find you?
[ Aventurine puts on a satisfied smile, leaning back slowly and considering their options. The waking side of the hotel may be a bit tougher to infiltrate than the Dream, but he's sure he can manage. ]
I'll be there in a jiffy.
[ With that, Aventurine wakes. Gone from the dream and back in the pool of his, as Sunday'd stated, luxurious hotel suite. Packages from their Dreamside shopping trip have already been delivered, enough items to fill a rolling cart he retrieves from out in the hall. Naturally, the size of the thing necessitates the use of a maintenance elevator in the back, and the bellhops are more than happy to let Aventurine carry his own things where he will after a few generous tips.
He descends, disembarking at one of the hotel's lowest floors and lazily strolling down the hall, keeping an eye out for the right door, and an ear perked for any rumblings from staff about a fugitive. ]
[He wakes and is greeted with the smell of laundry. What? Even in a luxury hotel that's mostly a dream, there's still a need for clean sheets and towels. When he had been important, he hadn't quite seen the need to upgrade the staff pools: they're serviceable, it's not as if they're spending the bulk of their time in the waking world while on the clock. Now? It's another entry on the long list of items that Sunday would gladly slap himself about. If he could turn back the clock and slap himself? He would.
Whispers of a fugitive will take Aventurine lower, near the elevators, and then through a truly wacky set of coincidences he'll eventually end up encountering a bellboy who'll unintentionally give him really good directions without realizing that is what it is that he's giving. "And a really nice Dreamweaver told me to-" That sort of contrived bullshit. Don't tell him that all of this relied upon the equivalent of 'Aventurine knew the one bit of trivia a struggling bellboy was trying to remember' or 'Aventurine had a cough drop in his pocket against all odds and someone needed it and...' because Sunday will scream.
Speaking of Sunday.
Right now he's in his room, his hands gripping his thighs like he wishes he could grip someone's throat. (Surprisingly, not Aventurine's.) He's prepared for things to go wrong. He's prepared to be caught. He's going to be somewhat disappointed if he's not.]
[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omg sorry i disappeared! the holidays ate me. happy new year! i'm here now!
Well, assistant.
[ Aventurine fiddles with the hair falling over his ears, leaning in closer to Sunday. From a distance, it looks like he's dipping in to flirt, ever the ostentatious cad, the Stoneheart of Stratagems. There is nothing lascivious on his mind, however, as he murmurs, ] Where can I find you outside of the dream? Did you stow away, or find an unoccupied bed?
I spent the last 2 months having to identify as an elf (v long story) I totally understand
The lower levels of the hotel. [So, an unoccupied bed, of sorts. Always a maintenance tunnel to be had when you know how the hotel works.] There's always a few spare beds to be had - you'll never know when you'll need extra Bloodhounds or a dreamweaver to put in overtime. Not as luxurious as the one you're currently in.
no subject
[ Aventurine puts on a satisfied smile, leaning back slowly and considering their options. The waking side of the hotel may be a bit tougher to infiltrate than the Dream, but he's sure he can manage. ]
I'll be there in a jiffy.
[ With that, Aventurine wakes. Gone from the dream and back in the pool of his, as Sunday'd stated, luxurious hotel suite. Packages from their Dreamside shopping trip have already been delivered, enough items to fill a rolling cart he retrieves from out in the hall. Naturally, the size of the thing necessitates the use of a maintenance elevator in the back, and the bellhops are more than happy to let Aventurine carry his own things where he will after a few generous tips.
He descends, disembarking at one of the hotel's lowest floors and lazily strolling down the hall, keeping an eye out for the right door, and an ear perked for any rumblings from staff about a fugitive. ]
no subject
Whispers of a fugitive will take Aventurine lower, near the elevators, and then through a truly wacky set of coincidences he'll eventually end up encountering a bellboy who'll unintentionally give him really good directions without realizing that is what it is that he's giving. "And a really nice Dreamweaver told me to-" That sort of contrived bullshit. Don't tell him that all of this relied upon the equivalent of 'Aventurine knew the one bit of trivia a struggling bellboy was trying to remember' or 'Aventurine had a cough drop in his pocket against all odds and someone needed it and...' because Sunday will scream.
Speaking of Sunday.
Right now he's in his room, his hands gripping his thighs like he wishes he could grip someone's throat. (Surprisingly, not Aventurine's.) He's prepared for things to go wrong. He's prepared to be caught. He's going to be somewhat disappointed if he's not.]
no subject
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.