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[Sunday likes to think he's gotten used to the scripts by now. Most are straightforward, and even the parts mired in metaphor or double meaning tend to reveal themselves without much effort. So, although this mission's stage blocking contains some parts that are more...opaque than others, he's not all that concerned.
It helps that schmoozing is the same whether he's the head of the Oak family or a newly minted Stellaron Hunter. Polite smiles, a little flattery, knowing what leverage to use.
The problem is the host of the party is exceedingly cagey. Sunday hasn't caught so much as a glimpse the whole night, no matter who he's endeared himself to. Technically speaking, he doesn't need to actually talk to the host, but he'd rather not resort to Plan B so soon.
He's contemplating his options from the second level of the ballroom, watching crowds and seeing how they move to maybe catch a hint as to who's most important, when his attention snags on someone walking along the edge of the dancefloor. There's something familiar about them.
Unfortunately, Sunday figures out why a moment later when their gazes meet. Even through the mask, it's unmistakable. There is, to anyone's knowledge, only one person in the universe with eyes like those. Well now. Sunday can only hope he's not recognized in turn.]
It helps that schmoozing is the same whether he's the head of the Oak family or a newly minted Stellaron Hunter. Polite smiles, a little flattery, knowing what leverage to use.
The problem is the host of the party is exceedingly cagey. Sunday hasn't caught so much as a glimpse the whole night, no matter who he's endeared himself to. Technically speaking, he doesn't need to actually talk to the host, but he'd rather not resort to Plan B so soon.
He's contemplating his options from the second level of the ballroom, watching crowds and seeing how they move to maybe catch a hint as to who's most important, when his attention snags on someone walking along the edge of the dancefloor. There's something familiar about them.
Unfortunately, Sunday figures out why a moment later when their gazes meet. Even through the mask, it's unmistakable. There is, to anyone's knowledge, only one person in the universe with eyes like those. Well now. Sunday can only hope he's not recognized in turn.]
no subject
“This time,” [he echoes, tone laced with the kind of empty humor that means nothing.] That’s indeed wonderful news. Though I do wonder how quickly the situation might change.
[A smooth step forward brings them closer—a proximity that would be indelicate if their identities were obvious. Gazing up at the other man from beneath the heavy fall of eyelashes, Aventurine smiles with teeth.]
If you’re proposing something, I’m all ears. [The words are pitched low, difficult to hear over the music.] But I’m not in the habit of losing, Mr. Sunday—and I’m not entirely certain I can place my trust in you as even a temporary business partner.
no subject
He hadn't been offering cooperation. Or not yet, at least. It had been enough to know they wouldn't step on each other's toes while pursuing their objectives, but he also can't deny that he's hit a bit of a dead end. Still, no matter how much of a fortunate coincidence it is they have similar goals tonight, it might be more of a liability to try and cooperate with someone Sunday lacks trust--
[Sunday meets a golden opportunity.]
He remembers the script, and the odd use of "meets" in the blocking instead of "finds" or "discovers". Golden opportunity. Gold. Like honey. Oh, really now, Elio?
He's agitated enough by the revelation his wings flick, briefly, before he lets out a sigh and tries to relax again. Since something undoubtedly has shown on his face and tipped off Aventurine, he doesn't bother to hide it.]
I was just going to establish that we don't need to get in each other's way and be done with it but...what if I said you were a part of my script?
i hope all the scripts Elio writes are just as infuriatingly corny
…Your script.
[It isn’t often Aventurine feels so left-footed. Blinking in owlish bewilderment, he affords Sunday some personal space by taking a small step away. While Aventurine has been peripherally aware of the Halovian’s impressive bounty, he hadn’t looked into the matter personally. (Darkly rueful, he’ll admit that his reluctance had been born of a desire to put as much of Penacony behind him. The Doctor of Chaos who had met with him about his now-frequent nightmares informed him he was fortunate to not have become a Self-Annihilator, as is typically the case for anyone who survives falling under the gaze of IX.) Honestly, he’d made the erroneous assumption that Jade and Sunday came to an unholy accord, permitting the criminal to slip his leash and avoid trial. The mention of a script, however…]
Is that what’s prompted the dramatic wardrobe style change? [he asks suddenly, as if this is the most important point to be clarified.] Because I have to admit, Mr. Sunday…
[The Avgin takes his time giving his companion a thorough once-over. The scrutiny is as close to clinical as a sensual creature like Aventurine is capable of; sometimes, it’s almost impossible to relinquish the figurative mask he wears as an IPC slave.]
Very nice. Not everyone can pull off black without it making them appear too severe. But I suppose severity suits you well, doesn’t it? [His smile is conspiratorial, like they’re both in on an inside joke.] Martyrdom almost demands it.
[Meanwhile, as Aventurine effortlessly spouts his usual nonsense, his brain turns over the idea that Sunday may now be in league with Destiny’s Slave. Does Diamond know? Stupid question; of course Diamond knows.]
considering that "three deaths" stuff? i'm sure they are
Elio promises the fulfillment of his wish. Averting the ruination of the universe in the meantime is simply a bonus.
He doesn't appreciate the scrutiny or some of Aventurine's quips, and he returns the conspiratorial smile with an icily polite one of his own.]
As much as deception and frivolity suit you, Mr. Aventurine. [He pointedly forgoes the other's former insistence Sunday didn't need to use a title.] But, if the script is hinting at it, I'm willing to set aside my distrust of you temporarily to complete a greater goal. And I believe I'd be safe in assuming if you have the time to chat with me, you're not making much progress with your own, are you?
no subject
I’m on no one’s schedule, [comes the airy answer, with Aventurine pausing long enough to tip into a passing server’s space and liberate her of two drinks.] Though, I’m a bit of an overachiever, if you can believe it. I wouldn’t mind pushing things ahead of schedule.
[Another day, another gamble. Aventurine sets the second glass down on the railing before Sunday—an offering without any insistence that it be imbibed. As for his own…he sips leisurely at the cocktail while eyeing the first floor once more.]
You’ve likely inferred my reason for coming here. [His honeyed tone sobers into something more businesslike now.] If I’m allegedly part of your script, how closely related is your own task?
no subject
But that, he tries to remind himself, had hinged a good deal on the IPC and Family being inherently at odds. Things are certainly different now, aren't they? At least for tonight, according to the script.
He takes the proffered drink but doesn't sip from it. Instead, he simply taps the side of the glass while he thinks.]
Very. Although, I only need information from our mutual target. That said...[He finally does take a small sip of the drink Aventurine handed him. A little drier than his preference.]...there are many ways to retrieve it. I don't know if the same is true for your objectives.
so sorry for the wait!
My apologies. [Distracted, he continues to quickly scan the texts.] I’m confirming that the situation hasn’t changed with my…stakeholders.
[The Galaxy Ranger is eager to wring the target’s neck. Aventurine doesn’t blame him. But, if their merry band of avengers only walk away tonight with new intel…it will still be a win. (Though, he’s certain Boothill will cuss him out colorfully in such a case.)]
…I believe we can cooperate, Mr. Sunday. [His thumb dances over the glass screen, tapping out a response to Boothill—coded in such a way that, should Aventurine mysteriously vanish, the cowboy will need to rely on a certain renowned doctor for decryption. The phone disappears back into a pocket.] Unless you’re interested in pursuing opportunities in the ballroom, perhaps we should tour the building? I’m curious about our host’s sense of interior decorating.
No worries!
Glad to hear it. [It's an exaggeration that he's happy about this, but at the very least he won't have to be fighting a war on two fronts, so to speak.] And it's as tasteless as you'd expect. I've already had someone show me the host's collection of priceless artifacts from planets the IPC has...ah, what's the word you use for it? Aquired?
[He gestures to one of the hallway openings that can be seen from where they're standing.]
Through there. I found nothing of interest, and the only other place my own colleagues scoped out is very deep into the building.
no subject
What do you suggest?
[Clink. The glass is set down on the railing. As he regards Sunday, expression ever sunny, the young man casually walks a coin over the bony ridges of his knuckles. Under normal circumstances, his investigations will have equipped him with enough information to seize control of a situation and improvise from there. This time, Aventurine is admittedly fumbling in the dark. If his impromptu business partner has no preferences on how to proceed, the blond will offer a simple game of chance to determine their path.]
Is that location you mentioned worth searching further? [His masked face twitches against a smirk.] Or maybe you’ll grant me a dance, Mr. Sunday? I’ve been remiss in not asking sooner, really.
no subject
He watches Aventurine's sleight of hand -- if not for the display of dexterity, then for the way the ambient light gleams off the edge of the coin.]
It's the host's personal office, so I would think so.
[But no guarantee either of their goals will be served by the information inside. Look at that, five minutes around a chronic gambler and he's already having to leave things up to chance.
At the mention of a dance, Sunday tips his head almost imperceptibly. It feels like the offer came a bit out of the blue...which means it likely didn't. ]
It would be terribly rude of me to refuse you...if you're that set on one?