PRONOUNS — Sunday: He/They . Mod Saturday: She/They
Sunday takes the form of the Composer for the crossover, and will retain all memories of Sunday up to 2.2.
CURRENT EVENT(S): NA
RULES:
— A silly little blog for a might administrator to face the strangest place that isn’t a dreamscape. A crossover blog of honkai star rail and identity v.
— Due to the crossover nature of the blog, other characters from HSR may be mentioned.
— All responses will be written in nature. That is, no art other than official sprites would be used. However, the mun may or may not draw if they feel like it.
— Due to Sunday’s information being scarce as of now, this blog is heavily headcannon based. Keep in mind that this is for fun.
— Mun is over 18, but requests any asks are kept SFW.
— Due to the nature of Penacony’s story and the mun’s own headcannons, note there might be topics such as: manipulation, biblically accurate horror and death. such topics or similar necessary situations where the tags are needed will have the tag “seared by the harmony 👁️ [TW]”.
— Anyone is welcome to ask Sunday or the mun. IDV or HSR blogs. Even non-fandom blogs.
how. how long did you actually know the gojo mun's true identity???
Oh? I knew it from before it even officially had a blog here on Tumblr. Same thing with Saturday's true identity. Not saying I helped plan the lie from the start, bbbbbbbut...
Not saying I'm a good actor, but they chose me to make the lie into a reality for a reason.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
As quickly as the anger overwhelmed him, the moment he entered the golden dream, it disappeared in an instant. He was left feeling... melancholic.
The pain, it ached, blood ichor oozing from the wound. Such a sharp thinking hunter... was Aventurine always that perceptive? Maybe he played the role of a fool for a reason.
"Wow... you've seen better days. What happened to you?"
The familiar voice came from behind Sunday, as the gambler walked over to Sunday. Observing him silently, his eyes fell on the dagger, a blank expression on his face.
He looked a lot more like what Sunday remembered... although... now he seemed shorter than he remembered. (Or, did Sunday get taller?) The only odd thing was... his eyes. One vibrant eye, one void eye, just like Stoneheart, however... in the reverse order. His left eye was the one completely discolored.
"Do you want help with that knife in the nape of your neck? How did you even end up with a knife in your neck... who did you piss off now?"
... glad to see someone could find humor in this situation.
Sunday coughed a bit, trying his best to collect himself. At least if he were alone, he was safe. But he was not alone.
“—!”
Sunday quickly looked up, his eyes frozen in horror. How? How did he follow him here?! Wait… no, something was different about this Aventurine. His eyes were not the same as Stoneheart’s, the opposite eye was a black void. He also appeared far more familiar, and he was… roughly the same height he remembered.
“…I would… appreciate the help, very much so.”
At least this one seemed far more calmed and reasonable than the Aventurine he met earlier. Besides, a dagger piercing his wing and cutting into his neck could prove especially problematic, even in a dream. Slowly, Sunday stood up, his strength slowly but surely returning to him.
Placing a hand against the back of Sunday's shoulder, the stranger gripped the handle of the blade. Leaning over, the man muttered something Sunday didn't catch (something about a deep breath?) before a sharp pain ripped through Sunday's spine.
Gripping the blood-covered knife in one hand, he held something to the wounded Sunday's neck. Placing the edge of the handle between his teeth, he fished something from the inside of his coat's pocket. A small medical kit, filled with gauze, disinfectant, the like. It didn't take long for him to bandage up the major wound but... it sure still stung like a bitch.
"I'm Aventurine? Surely you didn't forget about me... considering I've been here for god knows how long."
Dropped the blade from his mouth, he gripped it in his hand, examining it quietly. He tilted his head in confusion before reaching into his coat pocket. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a similar looking blade.
"Huh... that's interesting. You've changed a lot and..."
He twirled the bloodied knife in his hand curiously, before suddenly holding it out to Sunday, handle side out towards the injured man.
"You certainly didn't come empty-handed. What happened to you?"
Sunday let out a sharp scream, as blue continued to pour from his wounds. It could definitely be worse, but at least he would be alive. As the other patched up his wounds, he could feel the pain searing, it hurt terribly, but at least he was safe. He couldn’t help the occasional jerks his wing did out of pain, though.
“…You’re… Mister Aventurine?” Sunday paused, frowning, before shaking his head. “No, that’s not important. Thank you, Mister Aventurine. I appreciate the help.”
If that was Aventurine, then who was the one who hurt him?
Sunday carefully observed the other as he examined the dagger he was attacked with. Confusion, disbelief, doubt, surprise. It was a typical pattern of emotions. Yet Sunday felt himself feeling those emotions too. Yet he was even more surprised when Aventurine handed the blade back to him.
“It’s a long story, if you’re willing to indulge me.” Sunday kept the blade… somewhere within the robes over his clothings. He felt that he wouldn’t need it.
"... I am Aventurine, yes. But, something tells me that you are... unhappy with that information. You can call me Avery if it's easier, I guess."
Rubbing his finger against his chin, his brows furrowed slightly. He could tell something was wrong, but, he didn't know what. Then, crossing his arms, he shook his head with a smile.
"Of course. You've done me a service by letting me sort things out in this dream, it's only fair to let you tell your story. I am rather curious how a knife so similar to this one in my hand-"
He held out the knife he fished from his own person, before gesturing to the knife in Sunday's coat pocket. On closer inspection... it looked like it was the same exact knife.
"-ended up lodged in the back of your neck. There isn't much to do here anyways."
“…It’s not that I’m unhappy, per se. Mostly that… This information is rather strange to me.”
Sunday cleared his throat, taking a proper look at the other. Despite him literally being injured, Aventurine— Avery? Seemed to be the more unsettled one. The gambler still hadn’t learned how to maintain his composure out of the gambling den, or perhaps this was him opening up to Sunday, being more friendly to him.
“Never mind. As for the knife…” Sunday furrowed his brows, the mental image of Stoneheart coming to his mind.
“I met someone who looked awfully similar to you, Mister Aventurine, or Avery, whichever you prefer. Except he was much taller, more irate, and…” Sunday pointed at Avery’s eyes, or specifically, the black one. “His eyes were like yours, except the typical eye of a Signonian was his left eye, not the right one like yours.”
Sunday frowned, not of any malicious intent, but of doubt. He wondered whether the next few bits of information was worth sharing.
“I upset him, though… I wasn’t sure how, and he threw this knife at me.”
"... call me whatever, Avery is just another pseudo-name, like Aventurine. It's just a little more personable, I suppose. And, strange? How so?"
Upon the comment about his eyes, he frowned slightly, his fingers lightly tapping around the odd eye Sunday had pointed out. Signonian eyes like his...
"Not sure what to make of the comments on my eyes, but, I'm the only one from that bloodline left alive, Sunday. You know that. Someone having the same eyes as me is very unlikely, dare I say it's impossible."
His brows furrowed as he shook his head. Not in disappointment, but, he struggled to wrap his head around the notion. A display of genuine worry looked... odd on the gambler.
"What was his name...? If you remember it, that is."
“Yes, it is precisely because you should be the last Sigonian, that this confuses me. Either he is Aventurine, or you are.”
Sunday furrowed his brows, as if trying to scrutinise the other’s features. There was no obvious flaws he could see, and the other’s expression seemed natural. Then again, it wouldn’t make sense for Aventurine to not remember Sunday, and his mind was starting to doubt the ‘first’ Aventurine was the real one.
“He didn’t speak his name, but he still responded when I called him Aventurine. He didn’t attempt to correct me, and frankly, if he was trying to hide anything, he did a poor job of it. It seemed that he… was confused. He wasn’t sure if he was Aventurine or not.”
Even in distress, the Halovian somehow maintained a calm expression. He did feel the worry, deep down, but one of them had to be the collected one for now… even if his wing hurt horribly.
Rubbing his chin, his brows furrowed further. Everything about this situation rang... odd to him. To be the last of the Signonian people, yet to have someone with the same exact features as him... Avery paused a moment.
"Wait, you said that the "typical" eye color was on the opposite eye. Is there something wrong with my eyes?"
Confused, Avery patted the void-colored eye. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with his vision, and his eye definitely wasn't like that before. Did he not know?
"Same eyes, same appearance, only taller with less emotional control... and-"
He glanced at the knife in his hand. Turning it slowly in his hand, his brows furrowed. Someone who looked like him, to the point Sunday briefly doubted his identity. And someone with an appearance and personality like his was... hard to replicate.
"The same exact hidden weapon. Even though I only own one, this is a dream. I still have the one from real life, which looks eerily similar to the one that ended up in your neck. I wonder... if you were in reality, then, maybe he wasn't lying."
... he had a point. His physical body had to be somewhere, right?
“These events are truly strange. You didn’t consume any… strange substances, did you?”
Sunday recalled that strange candy, the one that split himself into two, as well as that strange foxian lady. Did Mister Avery consume one such candy, splitting into two? Even so, wouldn’t that only work in a dream? Plus, how would they get a Penaconian speciality here?
”No, that wouldn’t work in the real world. As for your eyes… It’s hard to say whose eyes are right, considering last time I saw you… both your eyes were the vibrant colour of a Sigonian. So, why is one of your eyes, for both of you, black?”
Sunday frowned a little, scrutinising the other’s face.
“Wait… you don’t know something is wrong with your eye?”
Sunday looked on his person, hesitantly taking the blade, wiping it with his robe and using it as a makeshift mirror. Hopefully Avery could see his reflection.
“If who wasn’t lying?”
Sunday frowned a little. Even in this situation, probably stuck in a dream, the gambler was keeping his cards close to his chest. Sunday’s old habits nagged in his ear. In the past, he needed to know all the cards available before he made a move. Perhaps this is the growth he needed in order to truly dismantle the Order. Even in the most pessimistic of outcomes, Sunday was far more experienced in dreams. He didn’t have to fear, at least, that’s what he told himself.
“… Perhaps… your physical body was separated from your being. Leaving, you stuck in the Golden Dream. Then, your body was infiltrated, and the wrong consciousness took your body?”
Sunday could only guess, such occurrences were not common, after all.
"... I mean, not out of my own will? There were a bunch of mysterious liquids and ough- not a pleasant experience, Sunday."
Somehow, that response did not make anyone involved feel better. Leaning closer, he inspected himself in the blade's reflective surface, an expression of surprise briefly forming on his face. As quickly as the surprise surfaced, an expression of melancholy replaced it.
"Why is my eye black... eyes don't magically change color like that. That's odd..."
Tugging on his face slightly, Avery shook his head. Upon the question from Sunday, he paused, rubbing his chin slowly.
"The other person who you mistook for me. Or... I guess, the me in reality? It might have been my real body, and, if it is, he- I? they weren't lying. But, I don't know what would have happened since the physical body is out there and... I'm in here!"
Sunday hesitated in his words, raising a hand to his chin and stroking it in thought. This was a strange occurrence, even in a dream. Especially so, perhaps. Something that separated the consciousness from the body… Sunday was morbidly curious, but now was not the time to indulge.
“Forgive me for being curious, but, if who wasn’t lying? You’ve mentioned this other person twice already, Mister Avery.”
Sunday kept the blade within his coat, before looking at the gambler. It seemed strange to see Sunday without his customer-service worthy smile.
“…Perhaps this… person can help us in our current predicament.”
At least, something was worth it for both of them…
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
As quickly as the anger overwhelmed him, the moment he entered the golden dream, it disappeared in an instant. He was left feeling... melancholic.
The pain, it ached, blood ichor oozing from the wound. Such a sharp thinking hunter... was Aventurine always that perceptive? Maybe he played the role of a fool for a reason.
"Wow... you've seen better days. What happened to you?"
The familiar voice came from behind Sunday, as the gambler walked over to Sunday. Observing him silently, his eyes fell on the dagger, a blank expression on his face.
He looked a lot more like what Sunday remembered... although... now he seemed shorter than he remembered. (Or, did Sunday get taller?) The only odd thing was... his eyes. One vibrant eye, one void eye, just like Stoneheart, however... in the reverse order. His left eye was the one completely discolored.
"Do you want help with that knife in the nape of your neck? How did you even end up with a knife in your neck... who did you piss off now?"
... glad to see someone could find humor in this situation.
Sunday coughed a bit, trying his best to collect himself. At least if he were alone, he was safe. But he was not alone.
“—!”
Sunday quickly looked up, his eyes frozen in horror. How? How did he follow him here?! Wait… no, something was different about this Aventurine. His eyes were not the same as Stoneheart’s, the opposite eye was a black void. He also appeared far more familiar, and he was… roughly the same height he remembered.
“…I would… appreciate the help, very much so.”
At least this one seemed far more calmed and reasonable than the Aventurine he met earlier. Besides, a dagger piercing his wing and cutting into his neck could prove especially problematic, even in a dream. Slowly, Sunday stood up, his strength slowly but surely returning to him.
Placing a hand against the back of Sunday's shoulder, the stranger gripped the handle of the blade. Leaning over, the man muttered something Sunday didn't catch (something about a deep breath?) before a sharp pain ripped through Sunday's spine.
Gripping the blood-covered knife in one hand, he held something to the wounded Sunday's neck. Placing the edge of the handle between his teeth, he fished something from the inside of his coat's pocket. A small medical kit, filled with gauze, disinfectant, the like. It didn't take long for him to bandage up the major wound but... it sure still stung like a bitch.
"I'm Aventurine? Surely you didn't forget about me... considering I've been here for god knows how long."
Dropped the blade from his mouth, he gripped it in his hand, examining it quietly. He tilted his head in confusion before reaching into his coat pocket. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a similar looking blade.
"Huh... that's interesting. You've changed a lot and..."
He twirled the bloodied knife in his hand curiously, before suddenly holding it out to Sunday, handle side out towards the injured man.
"You certainly didn't come empty-handed. What happened to you?"
Sunday let out a sharp scream, as blue continued to pour from his wounds. It could definitely be worse, but at least he would be alive. As the other patched up his wounds, he could feel the pain searing, it hurt terribly, but at least he was safe. He couldn’t help the occasional jerks his wing did out of pain, though.
“…You’re… Mister Aventurine?” Sunday paused, frowning, before shaking his head. “No, that’s not important. Thank you, Mister Aventurine. I appreciate the help.”
If that was Aventurine, then who was the one who hurt him?
Sunday carefully observed the other as he examined the dagger he was attacked with. Confusion, disbelief, doubt, surprise. It was a typical pattern of emotions. Yet Sunday felt himself feeling those emotions too. Yet he was even more surprised when Aventurine handed the blade back to him.
“It’s a long story, if you’re willing to indulge me.” Sunday kept the blade… somewhere within the robes over his clothings. He felt that he wouldn’t need it.
"... I am Aventurine, yes. But, something tells me that you are... unhappy with that information. You can call me Avery if it's easier, I guess."
Rubbing his finger against his chin, his brows furrowed slightly. He could tell something was wrong, but, he didn't know what. Then, crossing his arms, he shook his head with a smile.
"Of course. You've done me a service by letting me sort things out in this dream, it's only fair to let you tell your story. I am rather curious how a knife so similar to this one in my hand-"
He held out the knife he fished from his own person, before gesturing to the knife in Sunday's coat pocket. On closer inspection... it looked like it was the same exact knife.
"-ended up lodged in the back of your neck. There isn't much to do here anyways."
“…It’s not that I’m unhappy, per se. Mostly that… This information is rather strange to me.”
Sunday cleared his throat, taking a proper look at the other. Despite him literally being injured, Aventurine— Avery? Seemed to be the more unsettled one. The gambler still hadn’t learned how to maintain his composure out of the gambling den, or perhaps this was him opening up to Sunday, being more friendly to him.
“Never mind. As for the knife…” Sunday furrowed his brows, the mental image of Stoneheart coming to his mind.
“I met someone who looked awfully similar to you, Mister Aventurine, or Avery, whichever you prefer. Except he was much taller, more irate, and…” Sunday pointed at Avery’s eyes, or specifically, the black one. “His eyes were like yours, except the typical eye of a Signonian was his left eye, not the right one like yours.”
Sunday frowned, not of any malicious intent, but of doubt. He wondered whether the next few bits of information was worth sharing.
“I upset him, though… I wasn’t sure how, and he threw this knife at me.”
"... call me whatever, Avery is just another pseudo-name, like Aventurine. It's just a little more personable, I suppose. And, strange? How so?"
Upon the comment about his eyes, he frowned slightly, his fingers lightly tapping around the odd eye Sunday had pointed out. Signonian eyes like his...
"Not sure what to make of the comments on my eyes, but, I'm the only one from that bloodline left alive, Sunday. You know that. Someone having the same eyes as me is very unlikely, dare I say it's impossible."
His brows furrowed as he shook his head. Not in disappointment, but, he struggled to wrap his head around the notion. A display of genuine worry looked... odd on the gambler.
"What was his name...? If you remember it, that is."
“Yes, it is precisely because you should be the last Sigonian, that this confuses me. Either he is Aventurine, or you are.”
Sunday furrowed his brows, as if trying to scrutinise the other’s features. There was no obvious flaws he could see, and the other’s expression seemed natural. Then again, it wouldn’t make sense for Aventurine to not remember Sunday, and his mind was starting to doubt the ‘first’ Aventurine was the real one.
“He didn’t speak his name, but he still responded when I called him Aventurine. He didn’t attempt to correct me, and frankly, if he was trying to hide anything, he did a poor job of it. It seemed that he… was confused. He wasn’t sure if he was Aventurine or not.”
Even in distress, the Halovian somehow maintained a calm expression. He did feel the worry, deep down, but one of them had to be the collected one for now… even if his wing hurt horribly.
Rubbing his chin, his brows furrowed further. Everything about this situation rang... odd to him. To be the last of the Signonian people, yet to have someone with the same exact features as him... Avery paused a moment.
"Wait, you said that the "typical" eye color was on the opposite eye. Is there something wrong with my eyes?"
Confused, Avery patted the void-colored eye. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with his vision, and his eye definitely wasn't like that before. Did he not know?
"Same eyes, same appearance, only taller with less emotional control... and-"
He glanced at the knife in his hand. Turning it slowly in his hand, his brows furrowed. Someone who looked like him, to the point Sunday briefly doubted his identity. And someone with an appearance and personality like his was... hard to replicate.
"The same exact hidden weapon. Even though I only own one, this is a dream. I still have the one from real life, which looks eerily similar to the one that ended up in your neck. I wonder... if you were in reality, then, maybe he wasn't lying."
... he had a point. His physical body had to be somewhere, right?
“These events are truly strange. You didn’t consume any… strange substances, did you?”
Sunday recalled that strange candy, the one that split himself into two, as well as that strange foxian lady. Did Mister Avery consume one such candy, splitting into two? Even so, wouldn’t that only work in a dream? Plus, how would they get a Penaconian speciality here?
”No, that wouldn’t work in the real world. As for your eyes… It’s hard to say whose eyes are right, considering last time I saw you… both your eyes were the vibrant colour of a Sigonian. So, why is one of your eyes, for both of you, black?”
Sunday frowned a little, scrutinising the other’s face.
“Wait… you don’t know something is wrong with your eye?”
Sunday looked on his person, hesitantly taking the blade, wiping it with his robe and using it as a makeshift mirror. Hopefully Avery could see his reflection.
“If who wasn’t lying?”
Sunday frowned a little. Even in this situation, probably stuck in a dream, the gambler was keeping his cards close to his chest. Sunday’s old habits nagged in his ear. In the past, he needed to know all the cards available before he made a move. Perhaps this is the growth he needed in order to truly dismantle the Order. Even in the most pessimistic of outcomes, Sunday was far more experienced in dreams. He didn’t have to fear, at least, that’s what he told himself.
“… Perhaps… your physical body was separated from your being. Leaving, you stuck in the Golden Dream. Then, your body was infiltrated, and the wrong consciousness took your body?”
Sunday could only guess, such occurrences were not common, after all.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
As quickly as the anger overwhelmed him, the moment he entered the golden dream, it disappeared in an instant. He was left feeling... melancholic.
The pain, it ached, blood ichor oozing from the wound. Such a sharp thinking hunter... was Aventurine always that perceptive? Maybe he played the role of a fool for a reason.
"Wow... you've seen better days. What happened to you?"
The familiar voice came from behind Sunday, as the gambler walked over to Sunday. Observing him silently, his eyes fell on the dagger, a blank expression on his face.
He looked a lot more like what Sunday remembered... although... now he seemed shorter than he remembered. (Or, did Sunday get taller?) The only odd thing was... his eyes. One vibrant eye, one void eye, just like Stoneheart, however... in the reverse order. His left eye was the one completely discolored.
"Do you want help with that knife in the nape of your neck? How did you even end up with a knife in your neck... who did you piss off now?"
... glad to see someone could find humor in this situation.
Sunday coughed a bit, trying his best to collect himself. At least if he were alone, he was safe. But he was not alone.
“—!”
Sunday quickly looked up, his eyes frozen in horror. How? How did he follow him here?! Wait… no, something was different about this Aventurine. His eyes were not the same as Stoneheart’s, the opposite eye was a black void. He also appeared far more familiar, and he was… roughly the same height he remembered.
“…I would… appreciate the help, very much so.”
At least this one seemed far more calmed and reasonable than the Aventurine he met earlier. Besides, a dagger piercing his wing and cutting into his neck could prove especially problematic, even in a dream. Slowly, Sunday stood up, his strength slowly but surely returning to him.
Placing a hand against the back of Sunday's shoulder, the stranger gripped the handle of the blade. Leaning over, the man muttered something Sunday didn't catch (something about a deep breath?) before a sharp pain ripped through Sunday's spine.
Gripping the blood-covered knife in one hand, he held something to the wounded Sunday's neck. Placing the edge of the handle between his teeth, he fished something from the inside of his coat's pocket. A small medical kit, filled with gauze, disinfectant, the like. It didn't take long for him to bandage up the major wound but... it sure still stung like a bitch.
"I'm Aventurine? Surely you didn't forget about me... considering I've been here for god knows how long."
Dropped the blade from his mouth, he gripped it in his hand, examining it quietly. He tilted his head in confusion before reaching into his coat pocket. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a similar looking blade.
"Huh... that's interesting. You've changed a lot and..."
He twirled the bloodied knife in his hand curiously, before suddenly holding it out to Sunday, handle side out towards the injured man.
"You certainly didn't come empty-handed. What happened to you?"
Sunday let out a sharp scream, as blue continued to pour from his wounds. It could definitely be worse, but at least he would be alive. As the other patched up his wounds, he could feel the pain searing, it hurt terribly, but at least he was safe. He couldn’t help the occasional jerks his wing did out of pain, though.
“…You’re… Mister Aventurine?” Sunday paused, frowning, before shaking his head. “No, that’s not important. Thank you, Mister Aventurine. I appreciate the help.”
If that was Aventurine, then who was the one who hurt him?
Sunday carefully observed the other as he examined the dagger he was attacked with. Confusion, disbelief, doubt, surprise. It was a typical pattern of emotions. Yet Sunday felt himself feeling those emotions too. Yet he was even more surprised when Aventurine handed the blade back to him.
“It’s a long story, if you’re willing to indulge me.” Sunday kept the blade… somewhere within the robes over his clothings. He felt that he wouldn’t need it.
"... I am Aventurine, yes. But, something tells me that you are... unhappy with that information. You can call me Avery if it's easier, I guess."
Rubbing his finger against his chin, his brows furrowed slightly. He could tell something was wrong, but, he didn't know what. Then, crossing his arms, he shook his head with a smile.
"Of course. You've done me a service by letting me sort things out in this dream, it's only fair to let you tell your story. I am rather curious how a knife so similar to this one in my hand-"
He held out the knife he fished from his own person, before gesturing to the knife in Sunday's coat pocket. On closer inspection... it looked like it was the same exact knife.
"-ended up lodged in the back of your neck. There isn't much to do here anyways."
“…It’s not that I’m unhappy, per se. Mostly that… This information is rather strange to me.”
Sunday cleared his throat, taking a proper look at the other. Despite him literally being injured, Aventurine— Avery? Seemed to be the more unsettled one. The gambler still hadn’t learned how to maintain his composure out of the gambling den, or perhaps this was him opening up to Sunday, being more friendly to him.
“Never mind. As for the knife…” Sunday furrowed his brows, the mental image of Stoneheart coming to his mind.
“I met someone who looked awfully similar to you, Mister Aventurine, or Avery, whichever you prefer. Except he was much taller, more irate, and…” Sunday pointed at Avery’s eyes, or specifically, the black one. “His eyes were like yours, except the typical eye of a Signonian was his left eye, not the right one like yours.”
Sunday frowned, not of any malicious intent, but of doubt. He wondered whether the next few bits of information was worth sharing.
“I upset him, though… I wasn’t sure how, and he threw this knife at me.”
"... call me whatever, Avery is just another pseudo-name, like Aventurine. It's just a little more personable, I suppose. And, strange? How so?"
Upon the comment about his eyes, he frowned slightly, his fingers lightly tapping around the odd eye Sunday had pointed out. Signonian eyes like his...
"Not sure what to make of the comments on my eyes, but, I'm the only one from that bloodline left alive, Sunday. You know that. Someone having the same eyes as me is very unlikely, dare I say it's impossible."
His brows furrowed as he shook his head. Not in disappointment, but, he struggled to wrap his head around the notion. A display of genuine worry looked... odd on the gambler.
"What was his name...? If you remember it, that is."
“Yes, it is precisely because you should be the last Sigonian, that this confuses me. Either he is Aventurine, or you are.”
Sunday furrowed his brows, as if trying to scrutinise the other’s features. There was no obvious flaws he could see, and the other’s expression seemed natural. Then again, it wouldn’t make sense for Aventurine to not remember Sunday, and his mind was starting to doubt the ‘first’ Aventurine was the real one.
“He didn’t speak his name, but he still responded when I called him Aventurine. He didn’t attempt to correct me, and frankly, if he was trying to hide anything, he did a poor job of it. It seemed that he… was confused. He wasn’t sure if he was Aventurine or not.”
Even in distress, the Halovian somehow maintained a calm expression. He did feel the worry, deep down, but one of them had to be the collected one for now… even if his wing hurt horribly.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
As quickly as the anger overwhelmed him, the moment he entered the golden dream, it disappeared in an instant. He was left feeling... melancholic.
The pain, it ached, blood ichor oozing from the wound. Such a sharp thinking hunter... was Aventurine always that perceptive? Maybe he played the role of a fool for a reason.
"Wow... you've seen better days. What happened to you?"
The familiar voice came from behind Sunday, as the gambler walked over to Sunday. Observing him silently, his eyes fell on the dagger, a blank expression on his face.
He looked a lot more like what Sunday remembered... although... now he seemed shorter than he remembered. (Or, did Sunday get taller?) The only odd thing was... his eyes. One vibrant eye, one void eye, just like Stoneheart, however... in the reverse order. His left eye was the one completely discolored.
"Do you want help with that knife in the nape of your neck? How did you even end up with a knife in your neck... who did you piss off now?"
... glad to see someone could find humor in this situation.
Sunday coughed a bit, trying his best to collect himself. At least if he were alone, he was safe. But he was not alone.
“—!”
Sunday quickly looked up, his eyes frozen in horror. How? How did he follow him here?! Wait… no, something was different about this Aventurine. His eyes were not the same as Stoneheart’s, the opposite eye was a black void. He also appeared far more familiar, and he was… roughly the same height he remembered.
“…I would… appreciate the help, very much so.”
At least this one seemed far more calmed and reasonable than the Aventurine he met earlier. Besides, a dagger piercing his wing and cutting into his neck could prove especially problematic, even in a dream. Slowly, Sunday stood up, his strength slowly but surely returning to him.
Placing a hand against the back of Sunday's shoulder, the stranger gripped the handle of the blade. Leaning over, the man muttered something Sunday didn't catch (something about a deep breath?) before a sharp pain ripped through Sunday's spine.
Gripping the blood-covered knife in one hand, he held something to the wounded Sunday's neck. Placing the edge of the handle between his teeth, he fished something from the inside of his coat's pocket. A small medical kit, filled with gauze, disinfectant, the like. It didn't take long for him to bandage up the major wound but... it sure still stung like a bitch.
"I'm Aventurine? Surely you didn't forget about me... considering I've been here for god knows how long."
Dropped the blade from his mouth, he gripped it in his hand, examining it quietly. He tilted his head in confusion before reaching into his coat pocket. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a similar looking blade.
"Huh... that's interesting. You've changed a lot and..."
He twirled the bloodied knife in his hand curiously, before suddenly holding it out to Sunday, handle side out towards the injured man.
"You certainly didn't come empty-handed. What happened to you?"
Sunday let out a sharp scream, as blue continued to pour from his wounds. It could definitely be worse, but at least he would be alive. As the other patched up his wounds, he could feel the pain searing, it hurt terribly, but at least he was safe. He couldn’t help the occasional jerks his wing did out of pain, though.
“…You’re… Mister Aventurine?” Sunday paused, frowning, before shaking his head. “No, that’s not important. Thank you, Mister Aventurine. I appreciate the help.”
If that was Aventurine, then who was the one who hurt him?
Sunday carefully observed the other as he examined the dagger he was attacked with. Confusion, disbelief, doubt, surprise. It was a typical pattern of emotions. Yet Sunday felt himself feeling those emotions too. Yet he was even more surprised when Aventurine handed the blade back to him.
“It’s a long story, if you’re willing to indulge me.” Sunday kept the blade… somewhere within the robes over his clothings. He felt that he wouldn’t need it.
"... I am Aventurine, yes. But, something tells me that you are... unhappy with that information. You can call me Avery if it's easier, I guess."
Rubbing his finger against his chin, his brows furrowed slightly. He could tell something was wrong, but, he didn't know what. Then, crossing his arms, he shook his head with a smile.
"Of course. You've done me a service by letting me sort things out in this dream, it's only fair to let you tell your story. I am rather curious how a knife so similar to this one in my hand-"
He held out the knife he fished from his own person, before gesturing to the knife in Sunday's coat pocket. On closer inspection... it looked like it was the same exact knife.
"-ended up lodged in the back of your neck. There isn't much to do here anyways."
“…It’s not that I’m unhappy, per se. Mostly that… This information is rather strange to me.”
Sunday cleared his throat, taking a proper look at the other. Despite him literally being injured, Aventurine— Avery? Seemed to be the more unsettled one. The gambler still hadn’t learned how to maintain his composure out of the gambling den, or perhaps this was him opening up to Sunday, being more friendly to him.
“Never mind. As for the knife…” Sunday furrowed his brows, the mental image of Stoneheart coming to his mind.
“I met someone who looked awfully similar to you, Mister Aventurine, or Avery, whichever you prefer. Except he was much taller, more irate, and…” Sunday pointed at Avery’s eyes, or specifically, the black one. “His eyes were like yours, except the typical eye of a Signonian was his left eye, not the right one like yours.”
Sunday frowned, not of any malicious intent, but of doubt. He wondered whether the next few bits of information was worth sharing.
“I upset him, though… I wasn’t sure how, and he threw this knife at me.”
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
As quickly as the anger overwhelmed him, the moment he entered the golden dream, it disappeared in an instant. He was left feeling... melancholic.
The pain, it ached, blood ichor oozing from the wound. Such a sharp thinking hunter... was Aventurine always that perceptive? Maybe he played the role of a fool for a reason.
"Wow... you've seen better days. What happened to you?"
The familiar voice came from behind Sunday, as the gambler walked over to Sunday. Observing him silently, his eyes fell on the dagger, a blank expression on his face.
He looked a lot more like what Sunday remembered... although... now he seemed shorter than he remembered. (Or, did Sunday get taller?) The only odd thing was... his eyes. One vibrant eye, one void eye, just like Stoneheart, however... in the reverse order. His left eye was the one completely discolored.
"Do you want help with that knife in the nape of your neck? How did you even end up with a knife in your neck... who did you piss off now?"
... glad to see someone could find humor in this situation.
Sunday coughed a bit, trying his best to collect himself. At least if he were alone, he was safe. But he was not alone.
“—!”
Sunday quickly looked up, his eyes frozen in horror. How? How did he follow him here?! Wait… no, something was different about this Aventurine. His eyes were not the same as Stoneheart’s, the opposite eye was a black void. He also appeared far more familiar, and he was… roughly the same height he remembered.
“…I would… appreciate the help, very much so.”
At least this one seemed far more calmed and reasonable than the Aventurine he met earlier. Besides, a dagger piercing his wing and cutting into his neck could prove especially problematic, even in a dream. Slowly, Sunday stood up, his strength slowly but surely returning to him.
Placing a hand against the back of Sunday's shoulder, the stranger gripped the handle of the blade. Leaning over, the man muttered something Sunday didn't catch (something about a deep breath?) before a sharp pain ripped through Sunday's spine.
Gripping the blood-covered knife in one hand, he held something to the wounded Sunday's neck. Placing the edge of the handle between his teeth, he fished something from the inside of his coat's pocket. A small medical kit, filled with gauze, disinfectant, the like. It didn't take long for him to bandage up the major wound but... it sure still stung like a bitch.
"I'm Aventurine? Surely you didn't forget about me... considering I've been here for god knows how long."
Dropped the blade from his mouth, he gripped it in his hand, examining it quietly. He tilted his head in confusion before reaching into his coat pocket. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a similar looking blade.
"Huh... that's interesting. You've changed a lot and..."
He twirled the bloodied knife in his hand curiously, before suddenly holding it out to Sunday, handle side out towards the injured man.
"You certainly didn't come empty-handed. What happened to you?"
Sunday let out a sharp scream, as blue continued to pour from his wounds. It could definitely be worse, but at least he would be alive. As the other patched up his wounds, he could feel the pain searing, it hurt terribly, but at least he was safe. He couldn’t help the occasional jerks his wing did out of pain, though.
“…You’re… Mister Aventurine?” Sunday paused, frowning, before shaking his head. “No, that’s not important. Thank you, Mister Aventurine. I appreciate the help.”
If that was Aventurine, then who was the one who hurt him?
Sunday carefully observed the other as he examined the dagger he was attacked with. Confusion, disbelief, doubt, surprise. It was a typical pattern of emotions. Yet Sunday felt himself feeling those emotions too. Yet he was even more surprised when Aventurine handed the blade back to him.
“It’s a long story, if you’re willing to indulge me.” Sunday kept the blade… somewhere within the robes over his clothings. He felt that he wouldn’t need it.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
As quickly as the anger overwhelmed him, the moment he entered the golden dream, it disappeared in an instant. He was left feeling... melancholic.
The pain, it ached, blood ichor oozing from the wound. Such a sharp thinking hunter... was Aventurine always that perceptive? Maybe he played the role of a fool for a reason.
"Wow... you've seen better days. What happened to you?"
The familiar voice came from behind Sunday, as the gambler walked over to Sunday. Observing him silently, his eyes fell on the dagger, a blank expression on his face.
He looked a lot more like what Sunday remembered... although... now he seemed shorter than he remembered. (Or, did Sunday get taller?) The only odd thing was... his eyes. One vibrant eye, one void eye, just like Stoneheart, however... in the reverse order. His left eye was the one completely discolored.
"Do you want help with that knife in the nape of your neck? How did you even end up with a knife in your neck... who did you piss off now?"
... glad to see someone could find humor in this situation.
Sunday coughed a bit, trying his best to collect himself. At least if he were alone, he was safe. But he was not alone.
“—!”
Sunday quickly looked up, his eyes frozen in horror. How? How did he follow him here?! Wait… no, something was different about this Aventurine. His eyes were not the same as Stoneheart’s, the opposite eye was a black void. He also appeared far more familiar, and he was… roughly the same height he remembered.
“…I would… appreciate the help, very much so.”
At least this one seemed far more calmed and reasonable than the Aventurine he met earlier. Besides, a dagger piercing his wing and cutting into his neck could prove especially problematic, even in a dream. Slowly, Sunday stood up, his strength slowly but surely returning to him.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
Hatred. That's all he felt in the moment. A pure, harsh, desperate hatred. A hidden pain blended with suppressed rage, exploding in Sunday's face in the form of murderous intent. It was rather... unfortunate timing, especially when Sunday tried his hardest to remain civil and understanding.
"There's nothing to hide? NOTHING?"
There was an unbridled rage. Not that Sunday couldn't understand it. He was robbed of every little thing that made him "Aventurine", his memories of others important to him, taken advantage of by others, anger like that... left him with nothing more than a stone heart.
... isn't that ironic?
"Where are you going-?!"
His left eye stung, an immense pain taking over his vision. His head ached, the cacophonous music made his head explode. His grip on the knife tightened, his odd eye focused on the fleeing man. The music in his head distorted him, if he chased after him, he wouldn't make it in time... however...
"..."
He gripped the knife in his hand, a scowl on his face, overflowing feelings of destructive hatred. He aimed the knife, squinting his odd eye before suddenly launching it at Sunday, aimed directly for the nape of the man's neck. A killing shot.... if it lands.
Rage was a suffocating emotion. The tuning of the Harmony made him feel the other’s emotions, and the fires of fury were scorching, a sea of flames that no water could quench. To calm this conflagration would be suicide. Yet his heart ached for this poor lost soul, unable to fathom what was him and what was not.
He thought he was safe once he was engulfed by memoria, however, the other’s quick thinking landed him in peril. His eyes widened as he saw the knife lunging towards him. With no other choice, his wing feathers lowered themselves—
—CRACK!
Sunday was fully in a dream. If the gambler wanted to add another attack, it seemed unlikely he could, but the knife…
The blade firmly lodged itself in his ear-wing, piercing through flesh and bone, and yet, it dug into his neck. It missed most important arteries, but the blue fluid oozing out of them… it was clear that if he hadn’t acted quickly, the blade would’ve pierced his neck throughly.
The Halovian grimaced in pain. It was horribly uncomfortable, his wing was unable to move, lest it disturb his wound. He lifted himself with his arms, resting on his elbows. Blue blood oozed from his wounds, dotting the floor.
“…Where… am I..?”
The pain clouded his mind. He needed time to collect himself… and treat his wound. How? All he could do was possibly use tuning on himself to ease his pain, but only that would be a mental relief. The physical wound was still a danger.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
The knife swung in Sunday's direction, yet, by some godsent luck, it missed him by a hair. Pieces of the light blue hair that had taken the brute of the swing, however, fell pathetically to the ground.
"Can you even give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now?"
His heel connected with Sunday's stomach, a sharp kick sending Sunday flying into a nearby wall. Ouch... that's got to hurt. If it really was Aventurine... maybe the kick was long overdue.
"A gambler. I am a gambler. In mind, body, in my complete self. Aventurine? I don't even know who I am anymore!"
His brows furrowed in frustration, it bothered him. His hand tugged against his hair, the golden mask slipping off his face. It fell onto the floor, shattering into several pieces on the floor. A vibrant, yet soulless colorful eye stared back at him, soft freckles dotting his face. He looks exactly like Aventurine, minus whatever was occurring with his right eye.
"And even so... you're still hiding something, halovian. I don't know what you may be thinking, but trust me, I am not stupid."
May I, as your beloved narrator, Sunday, call me Wednesday if you need a name, suggest a very simple course of action? Uhm. Run? Run. Run!! please, thank you, and goodnight <3 I rolled a 6 on your survival for the first attack, don't WASTE my luck's EFFORTS.
Sunday’s golden eyes flashed with fear as he heard the whirr of a blade, giving him a surprise haircut. His lips pursed in fear as he stayed deathly still, his face turning pale. He barely had time to gather himself to speak before the sharp heel of the other forced itself on his stomach. It felt like his abdomen would be pierced should the other will it, any moment he wanted.
“Mister Aventurine, please- we can discuss this civilly!”
It was a bold-faced lie. No reason would satiated a gambler, or a madman. Stoneheart was currently both.
The following kick sent Sunday flying, hitting his back against a cold wall and groaning with agony. With spotted vision, Sunday spotted something in the corner of his eye.
“I have nothing to hide, Mister Aventurine… Please… You must see reason-!”
Stoneheart looked even more familiar once the mask slipped. The signature Sigonian eyes would be impossibly hard to forget. Yet, what happened to his other eye? Now was no time for questions. With gritted teeth, Sunday clenched his fist. He didn’t have a choice. He was no gambler, especially not with his life.
Stoneheart’s vision blurred with rainbow, cacophonous music ringing in his ears as Sunday dashed towards the golden glow he glimpsed. Memoria. If reality couldn’t save him, then dreams would.
“I’m truly sorry… Mister Aventurine.”
His last words were spoken, before he disappeared into a dream.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
"People who have something to hide have a certain... look to their faces."
His fingers lightly traced Sunday's features, the sharp edge of the metallic claws cutting into his skin on a surface level. Nothing too serious, but still... uncomfortable in an almost painful way.
"You keep acting like you know me, and like there's something wrong with me. I can see it in your mannerisms, I can see it in your eyes."
The hunter leaned over Sunday, his feet lifting off the ground. He couldn't help but think back on the gambler's words from the dream Dominicus shared a while back. "A rouge body would cause a lot of issues."
... Did Aventurine ever wake up from that dream?
"So, I'll say it again. There's something you're not telling me. And either you can tell me now..."
A golden knife slipped from his sleeve, landing in the palm of his hand. It was a long, sharp blade, encrusted in emerald gemstones, stained in blood.
Sunday’s brows furrowed even more, confused. Did he truly look so suspicious? He personally thought his own thoughts were rather… lighthearted, yet his tongue struggled to let the words come.
“Ow-” Sunday hissed at the contact of the other’s claws, wincing away from the faint cutting edge of the clawed fingers. “There’s no need for threats, Mister Aventurine, please, calm down.”
Panic gripped Sunday’s throat, making itself clear in his words. He grimaced in pain, instinctively curling up in a feeble attempt to protect himself. He didn’t dare use the power of Harmony to force the other’s hand, that would end horribly.
“It’s just…” Sunday gulped, carefully choosing his next words. “You are familiar to me. Too familiar. You remind me of a gambler who was visiting my home, except… you’re different from him- your body is different, your mind is different, but yet, you b-behave just like him-”
The devil might be in the details, or not. Sunday did seem to be genuinely speaking out of fear.
“I have no need to hide this from you, just… I didn’t want to offend-! If you weren’t him, I’d look like a fool, and if you were him, you would’ve recognised me already, isn’t that right?”
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
Pausing a moment, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, cocking his head to the side in confusion. Taller than you remember... and he spent so much time floating he felt... a little unstable on his two feet.
Something about him was... odd. He seemed so aggressive in their first meeting, yet, on the accidental second meeting... he was rather amicable and relaxed. Crossing his arms, he chuckled at the halovian's worries.
"You barely weigh anything to begin with, darling. If you landed on me, it wouldn't have made much difference at all. It's like... lifting a bunch of grapes."
Clasping a hand behind his back, the hunter hummed gently. His hair curled lightly against his shoulders, that lackadaisical smile returning to his face.
"However... you have an odd look on your face. You're thinking awful hard on something you're not telling me, friend."
Sunday watched the other’s feet plant themselves onto the ground. Having the ability to float short distances himself, he could understand the instability the other was facing. He seemed to have been levitating for quite a while.
“…Even with your feet on the ground, you are definitely taller.”
Sunday’s reply was surprisingly matter-of-fact. At the gambler’s next words, the halovian furrowed his brows, frowning in a sort of confusion. He shook his head, almost disapprovingly. Would Aventurine? —er, Stoneheart? Whoever this is, truly be so collected if Sunday were to fall right on him?
“That’s easy to say, what you would do might be far different.”
Sunday slowly stood up, his body didn’t ache anymore, but he moved slowly, in case the other got the wrong idea. Never hurt to be too cautious. The next words of the gambler seemed to perplex him even more.
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
Tapping his foot impatiently, the hunter crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side as he listened to the halovian speak. Scratching at his ear absentmindedly, the hunter grumbled.
"Why is everyone saying I look different... it's kind of annoying."
Noticing the squinting from the halovian, he looked away with a grumpy expression. What an... odd reaction.
"Oh, you're that guy who Myriad wanted to kill. I barely remember that. And, you fell, really? Shouldn't birds be able to fly?"
Reaching over, his claws lightly ran over the other man's halo, the hunter effortlessly floating around Sunday. His hands ran along his arms, his halo, even going as far as to pick up the halovian briefly before putting him back down on the ground. How he was able to float so casually, so low to the ground without crashing and falling was... almost impressive.
"You seem fine to me. A little..." His fingers squished Sunday's cheek lightly. "Sssssquishy. And, why would I be hurt by your fall, darling? I'm not the one who fell."
“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but my instinctual observation is that you are… taller than I remember. Significantly so, actually.”
Even while on the floor, Sunday could clearly see the other towered over him, and he would even if Sunday stood up. Last he recalled, they were roughly the same height.
“Myriad? Ah, never mind…” Sunday scratched the top of his head. “Well, yes, but I was caught by surprise. Quite improper of me…”
He dusted himself off, wanting to stand up before the other grasped his halo. He jolted from the shock, unsure whether he wanted to move, object or otherwise— and chose to do none of those. His gaze focused on the other, invasively touching and caressing his arms.
“..!”
The Halovian was suddenly lifted. He made a small sound of shock and protest, but he deemed this situation to be a more favourable one than possibly angering the other if he tried to struggle.
“It’s nothing. Just…” Sunday paused as his cheek was squished. Whether it was by shock or audacity, he would keep his own thoughts to himself for now. “I could’ve landed on you, thank the aeons I didn’t.”
Classic Sunday, always thinking of every possibility…
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Thankfully, the hunter didn't seem to mind the misnaming. Well... was it really a misnaming? Tossing his leg over the screen, he cocked his head, clasping his hands together.
"There's not a match scheduled for today, so I wasn't expecting any guests~ Who are you? Why are you here?"
Hostile... but not aggressive. That's a start? Shifting on his thighs, he lifted onto the soles of his feet. Stretching with a yawn, he chuckled with a sly smile. Does he always have a poker face?
Stepping onto air, a "clink"-ing sound emanated throughout the ring, one after another until the hunter stood on ground level with Sunday. He was tall.
“You look rather… different.” Sunday mumbled, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t a look of distaste, more of a focused squint on the other. Last he checked, his Sigonian lineage gave him most vibrant eyes. This… blackness of his irises was not what he was expecting.
“… I’m Sunday. It is my pleasure to meet you… again?”
Sunday? Ah, the little birdy that the hunter not too long ago threw around. Was this the same person? His disguise was… not exactly a discreet one. However, he didn’t seem like the same megalomaniac head of the Oak family. This one seemed more… pathetic, even.
“I will be honest, I opened a door, and the insides of the room was completely dark. When I stepped in, I fell. And then I ended up… here. I almost broke my halo on the drop down.”
Sunday looked away, holding the book close to his chest. His wings seemed to fold in, as if on the defensive. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t fall directly on the other. Who knows what the hunter would do if he did? Sunday watched the other come down from his throne of televisions, and— oh. He was tall. Much taller than he remembered. What kind of transformation was this?
“I hope you aren’t hurt from my fall, mister Aventurine.”
( do you hate sunday or something? /j - mod justine ) ( @idv-hsr-sunday )
... you know, Aventurine mentioned something about his real-world body going rogue, like a mindless corpse. At the time, it only seemed like a joke, however...
"hmm~"
As the familiar, blonde-haired hunter sat on the large television screen, flipping a coin. With one leg perched on the top of the screen and one leg dangling in front of the empty screen, he flipped the coin once, twice, and then... throwing the coin suddenly, a giant golden coin crashed by Sunday's side, missing him by just a hair.
"Can I help you?"
Gone were those familiar blue and purple eyes, replaced by a singular void eye staring back at him. The normal lackadaisical grin he sported was gone as well, replaced with... something that oozed with seething animosity. Something was... wrong.
It seemed that the halovian had also gotten some changes of his own. Gone were his formal suit and overly imposing stance. This Sunday was carrying a book, draping a scarf around his neck that flowed care-freely behind him. He carefully held a book, grasping onti it.
“…”
His gaze was fixed on the hunter, sitting on the television and eyeing him down. In comparison, he was on the floor, on his knees, but he didn’t dare muster the strength to stand back up. He didn’t want to appear to struggle in front of him—
A gigantic gold coin narrowly missed his wings, but the impact of the wind was still enough to send his hair and scarf into a frenzied bellow.
… Maybe this was a lesson of growth for him..
“… My apologies, I seem to be intruding in your space.”
Of all the people to start this… journey with, this was definitely going to be a hard one… In contrast, Sunday no longer wore a smile. His expression was more sullen, even his wings drooped slightly compared to the last time Aventurine— Stoneheart, had seen him. He looked like a defeated man before the battle even begun. One could only wonder what kind of happenings had occured that warranted such a drastic change.
“Aventurine, am I mistaken?” And of course he had to mess up. Instantly. Hopefully Stoneheart is more forgiving towards this small mistake
Pick rooms that belong to your current obsession (media) and put your friends in them
Hell.
... juuuuuuuust kidding. /ref
Unfortunately, I don't have just one obsession, I have a group which I rotate in my brain like the lego man in the tumbler, so... I'm sending everyone to their new homes, and if you're unhappy with where you stand, sorry, I do make the rules actually! Who's ready to see their new home?
Let's see... who's first?
...
Issy. Issy! You're first! I'm sending you to... the Hadal Blacksite! Go my Issy, be free, commit crimes, and fight with Sebastian. He owes me a gummylight I WANT it.
You can have Idol's room, as a courtesy even. Free food, fuck the searchlights, nice performances, a tooooooon of stuffed animals, honestly anything comforting you can think of, Idol 's room has it. Pretty neat to be honest.
Only thing is she sleeps on a mattress on the floor but if you can get past that part? 10/10 room.
Satoru? Do I have to? Can't I send him to hell? Pretty please?
No?
Damn. Damn! Ugh, fine uhm. Shit where DO I put his ass? I can't send him to hell, I can't leave him homeless, that just makes ME the asshole.
I'll put him innnnnnnnnnnnnn. theeeee. Hotel from the Inn-Sanity. Yeah! go. go fuck up the priest for me, sweetheart! the wedding can go back on once I'm undoomed by the inn-sanity's narrative. /ref /silly
Saturday can have the room from the first Amanda the Adventurer! Fucking love that game, love myself a good haunted television adventurer. Go, solve the mysteries in my death tapes!
Navi, I'm sending you to into the second Amanda the Adventurer game. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out all the secrets in that game before the monsters find you, no? Teehee. (a threat)
Try not to die too soon, m'kay? /j
Fifi... hmph. I don't know where I can possibly send you without you causing an issue to be honest. So, choose an analog horror from this book, whatever fills your cannibalistic heart with the most bloody joy.
Don't tell me which one you choose though. I don't need to know.
Originally, I was going to give you Lighter's room, but since you want to act like you're a goddamn stalker and serial killer, Taegan Mariah Collins, you can have Ronin's room. Goddamn antichrist actin' ass.
I got a short fuse for fools, don't get arrogant. /lyr
Yuu is going to the murder house hehehehehehehe.
Four... honestly, I can just send you to Octavinelle and call it a day, because you are an eel and whatnot. Eels love water and shit, right?
...
Actually, I think I'll send you to Fontaine, it's probably a nice, better place, more room for you to swim around, more people worthy of being squeezed, it's a pretty sweet deal, no?
Maybe we can go track down some assholes together. Just, don't mind me setting myself on fire. C4 Hu Tao does things to you... shudders.
Klai can have her time in a LGTS/Pocket Mirror themed room. I know, I know, I'm a goddamn saint. Not my personal interest of course, but, I know my cilentle.
Clown... clown clown clown clown clown... can I send them to the circus from Madagascar. Afro circus afro circus afro polka dot polka dot polka dot afro.
Beth! Beth!!! I'm sending you to... Bonnie's Bakery!
Wait. Wait no not Bonnie's Bakery. Not that one.
Cooking Mama, that's the one. Final answer. Go make your silly foods, bestie. I do want a discount though I am hungry. /j
Pins feels like a Home Safety Hotline girlie. If you don't know the game, bestie, go check it out. That game would do WONDERS in Dynathus.
Whatever, go my HSH Pins. /ref Enjoy your new room, the free computer, and the power over every life that calls your hotline, babe. Good luck!
Emma and Al are kind of a package deal, I can't separate them! And if I ever separate them, feel free to kill me actually. Okay well don't actually kill me, dying sounds painful please please please please-
Rooms for them, rooms for them... hmm. I think they'd be fun roommates for a Dollmare themed room or the Inn-Sanity as well. They'd make the horrors real fun real fast, me thinks. I could count on them to have my back in these worlds.
They're fun people, so, their rooms should reflect that.
Me, personally? I think Rina deserves a cute room, something reflecting her fun personality and amazing presence!
I'm sending you back to your FNaF phase. sowwy. You'll forgive me, righttttt? Rightttt????? Righttt!
I think a FNaF Joy of Creation room for Rina would just be... a little silly, teehee!!
Lupi... hmm. Congrats, you're getting an Honkai Impact 3rd themed room, specifically, the Elysium Realm. You now have an in-home bar, ain't that nice?
Orange can have a DHMIS room, I think the vibes fit them perfectly. Fun, colorful, slightly cursed, tons of plotting plans to have, and overall just extremely silly and fun to visit.
Joe. Omori room. All three spaces included. Enough said.
.
.
.
Well, that's it. If I missed you, let me know! This post took forever to think of and make. Teehee.
[ Part One Here! ] [ Original All Hallows Eve Post Here! ]
hii everyone! it's me, your girl, i'm back with more costumes, and these costumes marks the end of my pre-prepared list! I have a list for after plans muses that I might tackle but... we'll see! this post is a little shorter but... I did do 26 costumes!
Christ. Anyways, part two!! yippee!!! i'll probably take a break to chat a bit about lore and Halloween outfit headcanons but first... the remaining costumes from my list <3
___
[ Halloween Series: Rose Witch ]
Characters Included: Sebastian Solace
Matching Costumes: Sebastian matches with Octo and Charlotte from part one.
[ Halloween Series: Space ]
Characters Included: Kadence
Characters Included: Aria // yuu
Matching Costumes: Kadence and Aria match with one another, as well as match with Jackael and Rambley from part one.
[ Halloween Series: Wandering is a terrible sin. ]
Characters Included: Saturday // @idv-hsr-sunday
Characters Included: Ocean // @sxftriina
Matching Costumes: Saturday and Ocean match with one another.
[ Halloween Series: The Bunny Graveyard ]
Characters Included: Rina // @sxftriina
Matching Costumes: Rina matches with Nihil from part one.
[ Halloween Series: The Bunny Graveyard ]
Characters Included: Nihil
Matching Costumes: This is the second form of Nihil's base costume as shown in part one, and she matches with Rina.
