Chapter Text
Aventurine laughed as he swept the chips off the table in a single showy gesture, filling his bag to the brim.
“Thank you for a most entertaining game,” he said, with a low bow. The three other men at the poker table narrowed their eyes, but grumbled a goodbye like the gentlemen they were pretending to be.
Even in a dream, every casino had its watchers, unobtrusive employees who kept an eye on the winners, making sure no one got too lucky. Their vigilance was like the edge of a knife, and Aventurine knew just how to balance without falling on either side. His intuition told him they were only a few lucky gambits from kicking him out, and he didn’t want to leave until he’d cashed these chips.
It was a good haul. He’d had a fabulously lucky afternoon and was flush with cash.
Typically when he gambled he had a goal, and a complex strategy that would lead him to the exact amount he needed to fund his next scheme or venture. But he was on Penacony for a vacation, and so he’d tucked away the part of him that was always restlessly tallying in favor of testing his luck for the fun of it.
Now, chips exchanged for a large sum of credits transferred directly to his bank account, he stepped out onto the street. It was only right that he squander his ill-gotten good fortune, and he decided that he would spend it on the most attractive person he could find in the Golden Hour.
Humming, he ducked through the doors into the crowd, and nearly knocked himself, face first, into an angel.
A Halovian, he realized, when he recovered with a graceful twist to the side. Tall, slender, an austere elegance to his face and soft white wings emerging from his neck. His eyes, golden as the setting sun, lingered on Aventurine just long enough, then he turned to continue on his way.
“Excuse me,” Aventurine said, quickly slipping into the Halovian’s path. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Please make an appointment with my secretary,” the Halovian said, without a hint of impatience. He regarded Aventurine with a polite disinterest.
“It’s not that kind of appointment,” Aventurine said, moving closer. What intriguing prey he had found. “It’s just that I made a bet with myself, when I stepped out onto the street. Don’t you want to hear what it was?”
“If you insist.”
“I just won a small fortune. And I said to myself, I’m going to spend all this on the most attractive person I can find in the Golden Hour.” Aventurine removed his sunglasses and grinned. “So what do you say? Will you let me take you to dinner?”
For that performance he was treated to the first crack he’d seen in the Halovian’s perfect composure—a slight flutter of wings, as though a warm wind had stirred them. Sunset eyes blinked at him, and then a laugh was disguised as a polite cough.
“I’m sorry, but I must ask. Surely you know who I am?”
“Afraid not,” Aventurine admitted. “I’m here on leisure, not business, so I didn’t do my usual research. Why, are you someone I should know about?”
“Not at all.” The Halovian gave him a small smile. “My name is Sunday.”
“Aventurine.” He held out his hand, giving no sign of his surprise that he had randomly chosen the newly appointed head of the Oak Family on a mere whim. “Pleasure’s all mine. So where can I take you, beautiful?”
Sunday didn’t roll his eyes at the endearment, but it was a close thing. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“I’m a gambling man. I see a treasure before me and I can’t help but covet.”
“I’m afraid you may want to direct your attention elsewhere.” Although they were standing close together, Sunday’s polite but unenthusiastic demeanor put a greater distance between them. “I’m unfortunately too busy for such things.”
In the IPC, Aventurine had a reputation for ruthlessness and brutal effectiveness, which applied not only to strategic development but to all aspects of his life. In the span of a few moments, he had made up his mind that he would succeed at this wager, and get one of the Family’s most prominent members into his bed. His vacation was getting boring anyway. Seducing Sunday would be… not just a diversion, but a challenge to which he would apply the full extent of his cunning.
“Let’s make a wager.” Aventurine ran his fingertips down Sunday’s bicep, calculating. When Sunday did not pull away, he considered it a win. “Have a drink with me. By the time we’re done, I’ll tell you what it is you want from me. If I get it right, you spend the rest of the evening in my company.”
Whatever Sunday’s tastes were, Aventurine was certain he could provide. Whether he enjoyed it or not wasn’t a relevant question. He had a goal now; he’d made a bet. And he always played to win.
“And if you guess wrong?” Sunday asked.
“Then I’ll never bother you again.”
The corner of Sunday’s mouth turned slightly up, a vague hint of amusement. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll play your game.”
The wager was too easy to win. Aventurine knew the answer even before their drinks arrived—drinks that Sunday had ordered for them both, after asking Aventurine about his tastes. Everything about Sunday spoke of order and discipline, from the rigid way he held himself, one hand behind his back as though to restrain an unruly impulse, to the steadiness of his voice and expressions. While Aventurine had been more or less a feral child, he guessed someone had taught Sunday to be utterly self-contained, flawless in dress and mannerism, to stifle emotion and impulse completely.
Sunday asked about him, and Aventurine painted himself as a mid-level IPC employee, rich enough to come to Penacony but not influential enough to cause a stir. It wasn’t a difficult lie, as that had been his life until just recently, when Diamond scouted him, renamed him, and gifted him a priceless corner of power.
When Aventurine returned the line of questioning, he was surprised to see that Sunday didn’t lie at all, but readily admitted to being the head of the Oak Family and second in line to lead all of the Family on Penacony. Were normal people like this, he wondered idly. So forthcoming with the precious details of their own lives?
Despite his stiffness, Sunday was engaging and clever, a delight to talk to. In the mirror behind the bar, Aventurine caught himself with a genuine smile on his face, wide and pleased and stupid. It wasn’t an expression he made often, nor was it particularly flattering on his face.
“It would seem the time has come for our wager,” Sunday said, as they set aside their empty glasses. “Do you have an answer, Aventurine?”
“What do you want from me?” Aventurine grinned, caught up in the heady rush of laying a winning hand down on the poker table. “It’s too easy. You want the same thing from me as you want from all of Penacony.”
A raised eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“Control.”
“I see.” Sunday’s eyes darkened, intrigued. “I too have taken your measure and determined what it is you want, if you’d like to hear it.”
That was an unexpected twist, but interesting. “Lay it on me,” Aventurine drawled.
“You wish to leave yourself to chance,” Sunday said. “Unlike your usual gambling habits, where you lay enough strategy to ensure you won’t lose, you want a true risk. To roll the dice and let someone do with you as they will.”
Aventurine shook his head with a dissonant laugh. “You’re stretching that gambling metaphor a bit far, aren’t you?”
Sunday smiled like he knew that was deflection, nothing more.
“Dinner, then,” he said. “I know just the place.”