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caged bird, gilded feathers

Summary:

TW: read the tags
~~

He will succeed, because he is Aventurine. He will win, because he is Aventurine.
He will survive, because he is Á̶̡̛̱͎̃v̷̹̑ē̴̺̩̿n̸̢̰͉̿͒͝t̷͎̪͋̉-̶̮̑̓~̵̈̾̚͜-̴̨̊~̸̛̘͌́

Notes:

i'm sorry

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

He tries to enjoy the work after he receives his tattoo and finishes the mandatory day of rest.

"I'm officially theirs", he tells himself, "The mark they gave me means that They won't sell me to another organisation. I'm useful here.", ignores the ugly feeling in his chest that screams "you're disposable."

Pretends that there is less hate in his handlers' eyes when they assign him work too heavy for his malnourished body.

 

They take him into the communal showers a few months after his tattoo settles in.

Guards scrub his skin with rough brushes and rose-scented soap bars, lathers his dirt-smeared hair with shampoo and conditioner until it gains a soft, golden sheen of resplendence and a feathery softness that he didn't know it could possess.

"Need to make you presentable for the Stonehearts,", they gruffly say, flinching when they see him blink at them.

 

They pull fresh clothes onto his frame, slightly taller but still lacking a live colour in the skin. He lets them brush his hair, breathes, and pretends they aren't the same ruthless hands that crept up and down his body behind dumpsters, leaving bruises and scratches both on his skin and in his mind.


When they push him into the room, he sees the people dressed in iridescent colours boring their gaze into his very much bland outfit.

"Hello, [REDACTED]. We are the Stonehearts." A smooth, cool voice sounds, and he immediately bows his head. Years of slavery working has taught him to recognise authority within the first few syllables of a voice.


"Don't be so shy. My name is Diamond, leader of the Stonehearts." He nods blankly and notices a girl looking to be around his age, with a crimson streak in her pale hair and azure eyes. She offers him a smile.


He blinks at her and refocuses on Diamond.

 

"I see you are a Sigonian- an Avgin, at that." He flinches, hard. He knows where this conversation leads to, and reminds himself that he is their property.

"With polishing and tempering, you will make a good Stoneheart one day." Diamond says to him, and he is shocked beyond words.

Why would they entrust such a job to him, a pure asset, a property to be traded, used then disposed of?


"When you finish your training, you will lose your old name and become one of us. You will fully become Aventurine." 

He tests the word on his tongue silently.


It feels too smooth, too different, but he knows he has no right to say anything to Diamond.
He knows he would be on death row, like the rest of the slaves workers, once they outgrow their usefulness.


So he simply nods in a way that he's learned, one that shows gratitude.


Diamond shows a satisfied expression to him and looks to the guards at the door.

"Escort him… escort Aventurine to his new room, will you?" The guards nod dutifully and place firm hands on his shoulders to turn him around and lead him out of the meeting room.

"Oh, and [REDACTED]?" He turns around instinctively with his head lowered. Diamond offers a smile he can't read.
"Remember that you are in a privileged position. We chose you- I chose you for this because I see your potential. You've piqued my interest, child."

He holds back the thought of correcting Diamond because he hasn't been a child since he arrived in this wretched place, and he had reached his adolescence a few years ago.
"I will provide for your needs, Aventurine. All you need to do is to do things right." 

He is escorted out soon after.


They place him into a new room. A room. With a plush bed, a stark contrasted to the dusted ground his body is used to. 
He meets new guards, ones who are no longer designated to protect other people from him.

The new guards treat him like an official, and Aventurine can't get rid of the disgust crawling underneath his skin.

This isn't what he knew. This isn't the real IPC.

The real guards were bulky, rough and preyed on the slaves workers with pretty faces while spitting venom at their faces.

 

He can never forget the second week of his arrival.

During the ten-minute lunch breaks, the older people beat him, pulls his hair punches his eyes so that he has to get ice packs to reduce the swelling.


It is dark when his shift finishes, and he is pulled aside by guards on his way to collect dinner rations.

He asks what they want and they reply with something akin to "mandatory welcome party".

He remembers being lifted by his upper arms, dangling him in the air as the others snake their hands under his shirt and pants, pinching and leaving bruises all over his skin but under his clothes.

He remembers the distant cloud hazing over his mind when his lower half feels like it was being split open.

He remembers the guard who penetrated him, who handed him a loaf of warm bread with a smirk.

He eats the bread eagerly and pretends the split skin down below doesn't bleed scarlet into his pants.

 

~o0o~


It takes him five weeks to get used to the new treatment, but he doesn't forget about what he remembers of the real IPC.


It takes him three months to start sleeping on his bed.

It takes him a week to start dressing himself in vibrant colours, adorning himself in expensive watches, bracelets, rings.

It takes him a week to apply the same perfume around his neck and wrists every morning, if only to get rid of the tainted smell of rusted iron.

It takes him no more than a day to wear rose-tinted glasses, in futile hopes to hide the telltale features of his eyes.

It takes him one month to discover fur-lined jackets, and when he does, he buys it and wears it every day, hoping to replace the familiar, heavy ache of his shackle on the base of his neck.


When he is given his first mission, he wastes no time to get it done.

He knows by now, that he must succeed, and succeed early.

No matter what it takes.

Even if it shatters his soul, his mind, his body, his life.

 


He will succeed, because he is Aventurine.

 

He will win, because he is Aventurine.



He will survive, because he is Á̶̡̛̱͎̃v̷̹̑ē̴̺̩̿n̸̢̰͉̿͒͝t̷͎̪͋̉-̶̮̑̓~̵̈̾̚͜-̴̨̊~̸̛̘͌́

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ነልህቹ ጮቹ. የረቹልነቹ. ነዐጮቹዐክቹ-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Fail this mission and you knows what happens, Aventurine. Lose the cornerstones… well, then you wouldn't be Aventurine anymore, would you, [REDACTED]?"

 

Notes:

i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. the voices won this time.

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