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Aventurine has not prayed in a long time.
He is reminded of this fact in the Dreamscape when his mind wobbles and sways with the infection of the Harmony’s power and taints him with visions of a child long lost to the weathering sands of time. He is reminded when that child asks him to pray that old prayer, palm to palm, a reflection of a memory he buried deep in the recesses of his mind to avoid the deep gutted pain it brings him. He is reminded when he speaks those sacred words, flowing from his mouth with ease as if he has spoken them every morning and every night, so ingrained in his being that he couldn't forget them if he tried.
And now, months later, he is reminded by a longing tugging at his heart, one he has not felt since he was Kakavasha and not the Stoneheart Aventurine.
With a shaky sigh he falls into the back of his office chair, toying with a poker chip in a familiar, almost unconscious manner. His left hand is clasped tight against his thigh in an effort to still its anxious jitters. He should be focusing on the work on his desk in front of him. Instead, he is reduced to a quivering mess at the thought of something as simple as prayer .
(It is not so simple to Aventurine, not so simple to Kakavasha. The thought of prayer alone does not leave him anxious. What does is the emptiness that surrounds him, in this room and in this life he lives. With a cold lump of dread he acknowledges the fact that he could not pray, even if he wanted to indulge the longing, because he only has one set of palms where there should be two.
The prayer would not be complete if he spoke the words alone. They require a partner, someone he can trust with this fragile piece of himself and these sacred words that will one day be lost because he is the last one to know their cadence. And surely that is where his gifted luck draws the line, because no such person exists–)
There is a knock on his office door.
In a swift move Aventurine is sitting up straight again, scooted closer to his desk so that his left hand is entirely hidden. The right one stays above as he rolls the chip over his fingers and lets his mask slip over him once again.
“Come in.” He pushes his voice out with a lilt that barely smothers the stuttery emotional edge to it. The door opens to reveal the good Dr. Veritas Ratio. The man looks as pristine as always, and as he closes the door he urges his plaster mask away. He holds a familiar stoic expression as he approaches Aventurine.
The Stoneheart grins, an amalgamation of genuine joy and stage performance. “Doctor, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“My apologies,” Ratio has the decency to look at least half sincere, “I was simply in for a meeting and thought I would visit you before I left again.” The scholar takes a seat in front of Aventurine’s desk and wastes no time in making himself comfortable, as if this space is his own as much as it is Aventurine’s.
Right, because this is their routine now, isn’t it?
Ratio has been doing this ever since Aventurine recovered from his brush with the Nihility. He has ‘visited on a whim’ at least once a week for the last three and a half months, whether that be in the office or the gambler’s own home. It was surprising in the beginning, and almost frightening in the way that Ratio seemed to actually care for his wellbeing. It was a stark contrast to the harsh words that often spilled from the Doctor’s lips in common conversation, though now Aventurine supposes even those were a thinly veiled declaration of affection in their own way.
He pointedly ignores the warm feeling that blooms in his chest at the thought in the same way as he has been ignoring the digital paperwork in front of him for the last hour. Instead, he laughs short and soft in Ratio’s general direction. “Well, luckily for you I’m not too occupied at the moment. Is there anything in particular you’re looking to speak about?”
Ratio observes him scrutinizingly for a few beats, eyes darting between the coin rolled deftly between fingers and the general area where the Stoneheart’s other hand sits under the desk. He seems to ponder something for only a second before he comes to a conclusion and speaks. “Something is bothering you.”
To Aventurine’s credit, he only falters for a second at the Doctor’s bluntness. It should come as no surprise, truly. The two of them have worked together for over a year, and in that time Ratio has learned all of the gambler’s tells, observed and taken detailed notes on each one of them and tucked the knowledge on an easy-to-reach shelf in his mind’s library. He knows why the blond twirls poker chips between his fingers, why he keeps his left hand own of sight when the stakes are high, why he smiles in a way that does not reach his eyes.
Aventurine heaves a sigh, there is truly no hiding from Veritas Ratio. This man sitting before him never fails to dissect every fiber of his being and use the broken pieces he finds within it to paint a perfect image of the gambler’s deepest and most troubling thoughts. It is a terrifying thing, Aventurine thinks, that someone knows him so well, sometimes better than he knows himself.
And yet, there is no one he would trust more with the torn and tainted pieces of his being than Dr. Veritas Ratio.
“It’s nothing particularly important,” a bold-faced lie, “Nor is it very interesting.”
Ratio huffs, obviously exasperated. His tone is contrastingly kind. “Evidently it must be important in some capacity, or you would not be so bothered by it. Speak your mind, gambler. There is no point in bottling it up.”
Aventurine focuses his sight on the center point of his desk. He considers his options: he could follow his usual routine, bluff his way out of addressing the true root of his discomfort, or he could follow a different script and be truthful. But was he capable of that? Could he reveal his hand so easily, when he’s kept it so close to his chest for so long?
Kaleidoscope eyes meet Ratio’s through lashes. There is a softness behind sunrise irises that is new and yet not, it’s a look Aventurine has written off as coincidence time and time again but here and now he realizes that was a mistake. It is now, held under that soft gaze that warms his soul like the sun that he thinks maybe, just maybe, he can let his guard down. That singular thought is enough to crack the dam and suddenly the walls are crumbling with a swiftness that nearly takes his breath away.
Slowly, shakily, Aventurine places his poker chip on the desk, letting his right hand join the one in his lap to fiddle with his fingers instead. He takes a deep breath in, out, and bites the bullet. “I was thinking about praying.”
Ratio’s brows furrow in confusion. “That simple? Surely nothing is stopping you from doing so, no?”
“It’s not–” Aventurine chuckles in a way that does nothing to hide his nervousness. “It’s not as simple as that, Doctor.”
“Then please, enlighten me. What is stopping you?” Indigo curls sway as the scholar tilts his head slightly, waiting for an explanation.
“The prayer to Gaiathra Triclops requires two people,” the Stoneheart stares at the hands in his lap, spread open with palms facing upwards. “I am only one man, the prayer would be incomplete if I spoke the words alone.”
In front of him, Ratio hums thoughtfully. “So let me pray with you.”
“I– what?” Aventurine’s head jerks up to meet Ratio’s gaze. He scours the doctor’s face for any sign of insincerity only to find that the man is still looking at him with that softness in his eyes.
“You said you need another person to pray properly, I am more than capable of taking that place. You would have to teach me the words, and that is, of course, if it is acceptable to you.”
Aventurine sits in stunned silence for a moment, while Ratio waits patiently for his answer. The Stoneheart Aventurine has never spoken that prayer to another person. The words have long been left in the past with a young Kakavasha and his sister.
And yet, Aventurine finds that the words sit just on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spilled into the space between bared palms.
“Please,” Ratio breaks the silence and any train of thought that accompanies it. His voice is just as soft as his eyes, the rest of his features softened as well. “Allow me to indulge you.”
A deep breath, quivering with nerves. “Okay. Just– bring your chair around here and face me.”
Ratio follows the instructions, quietly pulling his chair next to Aventurine’s and angling it to face the blond. Once he sits Aventurine scoots his own chair closer so that their knees are brushing against one another.
“Alright… now hold your left hand up, palm facing me.”
Again, Ratio obliges, his hand lifted and ready for the prayer. Between his multicolored eyes and the way the pose looks so natural on him, Aventurine can almost imagine that they both hailed from Sigonia. He lifts his own gloved hand and rests his palm against his companion’s.
“Okay, now repeat after me.”
Ratio nods in acknowledgment and the Stoneheart takes it as permission to start. He lets his eyes slip closed as he recites the prayer he thought would be long forgotten.
“ May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… ”
Ratio follows as expected, sounding unsure yet unwavering. “May the Mother Godded thrice close her eyes for you…”
“ Keeping your blood eternally pulsing. ”
The scholar stumbles over the words slightly but recovers quickly. “Keeping your blood eternally pulsing.”
“ May your journey forever be peaceful… ”
Aventurine thinks if he opened his eyes in this moment, he would find Ratio’s to be peacefully closed as he mimics sacred words. “May your journey forever be peaceful…”
“ And your schemes forever concealed. ”
If he listens closely, Ratio almost sounds endeared. “And your schemes forever concealed.”
A calm, happy feeling settles over Aventurine and he allows himself to smile genuinely. He does not open his eyes and instead opts to bask in this feeling for as long as Ratio will allow him, and it seems the scholar is content to do the same if the soft press of his palm is anything to go by. For the first time since he was a child, Aventurine feels whole. He does not feel like the Stoneheart Aventurine.
No, at this moment, with his palm pressed against Veritas Ratio’s and the aftertaste of prayer on his tongue, he feels like Kakavasha.
He hopes, selfishly, that Ratio will pray with him again.
(Deep down, he knows that Ratio will pray with him a million times if he so wishes.
And maybe one day, he will pray with him and know that it is not Aventurine, but Kakavasha that speaks those sacred words.)