⠀✦˙ 𝓐ᵛᵉⁿᵗᵘʳⁱⁿᵉ

⠀ ⌔⠀▋ ID:⠀⠀ @truestvine 
            
            
            “      ... i don't just go taking other people's meals.  can't be that bad, right?     “

“No, no… you’re, er, more than welcome to it.  Really.”

⠀ ⌔⠀▋ ID:⠀⠀ @truestvine 
            
            
            “      hm?   was this yours?     “

He sits.  For it’d be impolite to decline such an outright invitation.  One leg folded over the other at the knee.  Wills his lips to flicker into an easy, pleasant smile that will never quite reach his eyes.
            
            “Very true,” easy acquiescence, and already comes the iridescent frequencies of Aeonhood murmuring into his nerves.  This close—-  he cannot stop it.  Cannot stop the frantic rush of information made worse by their worsened proximity.  “But ensure you look after yourself.” 
            
            Sunday abruptly stiffens at the question  —-  the melancholy rippling beneath the chatter.  He can read it as plain as day, despite Aventurine’s languid ease and mannerisms.  A simple dream and nightmare of missing home.  He is good at sealing this sadness away, the Harmony whispers to him, in an iron box with an iron lid.  Never to be looked at again.  It is awful and invasive and Sunday with his bleeding heart feels it rip at the seams.
            
            “It’s fine,” he says abruptly, over the thick froth of the Path.  “A bit surprising but it’s pleasant here.  They look after their own, the Conductor is especially a fusser.”  He feels like he is talking through spills of syrup in his mouth, with his liar’s tongue. 
            
            The words are out before he can stop them.  “You are… under a lot of pressure,” and Sunday sounds winded as if this pain has been distributed in equal amounts.  “Since…”  /me/  he wants to hiss out.  Knows the curse of misusing this power all too well.  “…it has caused pain, I’m assuming.  I can—-  feel it.”  [Feel  /you/  but please believe me when I say I don’t want to—-]  goes unsaid like the coward he will spend time ripping apart.
            

⠀ ⌔⠀▋ ID:⠀⠀@truestvine 
            
            
            [   he remains seated as sunday was stood before him,  one leg crossed over the other while leaning against a hand cupping his cheek.   with a gaze that bores into his, it’s eerie how watched he feels.  not just attention from sunday’s pointed stare, but an all-encompassing scrutiny.  he doesn’t break under the pressure, as a familiar pulsing strikes his head.  instead bares his neck, as though having nothing to hide.   ]
            
            “     doing fine.   back on my usual schedule,  so it’s been busy.    you’re not wrong there, but when isn’t business bustling.     “
            [   he sits back,  hands draping over the arms of the chair while nodding towards a spot near him.   a casual demeanour, but he kept just as close of an eye on every movement.   ]
            
            “     how’s the express treating you?  looks like you’ve settled in.   must be a shock, being away from home for the first time.     “
            [   he would know.   ]

It’s almost cruel, seeing this man in front of him like this.  Perhaps some undying, unruly part of himself is already accusing this meeting as a  /test/  from the Nameless.  To gauge how he reacts, any excuse to cast him out—- 
            
            “…yes, well.  Hello to you too.”  Of course, Aventurine would know of what  “freedom”  Sunday had been given.  
            
            He does not sit, merely stands closer with hands clasped behind him.  A brief buzz of Harmony, an instinctive reaching out.  A childhood blanket draping across his shoulders; every murmur filling in the spills of Sunday’s brain as he peers at Aventurine, with the uncanny attentiveness of a predator regarding a weakness. 
            
            The man before him, once blinding in each carefully polished forethought, seems chipped and shattered.  
            
            “Are you doing well?”  Careful, toeing the line.  Very subtle as he urges his feet closer.  “I’m sure the IPC have been…  busy as of late.” 

/  NO 

/  JUST SAY YOU HATE ME??? ok fine post it is god! 

/  no clue man i was jus gonna be like. Yo. Fancy seeing u here (at a mysterious bar)

“Yeah?  Do this often?”  a brow raises beneath stray chunks of his hair, and he’s seemingly  /delighted/  at this turn of events.  “Muddle-fudger, the day I let you touch my gun is the day I hand myself over to your rat heap of a corporation.” 
            
            The gun is withdrawn, just like that, Boothill easing off of the other man’s proximity with a grunt.  “Next time I won’t be so…  /happy/  t’ see you, hear me?  I don’t like surprises.”  

⠀ ⌔⠀▋ ID:⠀⠀ @allbecoming 
            
            
            “     imagine what it’s like for me.   not my first time, won’t be my last facing a barrel.     “
            [   he squints then mirrors the smile at a more subtle level,  reaching back to place the nozzle in a more convenient spot for a shooter to get an immediate effect.   right against the neck.   one shot, and it’d go through his skull, resulting in a limp body.    ]
            
            “     gun always lands in my hands.   one way or another.     “

A sharp, biting laugh that compliments the snarling grin stretching his lips.  The gun jostles a little at the harshness of his barking chortle.  “Yeah, heard ‘bout that little…  habit of yours.  Makes it no fun.”  

A rattle as Boothill casually extends the chamber embedded in his forearm.  He pinches a bullet between his fingers, and there’s a ‘plop!’ as he disposes the metal into the glass. 
            
            “Ha!  You son of a nice lady, don’t pull my leg.  That shizzle don’t work with me,” he ignores the bartender sending panicked glances to the exposed chamber still protruding from his arm.  
            
            “Actually, fudge it.  I’m in luck,” a squint before he grins, bright  &  fierce.  “You can help me out.”  

⠀ ⌔⠀▋ ID:⠀⠀ @allbecoming
            
            
            [   aventurine picks up his glass, crested with honey and a small umbrella.   delicate decoration,  for what was straight whiskey without ice.   he hums at the two guesses.   ]
            
            “     or.  i was waiting for you.     “
            [   a bluff or the truth?  hard to tell,  as he places the glass down once taking another sip, leaning against his hand to stare right back over his shades.   ]

“Kind of ya,” his head tilts to the side and, well, he exchanges a pleasant enough request to the bartender.  A glass of Asdana’s White Oak soon waits for him.  
            
            “Lemme guess…”  his eye peers at Aventurine with an eerie sort of intensity.  “You’re either hidin’ away or drinkin’ your woes and frustrations down the drain.  Dangerous, for a man with pockets like yours.” 

/        love him lots..

╱╱ ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀i miss him..
            
            ⠀⠀⠀▋⤻⠀⠀@dawnstread 

╱╱ ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀omg? u totally should drop sumn!
            
            ⠀⠀⠀▋⤻⠀⠀@doverots 

*   pookie..   i believe you should let me drop something!!! 

╱╱ ⠀⠀  ⠀⠀literally me with yours!! can recognise ur accounts immediately from the gorgeous layouts 
            
            ⠀⠀⠀▋⤻⠀⠀@doverots