ashoney | (no subject)

[ What a vulture. Aventurine meets his soon-to-be executioner's disdain withe a pleasant but strained smile that falters under the pressure baring down on him. He shuts his eyes. Lifts a hand to massage his temple. ]

Ngh- just fighting a migraine.

[ No use trying to mask the venom in his voice -- 'annoyed' is probably an undervaluation of what he should be feeling right now, all things considered. But Sunday has made himself an inconvenience once more, and after Aventurine had only just gained certainty in his chosen path. He falls silent, taking a second more to collect himself. Then, with a deep breath, he straightens, adjusting the lower hem of his vest once he's standing tall again (because he knows it will be annoying). ]

I'm hardly one of your little lambs, Bronze Melodia. [ His eyes narrow, head tipping to the side. ] And I'm hurt that you don't seem to have faith in my investigative abilities. Can't you leave a man to his work?

[Sunday watches Aventurine adjust his vest with heavily lidded eyes. How improper. But the gambler knows this and is trying to annoy him. He decides not to take the bait, though his feathers visibly ruffle and his halo slightly darkens.]

You are a businessman. You know as well as I that it is often necessary to check in on one's...investments.

[The hands clasped behind his back fall to his side, but his posture remains stiff. Almost inhumanely so. Many of the small movements he used to make as his natural body language were stifled long ago. Only his wings and halo ever show his true feelings anymore. That is a flaw in his otherwise immaculate presentation, one he will have to address.

Later.

Not now.]

And you are an investment, Mr. Aventurine! So why not take a moment to let me into your process?

[ Disgust flickers and fizzles, a spark that cannot quite catch before it's smothered under Aventurine's better sense. Sunday cannot hurt him any more than he already has -- already will, if he insists on creating greater delays. How annoying, but not yet a problem. A single breath, barely a laugh, escapes Aventurine's parted lips. ]

Well, as you know, I'm on a rather tight timetable.

[ His voice is smooth in spite of the pressure baring down on him, like the sound of an action movie booming through walls one theater over. ]

You're welcome to shadow me as I work. [ As though he isn't already. Still, Aventurine slips his glasses back on and sweeps one arm out, inviting Sunday to accompany him as he walks. ] But trying to explain all the hows and whys? That'd be undue distraction from my very important responsibilities.

[He catches the flicker of disdain, which draws a small grin to his lips. It is satisfying to be so hated by the sinful.]

Of course. I would never dream of distracting you.

[Sunday steps aside and sweeps an elegant hand toward the mouth of the alley.]

Please. After you.

[ This is... inconvenient. Fresh off feeling like he had just found his right path, here's another penny on the track to derail him. It'd be funny that the Bronze Melodia seems so insistent about disrupting his plans, but he's a little too invested in the outcome at this point. Death, for the moment at least, is a goal that must take a very specific shape -- one that can't involve a clock slowly ticking down.

It doesn't help that the smug bastard seems delighted that he is an obvious annoyance.

Aventurine exhales a short, sharp breath, then steps into the lead. ]

You know, really I would have thought the head of the Oak Family might've had more pressing matters to attend to than playing key warden. [ He does not glance over his shoulder, refusing to look at Sunday, certain that it will only make him angrier. ] Do you give every man you condemn the luxury treatment or am I a special case?