[ Let's say Aventurine and Boothill were shooting the shit at the bar when shadows suddenly swallow the both of them and a scene plays out before them.
boothill looks the exact same way, staring forward at nothing. during the ordeal, he crushed the glass of whiskey in his hand without realizing it. there's drink and glass shards on the bar under his metal hand, but he doesn't seem to register this.
he finally looks at aventurine, eyes wide. boothill knew about the conflict between the strategic investment department and marketing development department. what he didn't know is how big of a part oswaldo schneider actually played in aventurine's past—how similar they actually are.
[ There may be glass and whiskey all over the bar counter, but Aventurine doesn't seem to care as he lowers his face into his hands, then sighs softly into them.
The memories had initially been a shock, but he's realizing now that they'll continue for the rest of this week. He's quiet as he processes the memory that he'd just been forced to relive, closes his eyes tight to hear his sister's voice once more.
When he reopens them, he lifts his head just enough to peek over the tips of his fingers, staring into nothing in particular. ]
this is the same reaction he had earlier, when he also had to relive the most traumatic moment of his own life. all he could do was to hold his head in his hands and somehow process the overwhelming hate and anger and sadness until he could temper himself. talking abated it somewhat, but it's an old and terrible wound ripped open again. it takes time to heal. ]
This dadgum weekly nonsense.
[ affection week is over, but boothill still sets a hand on aventurine's shoulder, trying to summon some dregs of comfort. he's half expecting to be shrugged off. ]
We'll make these goat muddle-fudgers pay for showin' us these forkin' things. Like livin' it once wasn't hell enough.
[ The hand on his shoulder pulls Aventurine from his thoughts, and he shoots Boothill a small, appreciative smile before dropping his hands from his face to reach for some napkins. ]
A little... warning next time would be nice.
[ At least then he would be able to steel himself for it, but maybe the entire purpose of these memories is to unbalance them. He doesn't know. He busies himself with clean up duty, mopping up the whiskey with the napkins while avoiding glass shards. ]
I don't know if it matters, but what you saw... If you could keep it between us.
[ as soon as aventurine starts cleaning, boothill gets up to swing over the bar and get a rag to clean up with. ]
You get your hand outta the way 'fore you cut yourself open.
[ he'll throw the napkins in a bin and start cleaning. he doesn't look aventurine in the eye—just focuses on the bar, remembering that broadcast in the last few moments of the memory. that ever-present hatred in his human heart flares up again. ]
Don't have to tell me twice. Makes me think 'bout how many of us are out there, though.
[ He's still in a bit of a daze, a heavy fog slowing his thoughts, so it takes a second for Boothill's words to register. When they do, Aventurine looks up slowly, blinking in confusion. ]
How many of us?
[ He hasn't really caught on to what's being talked about. For him, his sister's voice is ringing in his ears. ]
When the darkness fades and they're back in the bar, Boothill has blessedly not crushed his whiskey in his hand. He's just sitting on the stool in front of Aventurine, staring down at the floor, a hand on his knee and the other on the bar. He's scraped his fingertips into the wood again.
He rubs over his mouth and swallows. ]
Fork me. I ain't—I ain't ever gonna get used to that.
[ A massacre, just like Boothill had said. Aventurine is silent when the shadows retreat and they're returned to the bar, his own gaze cast to the countertop as the memory sinks in. The Marketing Development Department had always been greedy for resources. Aventurine had led them on a goose chase with a promise for valuable resources all those years ago, and they'd fallen for the bait like a starving pack of dogs.
But the memory, it shakes him. And why shouldn't it? He's no stranger to this tragedy, and he turns his head away to stare at something else. Anything else. ]
It makes sense, [ he murmurs, more to himself. ] Your motivations... and my own.
[ The Strategic Investment Department is no friend of the Marketing Department, but he can see now how something a little more personal may have tied into their future conversation. ]
[ boothill reaches for his drink and downs the rest of it. despite aventurine averting his eyes, boothill keeps his gaze trained on aventurine's profile while allowing him time to process. ]
That conflict between the Strategic Investment Department and the Marketing Department ain't the only thing that interests ya'. Katicans were the ones who wiped the Avgins, but if you told me the IPC couldn't protect one herd of people from an invasion everyone knew was comin', I'd say you were forkin' full of it.
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w2, tuesday.
4:56:38-5:01:15 IS YOUR MEMSHARE.
At the end of the memory, the shadows depart and return them to the bar, and Aventurine sits there looking like he's just seen a ghost. ]
no subject
boothill looks the exact same way, staring forward at nothing. during the ordeal, he crushed the glass of whiskey in his hand without realizing it. there's drink and glass shards on the bar under his metal hand, but he doesn't seem to register this.
he finally looks at aventurine, eyes wide. boothill knew about the conflict between the strategic investment department and marketing development department. what he didn't know is how big of a part oswaldo schneider actually played in aventurine's past—how similar they actually are.
slowly and with feeling: ]
Ho-ly fudge.
no subject
The memories had initially been a shock, but he's realizing now that they'll continue for the rest of this week. He's quiet as he processes the memory that he'd just been forced to relive, closes his eyes tight to hear his sister's voice once more.
When he reopens them, he lifts his head just enough to peek over the tips of his fingers, staring into nothing in particular. ]
Yeah.
[ What else is he supposed to say? ]
no subject
this is the same reaction he had earlier, when he also had to relive the most traumatic moment of his own life. all he could do was to hold his head in his hands and somehow process the overwhelming hate and anger and sadness until he could temper himself. talking abated it somewhat, but it's an old and terrible wound ripped open again. it takes time to heal. ]
This dadgum weekly nonsense.
[ affection week is over, but boothill still sets a hand on aventurine's shoulder, trying to summon some dregs of comfort. he's half expecting to be shrugged off. ]
We'll make these goat muddle-fudgers pay for showin' us these forkin' things. Like livin' it once wasn't hell enough.
no subject
A little... warning next time would be nice.
[ At least then he would be able to steel himself for it, but maybe the entire purpose of these memories is to unbalance them. He doesn't know. He busies himself with clean up duty, mopping up the whiskey with the napkins while avoiding glass shards. ]
I don't know if it matters, but what you saw... If you could keep it between us.
no subject
You get your hand outta the way 'fore you cut yourself open.
[ he'll throw the napkins in a bin and start cleaning. he doesn't look aventurine in the eye—just focuses on the bar, remembering that broadcast in the last few moments of the memory. that ever-present hatred in his human heart flares up again. ]
Don't have to tell me twice. Makes me think 'bout how many of us are out there, though.
no subject
How many of us?
[ He hasn't really caught on to what's being talked about. For him, his sister's voice is ringing in his ears. ]
no subject
[ the bar counter is clean soon enough. aventurine's drink is refilled and boothill gets another glass of whiskey.
once he takes his seat again, he raises it to aventurine. ]
The only ones who crawled out the other end of bloody massacres.
no subject
He doesn't raise his glass to the toast. Instead, he watches Boothill carefully.
And then, even more carefully, as if this were a test, he says, ]
It was the Katicans who massacred my clan.
no subject
I know about the Second Katican-Avgin Extinction Event. No one's arguin' against that.
no subject
... And you said our interaction became amicable. In the future where you're from.
no subject
Did remind ya' that I could still give ya' a lead forkin' headache any time I please.
no subject
You never did tell me why it is you're after Oswaldo Schneider.
no subject
Aventurine gets this whole part of his character story.
When the darkness fades and they're back in the bar, Boothill has blessedly not crushed his whiskey in his hand. He's just sitting on the stool in front of Aventurine, staring down at the floor, a hand on his knee and the other on the bar. He's scraped his fingertips into the wood again.
He rubs over his mouth and swallows. ]
Fork me. I ain't—I ain't ever gonna get used to that.
no subject
But the memory, it shakes him. And why shouldn't it? He's no stranger to this tragedy, and he turns his head away to stare at something else. Anything else. ]
It makes sense, [ he murmurs, more to himself. ] Your motivations... and my own.
[ The Strategic Investment Department is no friend of the Marketing Department, but he can see now how something a little more personal may have tied into their future conversation. ]
no subject
That conflict between the Strategic Investment Department and the Marketing Department ain't the only thing that interests ya'. Katicans were the ones who wiped the Avgins, but if you told me the IPC couldn't protect one herd of people from an invasion everyone knew was comin', I'd say you were forkin' full of it.
What do you think?