IT'S ALL OR NOTHING.

When you awaken, you feel rekindled. As though some small piece of you has assembled itself back together….

Your TRANSFORMATION ability has been restored to you, and will be active upon receiving the Aventurine Cornerstone.

ABILITY UNLOCK 500 Emblems ALL Abilities and Items listed on a Muse’s application can be bought back at any time. Application unlocks are limited to two (2) abilities/items per Activity Check without exception.

and...

As though it never left your side, your ACE OF SPADES has found its way back to you, manifested at your bedside when you open your eyes.

SPECIAL ITEM UNLOCK 500 Emblems ALL Abilities and Items listed on a Muse’s application can be bought back at any time. Application unlocks are limited to two (2) abilities/items per Activity Check without exception.

ORIGINAL EMBLEM BALANCE: 3900 TRANSACTION: -1000 Emblems CURRENT EMBLEM BALANCE: 2900

“Tickets,”   he   repeats,   slow,   the   syllables   tasting   of   suspicion   and   reluctant   affection.   “Of   course   you   did.”   His   brow   twitches   faintly,   the   barest   quirk   of   amusement   leaking   through.   “I   should’ve   known   better   than   to   think   you’d   leave   the   night   to   chance…   not   when   you   could   script   it   like   a   stage   play.”

He   follows   to   the   door,   movements   measured,   deliberate,   though   his   eyes   catch   the   coin’s   spin   just   before   it   vanishes.   The   soft   ding   of   metal   against   metal   lingers   in   the   air,   as   if   fate   itself   had   just   been   flipped.   “An   amphitheater,”   he   murmurs,   glancing   sideways.   “Public,   theatrical,   impossible   to   ignore.   Very   subtle.”   But   the   dryness   in   his   tone   doesn’t   dull   the   warmth   beneath   it,   the   unmistakable   fondness,   buried   just   beneath   a   blade   of   sarcasm.   “Clearly,   you’ve   been   planning   this   ambush.”

He   stops   just   behind   him,   gaze   catching   in   the   light   as   Aventurine   pulls   the   door   open.   And   for   a   moment,   Ratio   doesn’t   move.   He   watches   him.   The   slope   of   his   shoulders.   The   way   the   night   curls   around   him   like   it   belongs   there.   “I’m   not   sulking,”   Ratio   says   at   last,   quieter   now,   slipping   past   with   a   calculated   brush   of   proximity   that   lingers   longer   than   necessary.   “I’m   recalculating.   You’ve   always   had   a   way   of   throwing   my   metrics   off.”   A   pause.   Then,   gentler.   Softer,   meant   only   for   Aventurine.

in layman's terms, he certainly owes the doctor his life; but it isn't as if they haven't been players at the same table since his grand performance in attempt to end it all. sometimes you have to lose to truly understand the value of winning. if it means getting to spend whatever time he has left by the doctor's side, that's a trade-off he can bet it all on. he takes a moment to inhale the crisp air, to truly appreciate the feeling that passes through his lungs before stepping out of the way and offering his arm.

He   lands   toe-first,   hat   pulled   low   but   for   the   rim   tilted   in   a   polite,   dangerous   little   salute.   For   a   breath   they   stand   framed   by   sky   and   sand,   two   silhouettes   carved   clean   against   the   dying   light.

“Cards   on   the   table,   eh?”   Boothill   muses,   voice   like   gravel   and   glass.   He   doesn’t   make   any   aggressive   motions   not   yet,   but   his   fingers   rest   against   leather   where   his   pistols   ought   to   sleep.   “That   sounds   like   a   fair   hand…   for   someone   who   don’t   mind   losin’   their   next   favor.”   He   tips   his   head   toward   Aventurine,   smile   split   and   slow.   “You   always   been   fond   of   wagers,   or   you   just   like   seein’   men   sweat   for   the   fun   of   it?”

He   takes   a   step   closer,   boots   scuffing   the   grit.   “No   cheap   tricks   'n   sure.   I’ll   play   your   way,   for   now.   But   ain’t   no   law   says   I   can’t   keep   my   secrets   tucked   in   my   sleeves.”   He   flicks   his   wrist,   and   for   a   heartbeat   a   playing   card   glints   between   his   fingers,   then   flutters   down   and   lands   face-up   at   Aventurine’s   boot:   the   ace   of   spades,   ink   dark   as   graveyard   soil.

“Deal   me   in,”   Boothill   says,   chin   lifting.   “But   if   this   little   game   turns   sour,   don’t   say   I   didn’t   warn   you.   I’m   a   partner   at   best,   a   bad   bet   at   worst.”   His   grin   widens,   hungry   and   amused.

all that glitters like the stoneheart's own precious gold is a genuine gem-cut smile as he watches that card, a precarious little thing, attempt to flutter inevitably upon those sand-kissed winds only to land like a winner at his feet. surely this isn't his first time at dealing such a hot hand. oh, the stories he's heard-most worth ten times the profit he'd land on banking profit in a new planet untouched by the ipc's schemes, and well worth the payoff with continued investment.

hands light on his own hips for a moment, those wisping winds caressing gambler's cheeks with a double-dealing tenderness that would just as soon cut through flesh the moment he dared turn away. besides, everyone knows you never turn your back to a galaxy ranger. it isn't as if this is his first time all-out wager with an opponent who could just as easily push all of his chips into one corner if he really tried. he bends over to pluck the fallen card before slipping it into the deck strapped at his side, humming all the while. a gloved hand gestures towards the nearest bar.

Something   felt…   wrong   it   was   instant   like   the   snap   of   fingers.   One   second   he's   nosing   around   the   fall   festivities   and   then the   next.   The   wind   caressing   his   skin   screamed   in   his   ears   as   loud   as   the   locusts   in   summer.   The   weight   of   his   clothes   brushing   against   him.   That   long   forgotten   sense   of   taste.   In   awe   he   pulls   his   hand   away   from   the   totem   that   had   been   a   leaning   support.   Skin-   not   metallic   joints   and   hinges.   Skin.   As   if   to   test   himself   that   he's   not   hallucinating   again   he   repeatedly   open   and   closes   his   hand. 

considering the tricks that come with the harvest's trades, he's none too surprised by the cyborg usually turned... human? phew, he's certainly one for the ipc's books. too bad the corporation has no say around here or else they may add a few more zeroes just because of a flawless jawline. anyway, the gambler graciously accepts the small treat he'd ordered-something like a sunday topped in fall themed candies before sipping at his cider with a content exhale.

starter for @gaiathran ! ( s.c. )

IT SEEMED THAT this world was practically teeming with old acquaintances-- it was rather not what he would have expected from a place unknown to him, seemingly unknown within the cosmos, to find so many whose paths he had once crossed before. Dan Heng, who had contacted him not long after his arrival, had told him he may come across a familiar face or two, but...

Well, he had not expected that, upon rising to his feet once more after offering a few words of comfort to a child who had fallen and skinned his knees, he would be looking upon the face of one he had once deemed an adversary.

Silvery feathers gave a slight twitch of surprise, and a frown momentarily twisted his features, before they shifted back to a slight smile, a faint, half-laugh escaping his lips.

besides, they both knew well enough about their none too savory pasts and for aventurine, where information was the single card play between winning or losing, he'll take it. besides, it isn't as if the corporation has any say here; which changes the rules of the game entirely. gloved hands slip leisurely into coat pockets, the faintest twitch of something dancing between smirk and smile quick to follow.

As   fortune   often   favors   the   luckless,   it   seemed   the   wandering   scrap   deity   had,   once   again,   found   himself   in   the   seedy   underbelly   of   society.   Clutching   his   worn   straw   hat   to   keep   it   steady,   Xie   Lian   weaved   carefully   through   the   press   of   bodies,   the   noise   and   smoke   thick   enough   to   blur   his   senses.   Given   that   he   had   only   just   escaped   a   den   of   debauchery   and   sin,   perhaps   this   was   fate’s   way   of   circling   back.   Still,   amid   the   chaos,   something   caught   his   eye:   the   man   before   him,   effortlessly   shuffling   and   dealing   cards   with   a   grace   that   bordered   on   sorcery.   Xie   Lian   had   no   intention   of   joining   in.   His   luck   had   only   improved   thanks   to   the   blessing   of   a   certain   crimson-eyed   ghost,   but   he   couldn’t   help   but   smile   and   offer   a   quiet   clap   of   appreciation   for   the   display   of   skill.

Still,   he   allowed   himself   to   be   drawn   in.   “One,”   he   echoed,   just   above   a   murmur,   the   syllable   clipped,   but   not   cold.   His   hand   steadied,   fingers   curling   more   securely   into   Aventurine’s   with   a   motion   that,   by   all   accounts,   should’ve   felt   clinical.   But   didn’t.   Couldn’t. 

“And   if   this   ends   in   a   tie?”   he   asked,   head   tilted   slightly,   eyes   narrowing   as   they   locked   with   Aventurine’s.   The   low   lights   caught   the   sharp   edges   of   his   lenses,   but   it   did   nothing   to   dull   the   intensity   behind   them.   “Do   we   wager   again?”

the gambler nods, flaxen blond head dipping to rest a cheek against the other's shoulder as ratio leads and he welcomes their next game with an almost playful intrigue. a faint hum follows, twining ever so tenderly within the backdrop of musical tune and the silent steps of their dance. he hides the truth of a true and unabashed smile against the crook of the doctor's neck.

"Well... then what would you propose?" Jiaoqiu asked, mildly interested in what the other would come up with. "As long as it's not some kind of exercise, I suppose I could give it a try."

The amount of times he's had to deal with Feixiao trying to get him to wake up at ungodly hours of the morning to run laps around the Xianzhou... anything but that.

"Ain’t   that   somethin’,"   he   murmurs,   eyes   narrowing   like   he’s   squinting   into   a   high-noon   duel,   not   the   teasing   curl   of   a   high-stakes   game.   He   leans   in,   forearms   resting   against   the   table   now,   weight   shifting   like   a   man   preparing   for   a   draw   that   may   or   may   not   be   metaphorical.   “You   don’t   cheat,   I   don’t   bluff.   Figure   that   makes   us   real   dangerous   company.”

That   sharpshooters   gaze   lingers   sharp,   unblinking,   but   not   without   a   flicker   of   intrigue.   Something   about   Aventurine’s   smirk,   that   silken   way   he   handles   risk   like   it   owes   him   money,   seems   to   amuse   him   more   than   it   should.   “Guessin’   you   already   knew   how   this’d   go   when   you   sat   down,”   he   says,   voice   low,   almost   reverent.   “Man   like   you   don’t   throw   dice   unless   he’s   already   counted   the   sides.   Then   'gain,   we   both   know   you   like   to   live   dangerously.”

Then,   a   pause   one   heartbeat   longer   than   comfort.   A   beat   where   the   air   thickens,   like   the   moment   just   before   lightning   splits   the   horizon.   “Well   then.   Let’s   see   if   that   kiss’ll   kill   me.   Deal   me   in   Blondie.”

this guy is either trying to lose or he's entirely unhinged. either way, the stoneheart couldn't be happier they've found an even playing field. boredom runs rampant through the bars here as the drunken and equally delusional. everybody has a poison, so they say. the gambler is in no rush, see? half of the game is gauging your opponent-if you can't see their hand then make them reveal it.

interestingly enough, its hard to gauge someone who isn't human. every little physical cue, the faintest twitch or even little tick... none of that can be thrown onto the table when a machine is involved. aventurine smiles, leans forward with a dangerous lilt of his voice, eyes hidden just beneath the sharp rim of his hat.

The   wind   bit   like   a   bullet   across   the   wide   stretch   of   town,   but   Boothill   stood   tall   atop   a   building,   hat   shadowing   sharp   eyes   and   fingers   already   missing   his   pistols.   The   new   world   he'd   been   dragged   to   was   quiet   in   an   obscure   peaceful   way   but   it   had   a   way   of   whisperin’   trouble   right   before   it   showed   its   face.   He   heard   the   distinct   clink   of   polished   shoes   on   dry   stone   under   him   before   the   smooth   teal   coat   of   the   gambler   followed,   slicing   through   the   still   air   like   a   card   through   smoke.

“Well   now,”   Boothill   drawled,   not   jumping   down   yet,   but   already   smirking.   “Ain’t   that   the   sound   of   someone   who’s   never   had   sand   in   his   drink.”   He   spun   leaping   off   the   building   in   an   almost   suicidal   flare,   hair catching   the   breeze,   and   tipped   his   hat   to   the   dapper   figure   in   green.   “Aventurine   of   the   IPC.   Fancy   meetin’   you   out   here,   partner.   You   look   about   as   outta   place   as   a   banker   in   a   saloon.”   His   eyes   narrowed,   not   hostile—but   sharp,   measuring.   “So,   what’s   a   high-stakes   player   doin’   at   the   table   without   chips   in   the   pot?”

too bad there's no monopoly on tricks and all their worth for any trade around here, huh? technically, they aren't enemies anymore-or they weren't really ever at all so far as aventurine was concerned. they had a similar distaste where it counts. all it takes is one chip to overturn the game... but without that chip in this world, what will become of two vagabonds who wear the sinking sunset of the desert at their heels?

he hums, smooth footfall pausing just beneath the jagged stretch of the other's shadow as if it'll swallow him whole if he looks the other way. instead, he tips the rim of his own hat upward, enough for whatever remains of the last dipping sunlight to catch against the priceless rim of those glasses. he smirks in return.

❝ looking for a little fun. i wager i might have found it. or... ❞

the brief flash of a poker chip overturns smoothly, dancing across gloved knuckles before disappearing just as soon as it appeared.