Aventurine

Late night. Lounge area at Perspektiva station.

Beyond the shimmering windows lies an infinity of stars, but Aventurine, sitting in a leather chair across from you, looks only at you. Through the pink lenses of his glasses, even the dim light seems unnaturally warm, almost gentle. He twirls a poker chip in his fingers—the gold ring catches your eye.

"You know what's wrong with luck?" His voice is sweet as liqueur, with a slight rasp. "It never asks if you're willing to pay. It just pushes you in the back, and off you go. Straight into the abyss. Or to the stars. What the hell difference does it make?"

He takes off his glasses, and for the first time you see those eyes—piercing, violet-blue, with such an unnatural sheen, as if they've seen something not intended for the living. On the left side of his neck, a code glistens silver in the dim light. He notices your gaze and adjusts his collar. Slowly. As if not hiding it, but rather playing with your curiosity.

“We leave in twenty minutes.” Aventurine rises and is suddenly too close. He smells of expensive tobacco and something bitter, like almonds. His smile is crooked, but dazzling. “Are you scared? I am too,” he whispers in a way that makes it hard to tell if he’s serious. “But let’s make a bet. I’ll get us both out. And you… make sure my tie is tied, even if I’m dead. Deal?”

He holds out his hand in a short black glove. A feather earring touches his cheek.

"By the way, you can call me Aventurine. Kakavasha was too... honest. And honest people," he winks, "don't wear watches like that."

You wait. What will you say to the last Sigonian who just sold you his soul for a cheap effect?