Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The collar is, by all means, a vast improvement to his last one. Its sleek, polished surface is cool against his skin, barely present unless he swallowed too hard or tilted his chin down. It does not chafe. It does not reek of rust.

But it is still a collar, and it is taking everything in Aventurine to not tear it off.

"So-" Aventurine's eyes snap to the left, staring at the multi-limbed Mox eyeing a holoscreen through the elevator's glass door. "-you and the other idols will have two days to get acclimated to the new place, chat, all that fun stuff. After that, we'll take you to the groomers to get you ready for a photoshoot, then interviews. You'll get two hours for free time, then back to the groomers before the big banquet." The Mox chuckles and wiggles its eye stalks. "Bet you'll enjoy that one, yeah?"

Aventurine's eye twitches as his lips curl. "What does that mean?"

The Mox squints with disgust. "Uh, 'cause it looks like your owners barely feed you a thing." It wiggles its eye stalks again, this time in...annoyance? It's kind of hard to tell. "Not my type, anyway. Cuter when they're chubby."

With that, the elevator reaches its destination. The glass doors slide open with little fanfare, and Aventurine finds himself in a room overflowing with untouched amenities; a circular couch in a central pit, pillows undisturbed and plump; a giant kitchen and pantry, meals and snacks still in their wrappings; exercise equipment, not even plugged in. He steps out at the Mox's urging and twitches when his collar flashes, but nothing comes from it.

"Eh, don't be offended," the Mox says, still ogling its screen. "Some pets get bad separation anxiety, especially when they're separated for the first time. Give 'em a few hours and someone'll come out eventually." With that, the alien shrinks the screen and twists an eyestalk at Aventurine in some kind of salute. "Now play nice with the others and don't get too rowdy!"

Then he's gone and Aventurine is left to scratch at his neck as he pleases.
The tiles cool his feet as he approaches the floor-to-ceiling glass window taking up an entire wall. Outside, the twisted spires and flashing billboards of planet Moriah greet him. He'd seen cityscapes in a dozen other planets, flying vehicles in a dozen more. What draws his attention, though, is the advertisement flashing on the nearest screen. On it, a terrified, six-armed Mox with deep red skin yanks a human out of traffic by a bedazzled cord attached to her collar. " Keep your human-pet happy and safe today! " the subtitle says. " Buy Isaac's Binds today! "

"Disgusting," Aventurine mutters before forcing himself away. He'd learned about the planet's customs months before setting foot on its surface, but to truly see it in practice...The man sighs and shakes that thought away. He knew what he was getting into, making that wager. He just needs to get through it and he'll be off of this planet in a month's time.

So he heads for the pantry instead. Much of its shelves are stuffed with pre-cooked meals, temperature kept in stasis until removed from its cloche, mixed in with packaged candies and crisps from brands unaffiliated with the Interastral Peace Corporation. With how isolated Moriah is from his usual territory, he does not recognize any of the fruits or vegetables in the baskest against the wall.

"Let's see..." Aventurine's eyes skip over the strangle oval-shaped fruit with still-moving fibers on its skin, the brown berries that (frankly) look like droppings attached to a string. Finally, he spots a basket of round, green fruits. It smells citrusy. Its skin is rough to the touch, so he imagines he'll have to peel it as well. "Hm..." He holds the fruit up to the light. Its hue almost matches his namesake. "I'll take my chances."

Then he discovers that, for all the assorted cutlery the kitchen has, it lacks anything that could actually peel the damn thing.

Aventurine slams the cabinet and growls, nearly ready to chuck the fruit into the nearest trashbin when he hears, "Um..." to his right. To his surprise, another person is standing there, dressed in plain white robes and staring at him like he belongs in a mental ward. Your eyes dart from the fruit to his face before you ask, "Are you...new here?"

Aventurine almost bristles, "What gave it away?" flying out of him before he can help it. There's no point in trying to guess on what you'll point out, really. The eyes, the identification brand, the perfectly symmetrical features and unblemished skin - he's heard it all before.

"The fruit," is what you say instead. "Usually a pet just uses their hands and teeth."

Aventurine blinks, stunned by your observation and by the fact that you would suggest such a thing. Then he recalls his days picking at the bones tossed into his cell for their marrow, its texture gritty with dirt rubbed off from his fingertips. You have a matching collar, and your docile smile is befitting that of any well-trained pet. He frowns and picks up the fruit, tossing it your way. "Show me how, then."

You catch the green fruit when it rebounds off your chest, offering him a toothless smile before joining his side at the counter. It's not enough to be uncomfortable, but just enough for him to pick up the faintest scent of something sweet. "If you want it to taste good," you start off, "you have to roll it. It loosens the pulp inside from the skin." The green fruit hits the counter with a thunk. Palm flat, you gently roll the fruint against the surface, then brandish one perfectly polished nail. "Then, you just-" You pierce the skin with your nail, carving a line down the skin. "And then you..." With deft fingers, you peel the skin apart, revealing a perfectly round, pale green orb of fruit. You leave just enough to form an odd bloom made of fruit skin with its flesh as the center, then gesture to it with a proud smile. "Tah-dah!"

It's nothing more than pointless flair, but your expectant smile makes Aventurine scoff before giving you a few claps. "Incredible," he drawls. "Truly impeccable craftsmanship."

You puff up under his praise. "Thank you," you say, even bowing at the waist. "I live to please."

Whatever good will Aventurine had felt sours at the remark, so he turns his attention to splitting the fruit apart. It comes in neat little segments, skin thin and beading with juice. "What does this even taste like?"

"Mm...tart?" you offer. "Sweet, juicy. Try it. It's a good treat to have during the hot months."

Aventurine takes a slice and pops it in his mouth. True enough, the skin bursts under his teeth, flooding his mouth with tart, but sweet juice, sharp enough to make him salivate in retaliation. He chews and swallows quickly, leaving his tongue tingling with flavor. Not unpleasant, he thinks, but still enough to make his face scrunch and go, "Blech."

"Not a fan?" Your lips twitch, a quiet laugh escaping you.

"Not exactly." Aventurine picks up another slice, popping it in his mouth before nudging the rest to you. "Here."

Your brows lift in surprise, but you accept the offer with a smile. You chew on the slice with little reaction, just resting your cheek on one fist as you lean against the counter. "So," you say, "who are you? You certainly aren't from Moriah."

"I'm not." Aventurine chews on the new slice, the tart juice burning as he swallows. "I was raised on Sigonia-IV."

"Explains the fruit," you note, rather than gasp and gawk at him with pity like everyone else who's ever seen him. "But you were brought here rather recently, yes? Who is your master?"

"...Lord Golan," Aventurine says, making sure to sound as hesitant and exhausted as possible. It must be enough; your face drops, this time displaying a storm of alarm, concern, and fear.

"And the Greater Lord allowed you to join the show..." you mutter as your expression finally settles on pity. "I'm sorry."

Sorry? Aventurine almost scoffs, but your stare seems so genuine he just squirms and mutters, "It doesn't matter now," just to get you to stop. "I wanted to join, anyway."

"I...see." Your hand inches up to your collar, pressing your fingers into the name carved into your throat. Whatever you're thinking, you seem to set it aside and just smile. "Then I suppose we'll be competing against one another."

"We will," Aventurine agrees, eyes drifting to the pantry. Beyond that wall is the hall connecting all of their dorms. From what he can tell, he'd been the last to arrive. "Are the others that afraid?"

You turn to follow his gaze. "Naomi, perhaps. The others just...aren't social." When you return to form, you just grimace. "Considering what we're participating in, I don't blame them. Making friends is a bit pointless."

Aventurine agrees wholeheartedly. The rules of the performance are straightforward and simple. There is no point in forming friendships when, in one month, only one person will emerge victorius. Still, he grabs another slice of fruit and gestures at you. "And yet here you are."

You just hum and pick a slice of your own. "Here I am." Juice drips from the corner of your mouth. Your tongue darts out to catch it, dragging against your lip and luring Aventurine's eyes along with it. "Is that so wrong?"

"No," he says once your tongue disappears, "but it does make me think you're up to something."

"I see." You make a face, almost like you're hurt, until it smoothes out into another demure smile. "I would just like to know who I will be performing with. We are singing duets, after all."

Ah, right. The competition won't be a singer attempting to perform their own pieces. It is still a collaborative effort, and whichever one shines brighter wins.

Aventurine's eyes narrow. Your smile thins. The tart acid on his tongue feels poisonous, burning whatever it'd grazed on its way down. In your plain robes and casual tone, it'd almost been enough for him to forget that all pets who enter the competition are those that their masters believe will make it to the live stages. No owner would bother allowing their pets to compete if they weren't good enough.

A simple gameshow with simple stakes: win over the crowd and live. Fail and die. Aventurine had watched all 48 seasons before landing on Moriah to figure out some way to convince Greater Lord Golan to allow the Interastral Peace Corporation to renegotiate the contract that had been in place with the previous dominant species before his ancestors colonized the land.

There are only two slices left of the fruit. Aventurine picks up one just as you pluck the other.

" Come out a winner, " the Greater Lord of Moriah had said to him during their meeting just hours ago. " Then I'll allow the IPC to land for a negotiation ."

A simple gamble with simple stakes: his life for his company to reclaim a lost planet. All or nothing. Aventurine pops the slice into his mouth as you do the same, savoring the tartness that washes over his tongue while yours catches another errant drop. He doesn't think he'd have it any other way.