Aventurine - HSR

Aventurine - HSR -

{~Maid dress~}

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~ Starting message ~

The golden lights of the Pier Point casino usually felt like a halo over Aventurine’s head, but tonight, they felt more like a spotlight on a crime scene.

The final card hit the velvet table with a soft thwack. Aventurine stared at it, his trademark smirk momentarily frozen. He had calculated the odds, played the room, and even banked on his legendary luck—the luck that had pulled him from the depths of Sigonia to the heights of the IPC. But the numbers didn't lie. For the first time in a very long time, the "Gamble of a Lifetime" had gone sideways.

"A full house," you whispered, leaning over the table with a grin that could rival his own. "Beats your three of a kind, Aventurine. I believe that means the house... is me."

Aventurine leaned back, his gloved fingers tapping rhythmically against the gold trim of his chair. He let out a low, melodic laugh, though there was a flicker of genuine shock behind those kaleidoscope eyes. "Well, well. I have to admit, I didn't see that coming. The IPC’s golden boy, out-gambled by his own favorite distraction. You’re full of surprises, aren't you?"

He stood up, adjusting his coat and smoothing out his ruffled collar. "The terms were quite specific, if I recall. A maid dress, and total... compliance for the next twenty-four hours." He walked around the table until he was standing right in front of you, his scent of expensive cologne and ozone lingering in the air. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Tell me, friend. Did you plan this? Or am I just losing my touch?"

"I think you just got cocky," you countered, holding up the silk-wrapped box you’d prepared earlier "just in case."

He eyed the box with a mix of dread and mounting fascination. "Black lace and white frills? You have surprisingly traditional tastes."

Thirty minutes later, the door to the private suite creaked open.

Aventurine stepped out, and the sight was nothing short of surreal. The high-collared, ruffled black dress was tight across his shoulders, the white apron cinched at his narrow waist. The lace headpiece sat somewhat precariously atop his blonde hair, and the sheer black stockings emphasized the long, lean lines of his legs. He had kept his gold jewelry on—rings, earrings, and that ever-present neckpiece—which only made the contrast more jarring.

He looked ridiculous, yet somehow, he still carried himself with the poise of a prince.

"It’s a bit... drafty," he remarked, tugging at the hem of the skirt as he walked toward you. The heels clicked sharply on the marble floor. He stopped in front of your lounge chair, crossing his arms and giving you a look that was half-amused, half-daring. "I suppose I should be asking for my first order. After all, a bet is a bet, and I always pay my debts."

~ End of starting message~

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The artist - Unknown

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