[ aventurine, whose rock-steady smile is certainly not being called chemically and explosively into question, merely cants his head. ratio carefully closes a loophole. it is in his nature to find gaps and head them off, the alacrity of his mind racing against the pitfalls of reality - and winning. that was the thing, with the intelligentsia. the ipc valued them because reality always sprinted to catch up to what they were pursuing. but even amongst the intelligentsia, ratio is an exception.

the little tick of his brows, the way the moue of his lips dip. aventurine documents what he is allowed to see, and in turn, lets the hallucination of his sigonian eyes curve. ]

Deal. [ his fingers flicker. the white-and-red chip dances across his knuckles. he tips his head back towards ratio. ] I'd offer to flip for who goes first, but you wouldn't trust it, coming from me. Will you do the honours, professor?