[It's a little hard to think with the drummer's beat pounding at the backs of his brow bone, but Aventurine's fairly sure this wasn't where he was last.

Granted, he could be wrong; the thing he does remember is the blinding flash of an Emanator's blade and the eternal gaze of nothing incarnate, after all. Anything and everything at all could have been on the other side of those endless black waters, and it wasn't impossible to think he might have wandered somewhere unintentional while trying to delve into the hidden depths of the sweet dream.

Either that, or he's dead, and this is the afterlife.

The threadbare tent above his head rings almost familiar enough to sell the idea, but the forest beyond the flaps is drastically different from the golden sands he'd expect to see in such circumstances; afterlives were supposed to be recognizable, as far as he was aware. That, and he's willing to wager his head wouldn't be hurting this badly if he was dead.

Probably a good thing. This time around, at least! That would have been embarrassingly anticlimactic of him after putting on such an encore-worthy performance.
The sunglasses on his face help - marginally - with the way the sunlight feels like a repeat of Halovian telepathy prying his mind open like a pistachio shell, but they don't do much in the way of alleviating his other symptoms. Dizziness, nausea, vertigo... He sure was feeling more and more alive by the moment. It's no wonder, then, that when a tree branch comes crashing down to try and slam onto him from above, Aventurine very much does not manage to sidestep out of its path.

...

It still bounces harmlessly off of his shields to flop grotesquely onto the ground while leaving him entirely unharmed, but the encounter weighs a little too close for comfort. He's a lot more careful after that, and his lucky streak of avoiding a maiming continues! At least some odds remain in his favor. By the time he wanders into the Grove proper, he's seen more than he's liked of devil trees and their inner workings, and... Honestly? He's about ready to go lay face-down somewhere safe until the world stops precariously spinning and pirouetting around him.

He doesn't do that either, and instead cautiously approaches the first individual he can find lingering near the tree-line. Cautious, because if this is a new planet he's never been to before, there's no telling what the inhabitants might do upon encountering a stranger. Still, he's all smiles and pleasantries, and his tone is nothing short of friendly.]

'Scuse me, friend! Sorry for interrupting you and your festivities, but I was wondering if you would be open to me stealing a moment of your time. I seem to be a little... Lost?

[The sheepish, self-deprecating grin on his face is only partially fabrication.]

[Really, he should have learned his lesson the first time around and stayed put in the Grove, but his headache had slowly but surely receded like puddles of rainwater beneath an unforgivingly warm sun. With its absence comes the urge to gain a proper lay of the land, and thus he finds himself back in the fucking building again back in the great outdoors!

...Not too far into the weeds, though. Just in case he needs to run from more tree violence.

Turns out it's not just deadfall that requires hypervigilance, because he unknowingly committed the cardinal sin of stopping to smell the roses. Well, chamomile, if you want to get technical. Bent at the waist, he'd just been about to reach out to tilt one of the buds into better view when a warning hiss causes him to jerk his hand back a fraction of a second before fangs would have sank their way deep into the flesh at his wrist. He loses track of the snake almost immediately, mostly because the interaction has him promptly turning on his heel to head back to the path. That's enough great outdoors for today, actually.]

[Later still, long after night has fallen, Aventurine can be found at the inn's lobby. Turns out the afterimages of Nihility really do leave lasting scars upon the psyche, and they're kind of awful! The shattered remnants of his Cornerstone don't seem to be enough to shield him entirely from THEIR corrupting influence, and it's harder than he likes to shake off the grip of the nightmare that had woken him up drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

He'd have gone for a walk in the brisk night air, but stepping on snakes in the dark doesn't exactly sound like a good time. Instead, he's set himself up near a coffee table, cross-legged on the floor as he shuffles a deck of cards with all the flair and expertise of a professional.

It takes him a moment to register the presence of another individual, should he be approached. When he does, the realization comes with a stiffening of his shoulders, and after a hesitant pause he cuts the deck and busies himself by leafing the cards into a riffle shuffle.]

Can't sleep either?

[Feel free to drop anything you want on him if none of the prompts here catch your eye! If you want to plot something a little more in depth, I can also be found at NeoSin <3]