[The book does prove engrossing, regardless of the key words not making sense to him. They must be names, he thinks, though whether of people or places he can't be entirely sure. He turns a page to then be presented with a map, spanning both pages as they lay open in the palm of his prosthetic.
The Continent of Europe.
The shapes of the land are, naturally unfamiliar to him, but he traces the lines separating some blocks of the land from each other. Are they rivers? Streets? Something else completely? Some names lay stamped in seemingly strategic locations within each...quadrant he'll call them, big and bold and proud, while others, smaller, dot the map in unpredictable locations. Some are more centered, some are not.
Verso returns a changed man and Gustave could not have prepared himself for what the other man would consider more comfortable clothes. He almost doesn't choke back a laugh, though that would be rather hypocritical of him. Hadn't he also worn something similar during his time with the Expedition? When the sun beat down ruthlessly and he simply needed something lighter for comfort. Or maybe it was a pride issue. They fought tooth and nail against those cursed creatures miming all their attacks, he might as well wear his trophies like some crazy man.
It's not important, though, not when the book he holds becomes the center of conversation. Like reading a forbidden text, indeed. All the new words and names and shapes, knowledge from another world and time, just out of his reach. Glancing back at the map, it becomes freshly apparent that he will never leave this Canvas and see that world. Which is fine! He does not want for anything here! But...to never see that other place, the one from which Alicia originates... It makes Gustave feel...small. Almost...trapped.
He shouldn't, it really is fine here. So he swallows down that rising rock of disappointment that wants to lodge itself in his throat and casts Verso a small smile.]
I would have felt the same. We had plenty to read when I was growing up, but the idea of something that wasn't Lumieran history would have kept me up at night with too much excitement.
[Verso sits and grabs a pastry and Gustave feels a little more relaxed watching the other man unwind even a little bit. But just as he focuses on more shared information, Gustave feels his smile falter.
Renoir. The name sends a shiver down his back. Having learned the identity of his killer some time ago, Gustave tries not to think about it. Not when Alicia's father is the progenitor of the name and had nothing to do with his demise, at least not personally. Not personally, but he still tried to destroy everything. It's...strange to think about. Every part.
Taking a deep breath, he sits on the couch opposite Verso.]
I always wondered what that manor was. And now you tell me there are even more books inside? I'd almost be tempted to return to the Continent just to see.
[Almost. He's too much of a domestic man now, and after how things ended once, Gustave isn't in a hurry to revisit such a possibility.
Instead, he lays the open book on the table between them, turning it so it faces Verso right side up.]
If you'd indulge me? This...Europe.
[The name doesn't fit in his mouth comfortable, and his lips and tongue curl uncertainly around the sound.]
Is it a large place? And do these names denote cities like Lumiere?
[He points to some of the bigger names, specifically something called France and Prussia next to it.]
[Now it's Verso's turn to insert his foot directly into his mouth, it seems. While Gustave doesn't react as strongly to hearing Renoir's name as he had to some of what Verso had mentioned earlier, that shift in his smile is notable enough, as is the breath that chases it away. Perhaps that's part of the reason why Verso's so quick to try an offer an alternative way to visit the Manor. Guilt.]
Hey, maybe Maelle can paint another door there, here. No harm in asking, right?
[Really, though, Verso's also always been a bit of a people pleaser. His mind immediately follows up with the thought that he could hitch a ride on Esquie and gather up some books and trinkets to bring back to Lumiere himself, but he doesn't offer that as an alternative. It's too soon to say whether Maelle will grant him any sort of freedom now that she knows what he's inclined towards doing with it, and he's not about to risk putting himself in a position where he might have to explain to Gustave why he's gone back on his word.
What he can provide are answers to Gustave's questions. The real Verso hadn't been all that invested in history or geography, so this Verso's interest in them is entirely his own, and that relaxes him just a bit more. Not that it's all positive. Understanding how broad the world is and how small the Canvas is by comparison makes him feel a bit claustrophobic, sometimes, giving him some pause here and now. Goodness knows Gustave and the people of Lumiere have enough existential bullshit to sift through already – something which Verso has always avoided inflicting upon them. Let them believe their world is real and that their lives are their own, he'd once told himself. Let them think that the only thing they're missing out on are their stolen futures.
But the absolute fucking least he can do is let the others decide what they do and don't want to know – when the truth doesn't revolve around him, anyway – so he leans in to get a closer look at the map. It takes him a moment to figure out what to say. How can he begin to describe its size to someone who has barely seen the world beyond Lumiere, a small city in its own right?]
Europe is... massive. France and Prussia, those are countries. All these main areas are. Some of them have hundreds of cities. Millions of people.
[Over the decades, he's never really felt the need to contextualise the size of the Canvas within Europe itself, but simply calling Europe massive is unhelpful. So might the word countries be; he can't remember if it came up in any of the books Aline had painted. But that can be addressed later. Right now, his focus lands on Luxembourg, so small on this map that its label resides in Prussia, and he figures it's as close as he'll get to an approximation of size. With his free hand, he grabs for his pen, which he holds upside-down to avoid getting any ink on the paper as he taps it on Luxembourg.]
To put it in perspective, the Canvas is probably about that big.
[Now there's a thought. Gustave tilts his head a little at the idea. Maelle is a Paintress and she did live in that manor once; why wouldn't she be able to create a door from her memories?]
It certainly seemed large enough. Surely there's some crawl space or storage room we missed that could take us back in.
[How that all works remains a mystery to Gustave. Even though he lives in a world where debris from the Fracture hangs suspended in time above and around him on a daily basis, he's still a man of scientific leanings. Engineering relies on logic and facts that are absolute, not merely feelings or flimsy ideas. But those manor doors all led to one place despite the impossibility of their locations Sometimes there are just things one has to accept.
Like the idea of this Europe being mind-numbingly larger than Lumiere and the Continent as a whole. Gustave blinks at the map, as if seeing it with new eyes now that Verso had cleared up a few things.
Well, cleared up is generous. What a country is continues to elude Gustave, but going by context clues, he thinks he understands some idea of it. If Lumiere is one city, and countries can consist of hundreds of cities, then this world, this Canvas, can act like its own small country. Right?
Verso continues and he leans in a little closer to look for this place that he points out with the butt of his pen. A very small country, compared to its neighbors.]
...Oh.
[Thinking about how often he stared out across the ocean toward the Monolith, the distance always felt so vast. What was it that he had written all those years ago for Emma? That they'd let the Paintress' body lie at the end of the world? If the Monolith is the literal edge of the Canvas, the all-too-real end of their world, and it's only as big as that sliver of a country in this book, then what might other countries' views look like?
Gustave studies the shapes for a moment again, his finger tracing those lines separating the names once more. Then, a ridiculous thought crosses his mind and he breathes out in amusement.]
Imagine trying to throw rocks to the end of some of these places. My arm's good, but it's not that good.
[While Gustave contemplates the map, the pastry in Verso's hand grows heavier. Right. The longer he holds onto it, the quicker his veneer of normalcy will tarnish. And the stickier his fingers will get; he should probably consider that, too. So, he puts the pen back down, then opens the coffee table drawer to grab the linen napkins tucked away therein. It's a bit of a short stack – he's already made use of most of them during times when he didn't have to pretend – but it's still more than enough. They get flopped down by the pastry box. He takes one napkin, places it nearer to himself on the table, then takes a bite of his pastry. It's good. Sweet. Delightfully doughy. There's just the right amount of chocolate. Mathilde outdid herself, and Verso isn't in the mood for any of that. None of it makes his stomach feel any more receptive. He swallows anyway, putting the pastry on the napkin and wiping off his fingers. There. Progress. Or whatever.
Then Gustave starts speaking about throwing rocks to the ends of the countries, and Verso feels a pang of familiarity that causes his heart to regress a little. It's something he remembers Maelle doing, sending off countless little rock Expeditioners on their little adventures, taking on the mantle of Lumiere that neither of them knew would shift to become something more literal and aggressively less about death. He'd thought it was just a hobby of hers, an outlet for releasing whatever was building up inside of her. What else was he supposed to think? She'd never mentioned Gustave.
At first, Verso tries to maintain the neutral course. He lets out his own huff of a laugh and jokes in turn.]
Eh, that's probably for the best. That rock crosses the border and you could have an international incident on your hands.
[Nothing else really needs to be said about rock-throwing. Focusing back on the map reveals a multitude of tangents he can go down instead. They could discuss wars and ever-changing borders. Or maybe just focus on Paris. He could point out the edges of Africa and Asia, talk about how Europe is actually the second smallest continent, tell Gustave how long it would take to travel by train from one capital, to another, to another. None of that feels right, though; the rock-throwing thing won't stop nagging at him. He's curious and genuinely interested, and he still feels the need to ground himself in these moments where the impacts of his actions reveal themselves to him of their own volition. So, he softens his expression and maintains his course.]
I noticed Maelle had a thing for throwing rocks, too. Did she get that from you?
[He could stare at the map and notice something new every time he blinks, but movement in his periphery distracts him. Verso sets out a stack of napkins on the table between them and Gustave looks almost longingly at the pain au chocolat in the other man's hand. It truly does look magnificent, the right amount of flake, the slight sheen of sweetness, the tease of chocolate inside that peeks out from where Verso has bitten into it. Gustave feels his mouth water and he swallows before remembering that the entire box is on offer.
All right. All right! Just one.
He reaches into the box and pulls out another pain au chocolat, smiling in thanks toward his host before taking a bite. It's a testament to his strength that he holds back a moan when the perfect combination of sweetness and texture hits his tongue. Mathilde is blessed with more talent in this one area than he suspect he'll ever possess. Lumiere is so lucky to have her.
Gustave indulges in another bite before he even realizes it, but picks up a napkin to dab at his mouth just in time to softly laugh into the fabric at Verso's answering jest. International holds no meaning to him, but he can guess as to its intention all the same.]
If a rock can cause so much trouble, then I worry for this Europe.
[Then again, it isn't as if Gustave understands what relationships between countries are supposed to be like. Maybe it's similar to neighboring apartments and their inhabitants. He imagines throwing a rock through someone's wall or window would earn him angry looks and shouts. An incident, indeed. Perhaps Europe's sensitivities aren't as misplaced as it may seem.
The short lull in conversation gives him time to continue eating, at a reasonable pace, of course, and not at all like he hasn't had a simple pastry in approximately thirty years. It's only been a week, in actuality. Such a lack won't have him wasting away any time soon.
Silences can't last forever, though, and Verso breaks this one with a question Gustave should be able to answer easily, but instead leaves him at a momentary loss. The act of throwing rocks had always been an outlet for his frustration, nothing much more. Growing up in a dying city, simply waiting for his turn to either fade away, too, or do something about it left Gustave somewhat restless, after all. But to think that that one useless hobby passed itself onto Maelle...
Gustave sets the napkin and pastry down, his smile sobering.]
Yeah. Yeah, I guess she did.
[Legacy takes many forms. Or, at least, habits can be learned.]
She gave me more grief for it than anything, though. Tough critic, that one.
[A glance toward Verso and a tilt of his head, signifying he doesn't mind such a presence in his life. But he casts his eyes downward again, eyes not focusing on the book still laying open between them, and speaks a little more softly.]
She only started throwing rocks when we were on the Expedition, as far as I know. I joined her once or twice, before...
[He trails off, smiling dropping completely. Years have passed him by and dulled some of his memories, but even with some fuzzy details surrounding that night, his death remains clear enough if he thinks about it. Which Gustave, naturally, tries not to do. Except the fact that he and Maelle were going to let off some steam by indulging in his hobby right before Renoir attacked him makes it nearly impossible not to dwell on the unfortunate truth of things.]
[More often than not, there's a lot going on in Verso's mind. Though the nature of his thoughts has changed in the years since Maelle established herself as the new Paintress, time and space and distance from people and goals and death alike have done little to fix one major flaw of his: that he doesn't always think enough. Some of that owes to his mind blocking out certain details and providing reinterpretations of others. Anything to maintain the illusion of righteousness so that he can keep moving forwards. The rest is a likely consequence of living too long, enduring too much, and lying too well. He can only juggle so much at a time.
To this day, he is haunted by the connections he should have made but never did. It hardly surprises him that he's adding yet another to that group.
Before Gustave had been attacked, Verso had been watching him search the ground. He figured he was looking for some manner of trinket, something that had been lost in the chaos of battle, and he had spent a while looking for it afterwards before admitting defeat and heading off to find the others, Gustave's arm and journal in tow. That it was a rock of all things makes everything worse. What a devastatingly, heartbreakingly human set of circumstances under which to die. Spending a rare moment of being caught between hope and safety, greater cares having fallen to the wayside. Suffering an attack from behind. A preventable one that was allowed to happen all the same because the man watching it unfold had chosen, in that same utterly human moment, to cast aside his own humanity.
Verso's glad that he only had one bite of the pain au chocolat. His gaze falls and dissipates with Gustave's as he works to even out his guilt. It isn't important. Or, it is – of course it matters, of course he should bear it in full – but this isn't the time or the place for it to rise up and influence anything about him. Not his expression, not his tone, not the direction he takes in moving the conversation onwards.
Looking up again, he quirks another crooked smile, even as he dips back into the other Verso's memories.]
You know, Alicia, she didn't take after anyone in her family. Her mother had high expectations and I think that kept her from trying.
[Why bother when she's going to feel like a disappointment either way? All the Dessendre children knew that feeling to one extent or another, but Aline almost seemed to mock Alicia over her inability to meet the same standards as her elder siblings. And though Renoir tried to mitigate the damages of her upbringing, Alicia had fled too deep from her family and into her words to be reached. No matter how anyone tried to lure her free.]
It broke my heart to see the same thing happening to her in Lumiere.
[The innate sadness she bore and the way she learned to recoil instead of reaching out were the things he'd most hoped she'd have left behind in Paris, but instead they had manifested the most strongly out of anything. Maelle was also the weird kid. Even the adults brushed her aside. Yet she still had heart enough to take orphans under her wing. She tried where Alicia only withdrew. And, eventually, she succeeded where Alicia had failed.]
That girl's lived two lives, and you're the first person to convince her that she's not... that she can make people proud.
[The silence grows around them and Gustave regrets saying as much as he has, even if it hadn't been that much in actuality. It's made things awkward, surely; alluding to death is never a fun conversation, but especially not when its subject sits right here in the flesh, alive and well against all odds. Gustave doesn't want to put Verso on the spot like this.
And yet, Verso takes it well enough, though some moments pass first. They both have to regain their metaphorical footing, find safer ground so as not to truly spiral down within each other's company. Verso speaks again, a quirked smile offered in understanding, and Gustave raises his head to meet his gaze, genuinely curious what he has to say about Maelle's life outside of the Canvas. Except that life sounds...unhappy.
If his mother were the Paintress, though, Gustave wonders how he would act. But that's not a fair thought; what he knows of the woman is shrouded in so much resentment - misdirected anger, he is aware - that it would be difficult to truly sympathize. When so much of his existence had been dedicated to finding a way to free Lumiere of its death sentence, he couldn't just reconsider. And yet, he thinks of something he had told Maelle back on the Expedition. How the Gommage made people complacent.
Gustave glances down again and taps a finger against the table a few times before answering.]
I think...when someone considers an outcome hopeless, it's easier to just sit back and accept it. Why make an effort if you're sure it won't change anything?
[That doesn't make it right or okay, but it's human. It makes sense. Gustave isn't immune to those shortcomings, either.
The praise laid before him takes him by surprise. Gustave raises his head again, eyes a little wide, but then shakes it with a little smile of his own.]
No, it's... I just listened to her. Gave her space, but let her know she was always welcome and wanted with us. It didn't always work, but she was a kid when we took her in. A kid who lost too many people already. You can't just fix that.
[A small shrug.]
I've always been proud of her, though. Every day she woke up and gave even the bare minimum was still better than nothing.
[But then to hear that Maelle wants to take after him...
Gustave can't help it. He laughs softly, feeling his neck flush, and raises his flesh hand to rub at the back of his neck. It's too much. Not flattery - okay, maybe it's a little flattery - but some acknowledgment that his guardianship hadn't been a total disaster.
Gustave's tongue gets the better of him and before he knows what he's saying, it's already out there.]
Oh. Well. As long as she keeps all her limbs in the process.
[Is that a bad joke? That's definitely a bad joke.]
Yeah. It's a cycle as vicious as any other. And no easier to break.
[Like grief, but that's another story, one with no bearing on what they're discussing now, even if it does constantly bear down on Verso.
He understands well what Alicia had been going through, of course; he'd had an easier time of things with Aline, who raised him to follow in her footsteps, to paint like she paints, to play the piano like she played the piano, but he still felt like a contortionist, sometimes, being moulded into unnatural shapes. And then Renoir, the painted one, sought to weaponise Verso's love for his family as his own had been. Be a mirror, they'd said in their own ways; wear a mask, he'd heard in his own voice. For decades he obliged, and now he's not sure how to do anything besides reflect back to others what they see of him and to mask what they want to be guarded from and what he wants to guard from them.
None of that's the point, though. This is: the lack of ease to Alicia's upbringing drives much of his gratitude towards Gustave. But if he wants to downplay all he's done for Maelle, Verso's not going to stop him. It isn't his place to do so, for one, and for another, all Gustave's doing, in an indirect way, is reasserting that he's a good man. What's there to object to about that?
Besides, Gustave quickly moves on to crack a joke. Maybe it's a bad one, but Verso enjoys those as much as he does the good ones, so he laughs in earnest. Albeit lightly – the humour does get a bit suppressed by the image of his sister that flashes across his mind. She keeps all her limbs, sure, but she loses her eye, her throat, her ability to look herself in the mirror. A shell of a body, Maelle had said about the other Alicia. Verso can't say she was wrong, even if he disagrees.
And he certainly can't say that aloud. Focus, he thinks. His gaze flits to Gustave's prosthetic before rising back up to his face. This is the second time he's brought up losing his arm and thus the second time Verso's been struck by a pang of curiosity. Should he ask? It isn't like the question would come out of nowhere. What's the alternative? Aside from continuing to talk about Maelle and Alicia, which doesn't feel right, the only clear course before them is to return to the neutral territory of Europe, which feels abrupt given the context. Impersonal in ways that Verso never wants to come across as being.
A second laugh follows the original, softer still and inwardly directed. He feels guilty wanting to know more. Avoiding the topic would also make him feel guilty. Being here in general? Guilty, guilty, guilty. No matter what he does he's already damned himself in one way or another, so he might as well follow his heart, even if it has lead him astray more often than not. And his heart, as usual, seeks connection despite how desperately his soul still grasps for nothingness.]
Not that she couldn't take us both on one-handed, but, yeah.
[A pause. Verso points to Gustave's arm as if it isn't obvious what he's asking about.]
Complacency is its own prison. The bars are just harder to see.
[Harder to see, but not necessarily as trapping. While the Paintress was active, Lumiere still functioned. People still went about their business. Did their work. Fell in love. Had unrelated celebrations. The looming shadow of death may have always been there, but happiness still shone through like errant rays of sunlight. That's probably what made it easier to give up on the Expeditions, though. Knowing that life was still livable and comfortable enough. Good enough.
Even Maelle fell into this trap, even if she always reminded him of how much she wanted to leave the island and felt like she never belonged. But she still spent time with him in their favorite rooftop garden. They would talk about silly things they had seen during the day, or Gustave would help her with her take-home lessons where he could, or they'd just stare across the ocean and whatever number damned them all that year.
37. 36. 35. 34.
It had just been a matter of time until they could do more than wait for their turn.
Verso's laugh nearly shocks Gustave out of his thoughts. The other man has shown amusement tonight, but this might be the first genuine laugh he's heard. And at Gustave's expense. That's fine, though. If he can be a source of humor for someone who actually needs it, then he'll let himself be something like a clown.
Gustave's smile returns as he laughs in turn.]
Oh, she has taken me on one-handed. She's a much better fighter than I'll ever be.
[As much as Maelle felt she never fit in while living in Lumiere, she did take such a distinct interest in fencing and kept up with it enough to hone her skills. He was happy she had that kind of hobby, but had no idea how beneficial it would become later on. He can only imagine how useful her talents had been on the Continent after he was gone.
No need to think about that. Verso gestures to his arm and Gustave glances down at the prosthetic hand. This wouldn't be the first time he's shared the story of how he lost his arm. It isn't as if he's made it off-limits to Verso, either.]
Sure, I'll trade. Though I fear this particular story isn't all that exciting.
[He pauses, chewing on his lip for a second as he considers if his next words and suggestion are crossing a line. But since Verso did invite him over...]
I...might be a better storyteller if I had some liquid courage, though. If your offer still stands, that is. Ah, forget I said anything if you've changed your mind! I'm happy to just chat.
[Of course Verso can relate to being bested by Maelle, and of course he's going to keep that to his damned self. Not out of pride, but rather an all-encompassing desire to never put the events of that fateful day to words. He'd prefer to keep them out of thought, too, but he's the one who brought the whole thing up so he's at least prepared to hold the ensuing onslaught at bay.
Mostly. Enough to keep up the joke, anyway.]
No kidding. It took me years to one-shot my first Nevron, and she does it like it's nothing.
[Verso had known she could handle herself; he'd been keeping an eye on the Expeditioners when he wasn't clearing the path up ahead of them, so he had seen her in action. It was different to fight alongside her, though, to see her skill up close, to hear how she guides the battle like the seasoned choreographer of a bloodied dance. Part of him felt proud to see the perseverant strength she bore; another part wished she'd never had to discover that particular talent. The rest of him, though, looked at her and saw his only chance.
Instead, she became his final condemnation.
That's definitely too dark a thought for his current company; fortunately, Gustave spares Verso from having to figure out how to excuse himself from the conversation he'd just started by requesting the very alcohol he's wishing he'd already served. Something about the phrase liquid courage calms him a little, too. Cowardice had seemed the better word in his own mind, but in the end they're just two men trying to get by, and trying is an act of bravery in its own right. An assessment he feels particularly qualified to make now, even if he finds himself struggling to commit to it in full. Is it really brave to hopelessly endure a condemned world that he alone believes is dying? He doesn't know. He's never known.
Anyway. Drinks. He slaps his legs as he rises to his feet. Look at this good-humoured man. He isn't cobbled together using string and adhesive. There isn't a decades-old fire consuming him from the inside.]
Hey, a story doesn't have to be exciting to be worth hearing. And I'd never take back an offer for drinks. Help yourself to whatever in the meantime. Lavatory's over there.
[Verso nods to the bathroom and moves to the kitchen. Grabs a plain silver tray from the cupboard along with two absinthe glasses and a small pitcher. He adds to the pitcher some ice from the ice box and water from the faucet, then grabs the sugar bowl from the counter and two absinthe spoons from a drawer. The bottle of absinthe is sitting unopened atop the liquor cabinet, and he opens it before closing it back up and placing it on the centre of the tray.
When he returns to the living room, he places the tray on whichever part of the coffee table is the most clear, then sets to work preparing one of the drinks. A bit of absinthe in the glass. The spoon on top and the sugar cube on top of that. Slowly, he pours the water over the sugar, letting it all meld together, soothing himself with the simplicity and flow of the process.]
This may taste a bit different from what you're used to. Consider it another gift from the manor.
[Once the drink is done, he offers it to Gustave...]
[Hearing Maelle's skills be praised by someone of whom she thinks so highly gives Gustave a fluttery feeling in his gut by proxy. She really did make battling look so easy; Gustave's arm had been one of their trump cards, so to speak, but it could hardly compare to Maelle's talents.
He remembers on at least one occasion thinking that she was one of the people he was doing everything for. Those who come after. And if she already showed such promise at her age, then she would be such an unbelievable asset for the future. Except, Gustave realized just as quickly, her time had been that very same now, same as his. Same as Lune's and Sciel's. How fortunate her strength had manifested so well back then, but, at the same time, Gustave wishes there hadn't been a need for it. Or that it didn't need to be so desperate for their Expedition.
It's okay now, of course. He mustn't lose sight of that. But even as he smiles at Verso in agreement and pride of their shared sort-of sister, a distinct sadness settles into his gut. He tried his best. If only he could have done better and kept her out of trouble entirely.
The leg slapping breaks him out of his thoughts. Gustave gratefully allows it and follows Verso's nod to take note of the facilities before the man makes his way to the kitchen.]
Thanks, Verso.
[The urge to follow him to the kitchen nearly spurs him into action, the need to offer any help butting heads with the expectations of being a well-behaved houseguest, but Gustave finds the strength to resist. This is Verso's home and he seems perfectly capable of gathering up ingredients on his own. What Gustave can do is clear a space on the table they've been sharing. He wipes his fingers on the discarded napkin and takes the open book in hand again, glancing almost longingly at the map of Europe one more time before gently closing it. When the book is returned to the shelf, Gustave lets his fingers run over the spine of it, then momentarily over its neighbors. So much knowledge, right here, under his fingertips. Forbidden, in a way, but so close.
He resists the temptation to draw another book free and instead takes his seat again as Verso brings everything to the living room and begins the drink-making. Neither says anything for the duration, Verso focused on his task and Gustave almost entranced by the process. The sugar cube slowly melting, the green-hued drink lightening as the water mixes in, the glass filling ever higher.
Before too long, the drinks are finished and Verso offers one to Gustave, who reaches for it, only to be taken off-guard when it's pulled just out of his grasp.]
Oh. Oh, no! This is perfect.
[He takes the glass this time and raises it in a kind of salute toward Verso, waiting for the other man to do the same.]
Santé.
[As he brings the glass to his lips, Gustave can smell it clearly, warning him for what he's getting into. He takes a sip, the alcohol bitter on his tongue, but cut through with that sweetness. Still strong, though, and Gustave takes a moment to let it slide down his throat, a dull heat following in its wake.]
...Well, that is certainly potent. But not unpleasant.
[The first thing Verso notices upon returning to the living room is that Gustave has tidied up a bit. He hadn't quite meant for him to help himself to a minor chore, but he appreciates it all the same, acknowledging the gesture with a grateful nod and soft thanks as he places the tray where the book once sat on the table. A dullness casts itself over his eyes, though, as his ever-helpful mind supplies him with yet another reminder that he'd let a good man die for shitty reasons, and he's suddenly grateful for the amount of attention it takes to properly serve absinthe and for the showmanship of the drink itself.
And it is properly served, the liquid clouded just so, the air scented with anise and fennel. It smells like nights at the bar by the harbour, evenings in the manor in Lumiere, afternoons in his apartment after the Fracture, and days spent holed up in a different manor with his nose in a book and his heart in pieces.
He can't start drinking quickly enough. Literally; Gustave raises his glass and Verso lowers his own glass, gesturing it away from himself and towards Gustave, managing a smile and a decently cheery:]
Santé.
[Where Gustave sips, Verso takes a heartier gulp, all too ready for the alcohol's burn to supplant the others that have been haunting him all night. And sure, maybe he could have pretended not to need this as much as he does, but he also knows how to choose when to be honest in order to preserve his lies. Obviously, he's tired. He knows he hasn't exactly been a ray of sunshine. It was his damned idea to begin with. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine.
At least he doesn't immediately move to finish the rest. Instead, he swirls the glass as if it's whiskey.]
Mm. It was my first drink after years of nothing but moonshine. Really hits the spot, huh?
[Lifting his glass for another sip, Gustave pauses as his gaze drifts over Verso's own glass. A glass that is considerably less full than his own. Concern etches itself across his brow, but he says nothing. Verso isn't a friend, barely even an acquaintance, so suggesting that the man slow down in his own home feels like overstepping. Even so, witnessing this act alone speaks volumes. People don't generally drink liquor like this as if they're dying of thirst. Even the idea of gulping half the glass down nearly makes Gustave shudder.
As he sips again, taking this at a steady pace, Gustave silently vows to keep an eye on Verso. At least for now. At least until the spirits eventually dull his own senses and thoughts as he's sure they will. For Verso's sake. For Maelle's, too, since she loves Verso dearly. Everyone deals with things differently. It's just that Gustave hasn't the slightest idea what Verso is dealing with in the first place.
He won't push right now. Gustave gets the feeling in his gut that Verso wouldn't be apt to share. On the other hand, maybe artists being strange people bears some weight and Verso genuinely likes the taste of absinthe. Best not to make any assumptions. Just watch. Listen. Be kind and attentive as long as he's able.
The question deserves some consideration and Gustave gently swirls the cloudy contents of his glass as he thinks.]
I still find wine preferable, but I understand the appeal here. There's a...
[He struggles to find the words regardless of his efforts, the hand of his prosthetic turning in circles like it can stir up the correct sentiment.]
A bite that rouses the senses and the mind. Wine is smooth, while this almost seems to say, 'Hey, don't fall asleep yet.' Or is that stupid? Pretentious? I dunno. But moonshine, eh? Did you make it yourself?
[Verso spent decades out on the Continent, after all, so he wouldn't exactly have access to proper drinks, as far as Gustave is aware. Unless the Gestrals had their own vineyards or breweries. That's an interesting thought, though, and he can't help but smile into the glass as he takes yet another sip.]
Edited (hello html my old friend~) 2025-07-23 02:51 (UTC)
[That look of concern isn't lost on Verso, and he gazes down at his own glass in turn. He thinks he could find a way to brush it off if he wanted. Goodness knows he has enough stories about how much of an idiot he was, sometimes, in the early days of Lumiere when the bars of the Canvas were concealed by the illusion of freedom he'd so easily lost himself within. Otherwise, just saying long day would suffice. He could comment on how it's been literal decades since he performed. Shrug and smile. Anything. Or nothing, which immediately emerges as his favoured course of action. Engaging with Gustave's concern in any way keeps it at the fore, even if only for a moment, and that would undermine Verso's insistence that this is all still fine.
And that's not an option.
Still, the next sip he takes is a slighter one. He pretends to contemplate it as Gustave extols the early virtues of absinthe, an act that falters when the other man retracts as easily as he began, so naturally calling attention to non-existent flaws in his phrasing and so quickly shifting the focus back on Verso that all he can do in response, at first, is swallow. Another shrug follows, another lopsided smile.]
No, no, that sounds about right.
[But moonshine. They're supposed to be trading war stories. And while there's not a lot of war to that particular story, it's still a decent starting point. Verso points his glass at Gustave and begins.]
And I did. Lumiere stopped launching Search & Rescue teams around the time I left, so it was just me out there. Plus, I hadn't met Esquie or Monoco, was persona non grata in both manors, and...
[A pause, a sigh, a moment taken to catch up with thoughts that are well ahead of him.]
... it didn't feel right to take anything left behind in Old Lumiere, so, moonshine it was. The aftertaste still haunts me.
[Certainly enough that he needs to shake the memory off and chase it away with another sip of his drink.]
[Earlier, on their walk from the Opera House to Verso's apartment, their conversation about the Fracture and differences between the world outside and Old Lumiere and this Lumiere hadn't been...stilted, exactly. Verso still answered when Gustave asked, but it hadn't been information he seemed eager to share. And this brief glimpse into an aspect of his life on the Continent probably isn't much different, but it's more than a simple yes or no answer. So Gustave listens, rapt in remembering anything about their old history, forgotten and untended. Personal bits and pieces that wouldn't make it into a history book anyway. The life of a single man, out there in the wilderness. Alone.
Gustave's chest aches at the thought. Time spent to oneself is always important; he needs it pretty often, despite the joy others bring him and the love he desperately wants to share. Verso feels like a solitary creature, too, but where Gustave's moments of privacy are meant recharge, this apartment in all its darkness and near emptiness almost stifles. Does Verso feel the same way? Or does he prefer the solitude? And yet, he had invited Gustave in so easily.
He swirls the drink once, twice, then sips again, his tongue and mouth acclimating to the bold taste more each time.]
You make do with what you have, right? I'm sure you became intimately familiar with the land, too, in order to master that aspect of it. Though, it...must have been terribly lonely. I can't even imagine. I was only on my own for about a day, after...
[Mm. No. That's still too much.
Gustave inhales a little more sharply than he intends and takes a larger drink this time. Time to start over, focus on something else that doesn't embrace him within the arms of shame and anxiety, even after all these years.]
I never made a habit of drinking moonshine, but I remember when I was ten or eleven, I think, I snuck a taste of my father's whiskey. My grandfather had passed not long before and I remember these little snippets when I was much younger of seeing the two of them drink together in the evening. They looked, you know, refined and comfortable and...I dunno, I must have been sad. Maybe just curious. Probably both, to my detriment.
[A little laugh and a shake of his head.]
Let's just say, I wouldn't go near the stuff for years because of its taste. I sympathize.
Edited (changed some dialogue wording~) 2025-07-24 03:56 (UTC)
[The specific guilt over Gustave's death has been such a prevalent presence in Verso's thoughts that when Gustave trails off, his immediate reaction is one of confusion. It fades before his brows can knot and his lips can thin, though, and memories of the massacre of Expedition 33 soon flood his mind instead. But is that what Gustave means? It would make sense, certainly – Verso had been paying close attention to Gustave and Lune and the timeline does match up – but of course he has no way of knowing, and he's not about to ask when Gustave would clearly rather drown whatever words might have followed in his drink.
Still, he frowns. Gustave seems to have a habit of these stop-and-starts, and Verso can't help but wonder what's driving them. Whether his thoughts simply get ahead of him. Whether he wants to speak. Whether he needs to speak. He can't possibly hazard a guess either way, though, so he stashes the thought aside for later and waits until Gustave breaks the silence with his anecdote.
Some of the tension he carries dissipates into a soft laugh. It's a cute story. Sometimes, when people share about their childhoods it's hard for Verso to match the person to the tale, but he finds it easy with Gustave. Not because he can picture him pilfering alcohol, but because the man is simply genuine in a rare way that makes the threads of his life stitch together more neatly. In turn, some of the real Verso's memories filter into this Verso's thoughts, most of which involve him also getting into things that he shouldn't. Liquor, like Gustave. Neatly wrapped and imperfectly hidden-away presents with his name on them. The expensive paints his mother used and only ever let Clea borrow. But he quickly shoves them back down. He's not that boy. He's done none of those things. No matter how it might feel.
A different path, then. Earlier, Gustave had commented on Verso's familiarity with the land. And while that did indeed become the case, it doesn't feel quite right, either. After all:]
Being immortal helps. Half of what I made could kill a horse.
[That's not the only thing that doesn't feel quite right, though, and Verso mulls over the words terribly lonely for a moment. When he left his family, it wasn't the loneliness that was terrible. It was the loss, and the grief, and the knowledge of what he truly meant to them that hurt the most. Being alone helped him to find freedom. He discovered himself. He could breathe. It felt so fucking good to just be able to breathe.]
And it wasn't all bad. Really. There are worse things to be than lonely, and I... I was finally getting away from one of them.
[The deep, soul-destructive, truly terrible loneliness he now knows came much later. It took a few Expeditions and too many encounters with his father to assert itself, but it hasn't released him in the decades since. Verso chases these thoughts with the last sip of his own drink before he places the glass back on the tray. Optics are the only thing keeping him from immediately pouring another.]
It's hard to find yourself when everyone around you expects you to be someone else, but when you're alone out there... you don't have to worry about maintaining whatever facades you've got going, or trying to convince yourself that you agree with something you've lost faith in, or, you know, whatever's making you feel wrong. There's nobody left to disappoint. Nothing else matters. You just are.
[Ah, right. Immortality. The others had told him about Verso before, of course, and the other man's special circumstance, but it still takes him off-guard to hear it mentioned so casually, eyes widening for a moment. Then again, Gustave supposes when he's lived so long, it's only natural to speak so nonchalantly, as natural as breathing. He recovers quickly enough and shakes his head with a little laugh.]
A horse? That really must have been some dreadful stuff.
[Gustave imagines how desperate he would have to be in order to drink something that reprehensible, regardless of mortality status. The thought of the taste alone would probably ward him off, but the idea of drinking to either forget or drown - not foreign concepts - makes his chest hurt for Verso's sake. Assuming that's what Verso was doing, but then why drink something awful for fun?
Gustave lifts his glass for another sip, but stops short as Verso continues. There are worse things to be than lonely. That...makes him think, lowering the glass and swirling the contents slightly. Loneliness has gripped him more times than he'd like in his past and it always left him feeling morose and melancholic and without someone else to be a buffer to his thoughts, his mind - usually an asset - turned into an enemy, telling him things that hurt and cut and made him doubt.
To think that that isn't the worse experience for some people.
His eyes follow Verso's empty glass, its contents gone worryingly quickly, but when he doesn't prepare a second drink, Gustave relaxes somewhat. Pacing. That's good. Something he should tell himself but doesn't, finally taking that new sip.
Loneliness feels awful, but he gives Verso the benefit of the doubt and considers his other point. The word freedom jumps to the forefront of his mind, but that doesn't seem quite right. That word usually constitutes more joyful imagery, not drinking homemade alcohol because there's no other option.]
No more constraints.
[Said quietly, head cocked slightly to the side.]
I don't know if I would have ever looked at it that way. But different experiences breed different results, right? It's...definitely something to think about.
[Perhaps a little too quickly. It strikes him, then, that Verso, who has been existing and living out in the wilds, has returned to Lumiere. Does he still feel the same way?
Gustave looks to Verso again and, with tongue already loosened by the absinthe, asks.]
[It's a bit surprising, Verso thinks, how Gustave's eyes widen when he mentions his own immortality. Almost as if he's not used to addressing the topic. Which seems strange for someone who is himself ageless and deathless, and has been so for over a decade. Besides, the others share that experience. Esquie and Monoco do as well. Wouldn't they have reached out to each other to talk about it? Wouldn't it have becomes somewhat normalised by now?
Do they even know?
It's an unsettling thought, to be immortal without knowing, and Verso's eyes darken in turn. He hopes that's not the case. He really, really does. But he thinks that his not-little-sister might take a bit after him and his not-self, too; he thinks she may prefer to guard the truth with her own lies of omission.
He won't mention that, though, and as he speaks instead about loneliness, Verso continues to pay attention to the subtle shifts in Gustave. The way he moves to take a sip and then stops. That contemplative swirl of his glass. How his focus travels alongside Verso's empty drink. All signs of a man who is proving that he does, indeed, think a lot. Verso is used to being contemplated. It's all a part of being a mysterious stranger, the fabled survivor of Expedition Zero whose name has been lost to time, the man who's mastered revealing just enough and not enough in the same breath. What he's less accustomed to is feeling like someone might actually be piecing together the things he's trying not to say about himself.
Then again, it's been around 80 years since he's been around people who know nearly as much as he does, who aren't almost singularly focused on their missions, and who can afford the time and the energy to focus on who he is as a person rather than what he can provide for them as an ally. He probably should have expected something like this to happen.
There's something else to Gustave's reactions, too. Something that's reinforced by the words that follow: Different experiences breed different results. Everyone gets lonely sometimes, but not everyone has experienced it as something profound. Verso can't help but wonder if Gustave falls into the latter category – if part of his reaction isn't driven by some quiet struggle to picture something worse than being entirely alone in the world. Once again, he finds himself hoping otherwise but not really committing to that hope.
A point which itself gets reinforced when Gustave asks his question. It doesn't feel like a conversational one. Sure, there's some curiosity driving it, but Verso can't help but feel like he's only asking because he has a sense of what the answer will be. Which discourages him from trying to pretend otherwise. Lies only work when they're just as believable as the truth, after all. So instead, he laughs lightly and warms himself up by cracking a joke.]
You 33s really like getting straight to the point, huh?
[And to demonstrate that he isn't all that bothered – even though he is a little bit off-put – he holds out his hands in a gesture of defeat.]
Yeah, I would. I've spent three quarters of my life out there. It's as much my home as Lumiere is yours. But Maelle wants me here and she's very hard to deny.
[A pause. He thinks about making another joke. Something dumb about craving proper food and how the Gestrals get salt and sugar confused. That feels dismissive of Maelle, though, and her importance to everything. Besides which, Verso has a question of his own.]
[He shouldn't have asked it. Gustave immediately wishes he could backtrack the last few seconds and just not have said anything. What a stupid question, first of all. If Verso wanted to live elsewhere, why would he sequester himself here when he undoubtedly has connections on the Continent? Then, worst of all, it's personal. It would be as if someone asked him if he would rather have his flesh arm back. Of course, he would, even if the prosthetic has its own advantages.
Gustave bows his head marginally in embarrassment, but Verso laughs. It brings Gustave's gaze back to his face, where he sees neither sadness or anger written there, but something more like...acceptance. As if this question is leveled at him often or the thought crosses his mind regularly. And then the reason he stays here becomes clear, obviously so.
A small exhale and a little shake of his head precedes Gustave's answer.]
Sorry, that was... I got ahead of myself again.
[A corner of his lips quirks up.]
I guess you could call it an old habit. We knew we didn't have a lot of time left, so no time to beat around the bush. Probably.
[This time he takes a sip of the drink and sets it down, lazily tracing one side of the rim with a finger. Maelle. She really feels like the lynchpin to...everything. Of course, she saved helped save this world, but even before all that, back when Gustave was still part of the Expedition, he couldn't immediately discount the nightmares she had. Why had those mysterious people visited her, the youngest of their group, and not, say, Lune, who was clearly the brains of the operation? She had been important somehow, but Gustave would never have guessed to what extent. And now, despite the Expeditions having come to an end and the original Paintress being ousted from her Monolith, Maelle still manages to hold them all together.]
She has that effect, doesn't she? I blame her eyes. They're very...big. It's like she could cry at any second if you tell her no. Not that she would. She's too stubborn for that. But the threat is there.
[Gustave would laugh, too, except Verso's returning question pulls his brows down into a slight frown. Has Verso noticed something he hasn't?]
[Almost as soon as Gustave starts apologising, Verso bats it away with his hand. There's a slight awkwardness to the gesture. Expeditioners rarely apologised to him for pressing, even when he took offense, so he's not exactly sure how to respond. But such was their need for answers; it rivalled his own need to control the truth.
Gustave's explanation makes sense, though Verso lets out an amused breath at the probably that follows and can't resist teasing at it a bit.]
Good excuse.
[Nosiness, he assumes, is a factor as well. As much as he tries to keep the questions he asks relevant to whatever conversation is being had or whichever goals lie ahead, Verso is still driven by his own desire to simply know things about people, and to understand them, and to fill in the most egregious gaps so that he can see the fullest picture possible without having to imagine what he might be missing. Hell, he had damned near harassed Esquie for information on the real Verso. It was only in hindsight that he realised he was poking at old wounds for the sake of curiosity. The hypocrite in him used to be bothered when people tried to get to know him too well. He wanted to be less seen, not more; he wanted to fade into the background even as he led the charge, not be viewed as something interesting. But the larger his loneliness loomed, the less room he had for such feelings and the more he came to understand a truth he hadn't wanted to admit. The problem wasn't that he didn't want to be seen at all, it was that he had desperately needed to be seen as himself.
So, talking about himself is a bit unfamiliar, but it's fine. It's hard, but it's all right. He is Verso, no last name, and he doesn't want to lose sight of that again.
It's his turn now to watch Gustave put down his drink and fidget with the glass. Briefly, he contemplates pouring himself his second drink, but instead he decides to wait until Gustave is done. It'll look better that way.
Regret over that decision strikes him as soon as Gustave mentions Maelle's eyes and he's flooded by the real Verso's memories of Alicia as a baby, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Her eyes have always been wide and curious and clever and pleading and sad, so very sad. But never lined with wrinkles or cushioned by bags. They were weary but not tired. Young. Vital. So very clear when they were alight with determination.
He'll never see those eyes again. Oh, how he'd love to drive that thought away with a burn at the back of his throat and a renewed warmth in his chest. Instead, he does nothing. He says nothing about them, simply waiting to see how Gustave responds to his question.
It's not possible for Verso to know what Gustave is and is not aware of regarding Maelle's chosen fate without asking him. He knows this. But as Gustave response with confusion and a question, Verso still uses that information to build guardrails for his own truths. Don't mention that Maelle is dying, these ones say. Maintain your course until you have a better sense of what Gustave knows and where he stands.
Which is exactly what he does.]
I mean that she's still trying to figure herself out. Reconciling two sets of memories, it's hard enough when you have a grasp on who you are. Alicia and Maelle both struggled with that on their own, and now...
[A sigh as he collects himself a little. Verso died so that Alicia could live a fulfilling life. Knowing that she never really will is agonising.]
Now it's only gotten worse. Maelle doesn't want to be Alicia, but she can never go back to just being Maelle. That's not stopping her from trying, though. Like you said. Stubborn.
[Figuring herself out makes sense, Gustave supposes. Maelle had confessed similar to him on the Expedition, but she had been sixteen then. That age comes rife with confusion and frustration and he hadn't been surprised by it, especially not with the added stress of the Continent being anything but welcoming for them.
She had been sixteen then, not now, and yet Gustave still doesn't lay any blame on her. Just because they all grow older doesn't mean the world suddenly reveals its secrets to them. It isn't as if they hit thirty years old and Know What To Do. Having a more stable life makes things easier for him, sure, but he remembers the fluttering of uncertainty in his gut on multiple occasions after his resurrection:
Sophie answering yes. Sophie placing his hands on her still-small belly. Holding Henri in his inexperienced arms for the first time.
That unpredictability shared by all living people is where the similarities end, though. Even imagining the memories of two separate lives, let alone trying to keep them separated, nearly gives Gustave a headache. The alcohol doesn't help, swirling in his body in his mind and dulling critical thinking, even after only half a glass consumed.
Well. What's another drink going to hurt at this point? Gustave lifts the glass and takes a larger sip, the burn still noticeable but warming more than attacking now as he grows used to it.]
Very stubborn.
[Gustave sits back on the couch, cradling the glass against his chest as he thinks on his next words. I can't imagine struggling with two lives is a pointless echo of earlier sentiments and his own helplessness. Maelle told me of the fire feels a little too blunt, especially with the Verso-that-wasn't sitting right across from him.]
We all lost some kind of innocence on the Expedition, I think, not least of all Maelle. But then I'm sure she never expected to remember she had another life outside of here. Before, she couldn't wait to leave Lumiere, but now she almost treasures this place. I think the Continent put things into perspective for her. I know it made me question my decisions at times.
[Another pause before Gustave drinks again and softens his voice as he meets Verso's gaze.]
I assume she has a better life as Maelle than she does as Alicia. From what she's told me. I can't blame her for struggling with...with any of it.
[This time when Gustave retreats back into quiet contemplation, Verso prepares himself his second drink, breathing in the aromas once more as liquor and sugar and water cloud the glass.
His experience with lost innocence usually involves its aftermath, not its progression. It's rare that he encounters Expeditioners before they've suffered and bled and died on the Continent, and Maelle is certainly no exception; he had met her seconds after her entire world was slowly, tortuously destroyed before her eyes. Their journey together had more than a few moments where she broke before his eyes and confessed to not knowing how to piece herself back together, and he wasn't any more sure of what that was supposed to mean than she had been because he had no frame of reference. It leaves him with precious little to contribute to the conversation about the Maelle Gustave knows, so he responds with a simple:]
Yeah.
[Mostly, what he can do is fill in the blanks regarding Alicia, except even that's complicated when it comes to the aftermath of the fire. Verso doesn't actually know what awaits Maelle on the other side of the Canvas beyond what he can infer from his Alicia's state. The Alicia he hasn't talked about in over a decade. The Alicia who made it clear to him with one final glance how little she believed her life was worth living, and whose mask resides with all Verso's other regrets in the shade of the red tree, and whose petals rest on a shelf that Verso glances towards, now, as he's overtaken by the suffocating presence of her absence.
He looks back to Gustave as he speaks, if only because he knows how it will look if he doesn't. There's no focus to his gaze, though; he may well be staring at something miles away.]
Maman holds her responsible for the fire. Alicia – my sister – had done nothing wrong, nothing, but every scar was left intact when she was painted here, and she spent her whole life imprisoned by them. I can't blame Maelle, either.
[But still, that doesn't mean she should run away. That doesn't mean she should kill herself. That doesn't mean her life is over and all that she has left is make-believe. It doesn't. He will always believe that.
Holding out his free hand, Verso summons a journal. The 33s had found it during one of their forays into the manor, and he had taken possession of it after Maelle awoke as Alicia to keep her from ever having to hear it again. Thoughts of freeing Maelle from her grief intensify with the gesture, and Verso takes a moment to consider whether revealing Aline's thoughts to Gustave would help or hamper his efforts. Maybe Gustave would prefer to spare Maelle from such a mother. Or, he thinks, maybe it's better for him to understand these consequences ahead of the others. Having the whole picture does tend to simplify the choice between two cruelties. At least in his experience, anyway. So, he presents the journal to Gustave.]
Here. In the words of the Paintress herself.
[The journal reads:
…his little grin, so proud of his latest creation. But at least those memories remain. What hurts more are the memories unmade. The conversations we’ll never have, the time we’ll never spend.
I want rage to consume me, anything to fill the hollow. But rage won’t come. I just float in an endless nothingness…
…the person I cannot be around is Alicia. Her pain is a broken mirror, the shards reflecting back tenfold. Every moment with her, the cuts deepen, and I feel myself unravelling…
…I know what he’ll say, but this is the first time I’ve felt any surcease. For a few moments a day, my heart beats again…]
[Verso makes his second drink of the night and Gustave takes note of it, though the concern he felt for the other man's eagerness for drink earlier has lessened, either due to his own imbibement or the conversation feeling suitable for it. How did they get to this point? Wasn't Gustave supposed to share the story of how he lost his arm? But they've gotten far more than their toes wet in this discussion; he can't back out now and pretend it never happened, nor does he really want to. Yes, the subject matter hurts, yet it feels almost necessary. Maelle - Alicia - is important to both of them. If she's struggling with anything then they have their duty as family, in any manifestation of the word, to help her.
Verso shares more, his words doing little to nothing at all to, well, paint the Paintress in a positive light. Gustave never got the chance to meet that Alicia, only knowing vaguely of her existence due to Maelle's nightmares. To hear a mother blame her child for a family tragedy doesn't sit well with him. Was Alicia responsible? Gustave has no idea, but even if she were, shouldn't her mother still display some love and loyalty toward her? Instead she painted another version to bear her...anger? Resentment? It seems cruel. And if that Alicia were just a representation of the Paintress' true feelings, then what is Maelle's life truly like in that family?
Apparently Verso has an answer for that unspoken question, too. He summons a journal and holds it out for Gustave. From the Paintress herself.
Any other time, Gustave's excitement to study anything with historical significance would leave him practically vibrating. To think that he would be so lucky to not only read, but touch an artifact of the Paintress' true life would have been an impossible dream before. Now, even understanding what he does about that woman, it still feels like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Really, it is.
He leans forward and puts his glass down, taking the journal in his hands carefully and with a kind of reverence. It's easy to imagine this journal being displayed in the museum, a memento of a human woman set against a backdrop of an unreachable villain. Is this the only one of its kind? Are more snippets available on the Continent? How many other people have gotten this chance to hold such a monumental object?
But he actually takes in the words and all those previous thoughts blur away into nothingness. The beginning, which must be about the Verso she lost, grips Gustave's heart. The thought of losing a child, a son, terrifies him. Henri is so young still and while the world is safe now without either of Alicia's parents in it, Gustave is no stranger to unfortunate accidents. Humans are fragile beings. People can still die in an unforeseen instant. Sciel's husband did. Sciel nearly did. People get sick. Babies aren't born with all the strength they need. Others had decided to rob the Paintress of the success of the Gommage by beating her to the punch, so to speak, back when she was to blame. If...anything were to happen to his son, would Gustave sound different from the woman who never stopped grieving her own? He may not.
That empathy cracks when she speaks of Alicia, though, and Gustave finds himself frowning even more deeply. It's the dismissal of her own daughter that hurts him. Instead of trying to face their grief together, she instead leaves Alicia alone. Did Renoir help Alicia in the aftermath?
Gustave sets the journal down on the table, still carefully despite his opinion on the secrets therein.]
I, um. I don't know what to say that isn't uncharitable.
[It would be simple enough to expound on his negativity toward a woman he never met, but he hasn't forgotten that she is Verso's mother. This Verso. He still has enough wits about him not to immediately speak ill of her in front of her son's face, painted or otherwise.
Instead, he takes another sizable drink of and exhales while gazing into the cloudy remains of the absinthe.]
I just...I hope I can do better by Maelle than her mother has. I hope we both can.
Edited (oops html eating my dialogue) 2025-07-31 04:07 (UTC)
[As Gustave reads the journal, Verso takes a couple sips of his drink. They're more conservative now that his mind is hazing over and he isn't so desperate to numb himself, but he still isn't pacing himself all that well. Everything still hurts too much; it all still leaves him feeling too tired. Even so, he shrugs and smiles when Gustave holds himself back from saying more, waiting for him to finish speaking before addressing the whole your family did a lot of awful shit elephant peeking out at them from the piano room.]
Don't worry about being charitable. She didn't.
[His tone is slightly bitter. He loves his mother, he does, but not in a way that leaves him blind to the cruelties of her faults. And he understands why Gustave and the others would speak ill of her. The whole Canvas suffered because she couldn't bear the burden of her own grief without forcing it upon everyone else as well. Empathy can only go so far. It should have its limits – limits that he can't bear the thought of ever having to apply to Maelle, even as her grief continues to bring devastation upon him.
Up until she became the Paintress, she had never been her mother's daughter. May that never change, he wishes to a fate that's never favoured him. May he never look at her and see someone so intent on perpetuating her own suffering that it becomes the main thing that matters. And if Renoir does show up to bring her home, may she refuse to create her own sequence of drawn-out yet too-soon deaths over a future where the Canvas carries on without her. May she prove Verso's fears unfounded.
None of that begs mentioning, though, so he lowers his glass and lightly shakes his head at Gustave's humbleness.]
I don't think you have anything to worry about with Maelle, either. You've done good with her. The girl I travelled with, she–
[The next words come to Verso immediately and of their own volition, but still he holds them on his tongue. He sits with them a moment, weighing whether he wants to use them as they are or make them into his own. It's an easy decision to make. A painful one, too. The person who had originally spoke them had never really been given a voice in the first place, and yet she'd had it taken from her again and again and again all the same. Including by himself. Verso can't deny her now.]
She was Alicia as she was meant to be.
[Idly, he wonders how she'd feel if she knew what he was revealing to Gustave. It's hard for him to picture her appreciating his candor, but he can't bring himself to care. If she resents him for sharing these sides of her, so be it. If she hates him for taking away her ability to lie after he had insisted upon his own, he can live with that. Hypocrisy thrives in Dessendre blood. So, he cleanses himself of that rising guilt and finishes with a different thought.]
[Verso's honesty shocks a little laugh out of Gustave, which he is too slow to cover with his hand. It isn't funny - quite awful, actually - but the situation is ridiculous enough or Gustave is tipsy enough that if he doesn't want to let anger wash over him, all he can do is laugh. He still won't say what's really on his mind, even though Verso has all but allowed it, but that offer makes things a little more comfortable, in a strange way. As if they're on slightly more equal footing and understanding. Just two men commiserating over the same injustice.
He picks up the glass again and swirls the little bit of drink remaining. Verso praises his work with Maelle and Gustave feels his skin flush for reasons not alcohol-induced. It isn't embarrassment, not really. Gustave has never had the grace to accept compliments well, generally mumbling his thanks and shrugging a shoulder. His engineering accomplishments, while admittedly his own, have always been for the betterment of Lumiere and its residents. He shouldn't reap all the rewards when their lives are meant to be simpler and more fulfilling. Humility plays its role, yes, but so does the desire for a kind of anonymity. Too much attention feels terrible to him, like a lantern shined right in his face, blinding and disorienting.
It's similar with his relationship with Maelle and how others have commented on it in the past. She didn't open up to him at first, and she was even more hesitant with Emma, but she did eventually come to trust him. Not that this has ever felt like a competition to Gustave, like he was the one to win her over or keep her from running away from home every so often. Like he told Verso earlier tonight, he just listened to her and openly cared. There was never some huge secret he uncovered to being an older brother or teen-raising that no one before him missed.
Now, to hear the same appreciation from someone who should have a degree more familiarity with Maelle...]
No, I...I just care, that's all.
[Caring got him killed. Caring made her cry and scream and watch as he could do nothing but buy her moments he's still not sure would have mattered if Verso hadn't arrived just in time to save her.
Fuck. The glass trembles in his hand just enough to send ripples in the liquid. Gustave takes a breath, then finishes the drink in one gulp, setting the glass down on the table a little heavier than intended. Sorry.]
Thank you. For looking after her, when I...
[...Well. It doesn't need saying, really. Still, Gustave clears his throat and pushes on, still avoiding certain words, but gaining some of that courage he had sought before.]
When things got fucked. Though, I guess you don't need to be thanked when you did what I imagine was natural. It's still... Well, I'm glad. That you got to see Alicia in her.
[Gustave still sees the Maelle he knew in her, despite the white hair and the ever-present worry and the added maturity, but he misses the teenager who would call him old and needle him into friendly fights. People change. They grow up and find new focus. No one is ever they same person they were as a child.
But he still misses it. Maelle doesn't smile the same as she did. The lines around her mouth and eyes speak of years of life, but he doesn't see happiness etched within. But that's not surprising; everything changed for all of them, perhaps most of all for Maelle. Gustave breathes out and speaks softly.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The Continent of Europe.
The shapes of the land are, naturally unfamiliar to him, but he traces the lines separating some blocks of the land from each other. Are they rivers? Streets? Something else completely? Some names lay stamped in seemingly strategic locations within each...quadrant he'll call them, big and bold and proud, while others, smaller, dot the map in unpredictable locations. Some are more centered, some are not.
Verso returns a changed man and Gustave could not have prepared himself for what the other man would consider more comfortable clothes. He almost doesn't choke back a laugh, though that would be rather hypocritical of him. Hadn't he also worn something similar during his time with the Expedition? When the sun beat down ruthlessly and he simply needed something lighter for comfort. Or maybe it was a pride issue. They fought tooth and nail against those cursed creatures miming all their attacks, he might as well wear his trophies like some crazy man.
It's not important, though, not when the book he holds becomes the center of conversation. Like reading a forbidden text, indeed. All the new words and names and shapes, knowledge from another world and time, just out of his reach. Glancing back at the map, it becomes freshly apparent that he will never leave this Canvas and see that world. Which is fine! He does not want for anything here! But...to never see that other place, the one from which Alicia originates... It makes Gustave feel...small. Almost...trapped.
He shouldn't, it really is fine here. So he swallows down that rising rock of disappointment that wants to lodge itself in his throat and casts Verso a small smile.]
I would have felt the same. We had plenty to read when I was growing up, but the idea of something that wasn't Lumieran history would have kept me up at night with too much excitement.
[Verso sits and grabs a pastry and Gustave feels a little more relaxed watching the other man unwind even a little bit. But just as he focuses on more shared information, Gustave feels his smile falter.
Renoir. The name sends a shiver down his back. Having learned the identity of his killer some time ago, Gustave tries not to think about it. Not when Alicia's father is the progenitor of the name and had nothing to do with his demise, at least not personally. Not personally, but he still tried to destroy everything. It's...strange to think about. Every part.
Taking a deep breath, he sits on the couch opposite Verso.]
I always wondered what that manor was. And now you tell me there are even more books inside? I'd almost be tempted to return to the Continent just to see.
[Almost. He's too much of a domestic man now, and after how things ended once, Gustave isn't in a hurry to revisit such a possibility.
Instead, he lays the open book on the table between them, turning it so it faces Verso right side up.]
If you'd indulge me? This...Europe.
[The name doesn't fit in his mouth comfortable, and his lips and tongue curl uncertainly around the sound.]
Is it a large place? And do these names denote cities like Lumiere?
[He points to some of the bigger names, specifically something called France and Prussia next to it.]
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Hey, maybe Maelle can paint another door there, here. No harm in asking, right?
[Really, though, Verso's also always been a bit of a people pleaser. His mind immediately follows up with the thought that he could hitch a ride on Esquie and gather up some books and trinkets to bring back to Lumiere himself, but he doesn't offer that as an alternative. It's too soon to say whether Maelle will grant him any sort of freedom now that she knows what he's inclined towards doing with it, and he's not about to risk putting himself in a position where he might have to explain to Gustave why he's gone back on his word.
What he can provide are answers to Gustave's questions. The real Verso hadn't been all that invested in history or geography, so this Verso's interest in them is entirely his own, and that relaxes him just a bit more. Not that it's all positive. Understanding how broad the world is and how small the Canvas is by comparison makes him feel a bit claustrophobic, sometimes, giving him some pause here and now. Goodness knows Gustave and the people of Lumiere have enough existential bullshit to sift through already – something which Verso has always avoided inflicting upon them. Let them believe their world is real and that their lives are their own, he'd once told himself. Let them think that the only thing they're missing out on are their stolen futures.
But the absolute fucking least he can do is let the others decide what they do and don't want to know – when the truth doesn't revolve around him, anyway – so he leans in to get a closer look at the map. It takes him a moment to figure out what to say. How can he begin to describe its size to someone who has barely seen the world beyond Lumiere, a small city in its own right?]
Europe is... massive. France and Prussia, those are countries. All these main areas are. Some of them have hundreds of cities. Millions of people.
[Over the decades, he's never really felt the need to contextualise the size of the Canvas within Europe itself, but simply calling Europe massive is unhelpful. So might the word countries be; he can't remember if it came up in any of the books Aline had painted. But that can be addressed later. Right now, his focus lands on Luxembourg, so small on this map that its label resides in Prussia, and he figures it's as close as he'll get to an approximation of size. With his free hand, he grabs for his pen, which he holds upside-down to avoid getting any ink on the paper as he taps it on Luxembourg.]
To put it in perspective, the Canvas is probably about that big.
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It certainly seemed large enough. Surely there's some crawl space or storage room we missed that could take us back in.
[How that all works remains a mystery to Gustave. Even though he lives in a world where debris from the Fracture hangs suspended in time above and around him on a daily basis, he's still a man of scientific leanings. Engineering relies on logic and facts that are absolute, not merely feelings or flimsy ideas. But those manor doors all led to one place despite the impossibility of their locations Sometimes there are just things one has to accept.
Like the idea of this Europe being mind-numbingly larger than Lumiere and the Continent as a whole. Gustave blinks at the map, as if seeing it with new eyes now that Verso had cleared up a few things.
Well, cleared up is generous. What a country is continues to elude Gustave, but going by context clues, he thinks he understands some idea of it. If Lumiere is one city, and countries can consist of hundreds of cities, then this world, this Canvas, can act like its own small country. Right?
Verso continues and he leans in a little closer to look for this place that he points out with the butt of his pen. A very small country, compared to its neighbors.]
...Oh.
[Thinking about how often he stared out across the ocean toward the Monolith, the distance always felt so vast. What was it that he had written all those years ago for Emma? That they'd let the Paintress' body lie at the end of the world? If the Monolith is the literal edge of the Canvas, the all-too-real end of their world, and it's only as big as that sliver of a country in this book, then what might other countries' views look like?
Gustave studies the shapes for a moment again, his finger tracing those lines separating the names once more. Then, a ridiculous thought crosses his mind and he breathes out in amusement.]
Imagine trying to throw rocks to the end of some of these places. My arm's good, but it's not that good.
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Then Gustave starts speaking about throwing rocks to the ends of the countries, and Verso feels a pang of familiarity that causes his heart to regress a little. It's something he remembers Maelle doing, sending off countless little rock Expeditioners on their little adventures, taking on the mantle of Lumiere that neither of them knew would shift to become something more literal and aggressively less about death. He'd thought it was just a hobby of hers, an outlet for releasing whatever was building up inside of her. What else was he supposed to think? She'd never mentioned Gustave.
At first, Verso tries to maintain the neutral course. He lets out his own huff of a laugh and jokes in turn.]
Eh, that's probably for the best. That rock crosses the border and you could have an international incident on your hands.
[Nothing else really needs to be said about rock-throwing. Focusing back on the map reveals a multitude of tangents he can go down instead. They could discuss wars and ever-changing borders. Or maybe just focus on Paris. He could point out the edges of Africa and Asia, talk about how Europe is actually the second smallest continent, tell Gustave how long it would take to travel by train from one capital, to another, to another. None of that feels right, though; the rock-throwing thing won't stop nagging at him. He's curious and genuinely interested, and he still feels the need to ground himself in these moments where the impacts of his actions reveal themselves to him of their own volition. So, he softens his expression and maintains his course.]
I noticed Maelle had a thing for throwing rocks, too. Did she get that from you?
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All right. All right! Just one.
He reaches into the box and pulls out another pain au chocolat, smiling in thanks toward his host before taking a bite. It's a testament to his strength that he holds back a moan when the perfect combination of sweetness and texture hits his tongue. Mathilde is blessed with more talent in this one area than he suspect he'll ever possess. Lumiere is so lucky to have her.
Gustave indulges in another bite before he even realizes it, but picks up a napkin to dab at his mouth just in time to softly laugh into the fabric at Verso's answering jest. International holds no meaning to him, but he can guess as to its intention all the same.]
If a rock can cause so much trouble, then I worry for this Europe.
[Then again, it isn't as if Gustave understands what relationships between countries are supposed to be like. Maybe it's similar to neighboring apartments and their inhabitants. He imagines throwing a rock through someone's wall or window would earn him angry looks and shouts. An incident, indeed. Perhaps Europe's sensitivities aren't as misplaced as it may seem.
The short lull in conversation gives him time to continue eating, at a reasonable pace, of course, and not at all like he hasn't had a simple pastry in approximately thirty years. It's only been a week, in actuality. Such a lack won't have him wasting away any time soon.
Silences can't last forever, though, and Verso breaks this one with a question Gustave should be able to answer easily, but instead leaves him at a momentary loss. The act of throwing rocks had always been an outlet for his frustration, nothing much more. Growing up in a dying city, simply waiting for his turn to either fade away, too, or do something about it left Gustave somewhat restless, after all. But to think that that one useless hobby passed itself onto Maelle...
Gustave sets the napkin and pastry down, his smile sobering.]
Yeah. Yeah, I guess she did.
[Legacy takes many forms. Or, at least, habits can be learned.]
She gave me more grief for it than anything, though. Tough critic, that one.
[A glance toward Verso and a tilt of his head, signifying he doesn't mind such a presence in his life. But he casts his eyes downward again, eyes not focusing on the book still laying open between them, and speaks a little more softly.]
She only started throwing rocks when we were on the Expedition, as far as I know. I joined her once or twice, before...
[He trails off, smiling dropping completely. Years have passed him by and dulled some of his memories, but even with some fuzzy details surrounding that night, his death remains clear enough if he thinks about it. Which Gustave, naturally, tries not to do. Except the fact that he and Maelle were going to let off some steam by indulging in his hobby right before Renoir attacked him makes it nearly impossible not to dwell on the unfortunate truth of things.]
I didn't realize it would leave quite the impact.
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To this day, he is haunted by the connections he should have made but never did. It hardly surprises him that he's adding yet another to that group.
Before Gustave had been attacked, Verso had been watching him search the ground. He figured he was looking for some manner of trinket, something that had been lost in the chaos of battle, and he had spent a while looking for it afterwards before admitting defeat and heading off to find the others, Gustave's arm and journal in tow. That it was a rock of all things makes everything worse. What a devastatingly, heartbreakingly human set of circumstances under which to die. Spending a rare moment of being caught between hope and safety, greater cares having fallen to the wayside. Suffering an attack from behind. A preventable one that was allowed to happen all the same because the man watching it unfold had chosen, in that same utterly human moment, to cast aside his own humanity.
Verso's glad that he only had one bite of the pain au chocolat. His gaze falls and dissipates with Gustave's as he works to even out his guilt. It isn't important. Or, it is – of course it matters, of course he should bear it in full – but this isn't the time or the place for it to rise up and influence anything about him. Not his expression, not his tone, not the direction he takes in moving the conversation onwards.
Looking up again, he quirks another crooked smile, even as he dips back into the other Verso's memories.]
You know, Alicia, she didn't take after anyone in her family. Her mother had high expectations and I think that kept her from trying.
[Why bother when she's going to feel like a disappointment either way? All the Dessendre children knew that feeling to one extent or another, but Aline almost seemed to mock Alicia over her inability to meet the same standards as her elder siblings. And though Renoir tried to mitigate the damages of her upbringing, Alicia had fled too deep from her family and into her words to be reached. No matter how anyone tried to lure her free.]
It broke my heart to see the same thing happening to her in Lumiere.
[The innate sadness she bore and the way she learned to recoil instead of reaching out were the things he'd most hoped she'd have left behind in Paris, but instead they had manifested the most strongly out of anything. Maelle was also the weird kid. Even the adults brushed her aside. Yet she still had heart enough to take orphans under her wing. She tried where Alicia only withdrew. And, eventually, she succeeded where Alicia had failed.]
That girl's lived two lives, and you're the first person to convince her that she's not... that she can make people proud.
[He's sorry. He's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry.]
She wants to take after you.
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And yet, Verso takes it well enough, though some moments pass first. They both have to regain their metaphorical footing, find safer ground so as not to truly spiral down within each other's company. Verso speaks again, a quirked smile offered in understanding, and Gustave raises his head to meet his gaze, genuinely curious what he has to say about Maelle's life outside of the Canvas. Except that life sounds...unhappy.
If his mother were the Paintress, though, Gustave wonders how he would act. But that's not a fair thought; what he knows of the woman is shrouded in so much resentment - misdirected anger, he is aware - that it would be difficult to truly sympathize. When so much of his existence had been dedicated to finding a way to free Lumiere of its death sentence, he couldn't just reconsider. And yet, he thinks of something he had told Maelle back on the Expedition. How the Gommage made people complacent.
Gustave glances down again and taps a finger against the table a few times before answering.]
I think...when someone considers an outcome hopeless, it's easier to just sit back and accept it. Why make an effort if you're sure it won't change anything?
[That doesn't make it right or okay, but it's human. It makes sense. Gustave isn't immune to those shortcomings, either.
The praise laid before him takes him by surprise. Gustave raises his head again, eyes a little wide, but then shakes it with a little smile of his own.]
No, it's... I just listened to her. Gave her space, but let her know she was always welcome and wanted with us. It didn't always work, but she was a kid when we took her in. A kid who lost too many people already. You can't just fix that.
[A small shrug.]
I've always been proud of her, though. Every day she woke up and gave even the bare minimum was still better than nothing.
[But then to hear that Maelle wants to take after him...
Gustave can't help it. He laughs softly, feeling his neck flush, and raises his flesh hand to rub at the back of his neck. It's too much. Not flattery - okay, maybe it's a little flattery - but some acknowledgment that his guardianship hadn't been a total disaster.
Gustave's tongue gets the better of him and before he knows what he's saying, it's already out there.]
Oh. Well. As long as she keeps all her limbs in the process.
[Is that a bad joke? That's definitely a bad joke.]
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[Like grief, but that's another story, one with no bearing on what they're discussing now, even if it does constantly bear down on Verso.
He understands well what Alicia had been going through, of course; he'd had an easier time of things with Aline, who raised him to follow in her footsteps, to paint like she paints, to play the piano like she played the piano, but he still felt like a contortionist, sometimes, being moulded into unnatural shapes. And then Renoir, the painted one, sought to weaponise Verso's love for his family as his own had been. Be a mirror, they'd said in their own ways; wear a mask, he'd heard in his own voice. For decades he obliged, and now he's not sure how to do anything besides reflect back to others what they see of him and to mask what they want to be guarded from and what he wants to guard from them.
None of that's the point, though. This is: the lack of ease to Alicia's upbringing drives much of his gratitude towards Gustave. But if he wants to downplay all he's done for Maelle, Verso's not going to stop him. It isn't his place to do so, for one, and for another, all Gustave's doing, in an indirect way, is reasserting that he's a good man. What's there to object to about that?
Besides, Gustave quickly moves on to crack a joke. Maybe it's a bad one, but Verso enjoys those as much as he does the good ones, so he laughs in earnest. Albeit lightly – the humour does get a bit suppressed by the image of his sister that flashes across his mind. She keeps all her limbs, sure, but she loses her eye, her throat, her ability to look herself in the mirror. A shell of a body, Maelle had said about the other Alicia. Verso can't say she was wrong, even if he disagrees.
And he certainly can't say that aloud. Focus, he thinks. His gaze flits to Gustave's prosthetic before rising back up to his face. This is the second time he's brought up losing his arm and thus the second time Verso's been struck by a pang of curiosity. Should he ask? It isn't like the question would come out of nowhere. What's the alternative? Aside from continuing to talk about Maelle and Alicia, which doesn't feel right, the only clear course before them is to return to the neutral territory of Europe, which feels abrupt given the context. Impersonal in ways that Verso never wants to come across as being.
A second laugh follows the original, softer still and inwardly directed. He feels guilty wanting to know more. Avoiding the topic would also make him feel guilty. Being here in general? Guilty, guilty, guilty. No matter what he does he's already damned himself in one way or another, so he might as well follow his heart, even if it has lead him astray more often than not. And his heart, as usual, seeks connection despite how desperately his soul still grasps for nothingness.]
Not that she couldn't take us both on one-handed, but, yeah.
[A pause. Verso points to Gustave's arm as if it isn't obvious what he's asking about.]
Want to trade war stories?
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[Harder to see, but not necessarily as trapping. While the Paintress was active, Lumiere still functioned. People still went about their business. Did their work. Fell in love. Had unrelated celebrations. The looming shadow of death may have always been there, but happiness still shone through like errant rays of sunlight. That's probably what made it easier to give up on the Expeditions, though. Knowing that life was still livable and comfortable enough. Good enough.
Even Maelle fell into this trap, even if she always reminded him of how much she wanted to leave the island and felt like she never belonged. But she still spent time with him in their favorite rooftop garden. They would talk about silly things they had seen during the day, or Gustave would help her with her take-home lessons where he could, or they'd just stare across the ocean and whatever number damned them all that year.
37. 36. 35. 34.
It had just been a matter of time until they could do more than wait for their turn.
Verso's laugh nearly shocks Gustave out of his thoughts. The other man has shown amusement tonight, but this might be the first genuine laugh he's heard. And at Gustave's expense. That's fine, though. If he can be a source of humor for someone who actually needs it, then he'll let himself be something like a clown.
Gustave's smile returns as he laughs in turn.]
Oh, she has taken me on one-handed. She's a much better fighter than I'll ever be.
[As much as Maelle felt she never fit in while living in Lumiere, she did take such a distinct interest in fencing and kept up with it enough to hone her skills. He was happy she had that kind of hobby, but had no idea how beneficial it would become later on. He can only imagine how useful her talents had been on the Continent after he was gone.
No need to think about that. Verso gestures to his arm and Gustave glances down at the prosthetic hand. This wouldn't be the first time he's shared the story of how he lost his arm. It isn't as if he's made it off-limits to Verso, either.]
Sure, I'll trade. Though I fear this particular story isn't all that exciting.
[He pauses, chewing on his lip for a second as he considers if his next words and suggestion are crossing a line. But since Verso did invite him over...]
I...might be a better storyteller if I had some liquid courage, though. If your offer still stands, that is. Ah, forget I said anything if you've changed your mind! I'm happy to just chat.
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Mostly. Enough to keep up the joke, anyway.]
No kidding. It took me years to one-shot my first Nevron, and she does it like it's nothing.
[Verso had known she could handle herself; he'd been keeping an eye on the Expeditioners when he wasn't clearing the path up ahead of them, so he had seen her in action. It was different to fight alongside her, though, to see her skill up close, to hear how she guides the battle like the seasoned choreographer of a bloodied dance. Part of him felt proud to see the perseverant strength she bore; another part wished she'd never had to discover that particular talent. The rest of him, though, looked at her and saw his only chance.
Instead, she became his final condemnation.
That's definitely too dark a thought for his current company; fortunately, Gustave spares Verso from having to figure out how to excuse himself from the conversation he'd just started by requesting the very alcohol he's wishing he'd already served. Something about the phrase liquid courage calms him a little, too. Cowardice had seemed the better word in his own mind, but in the end they're just two men trying to get by, and trying is an act of bravery in its own right. An assessment he feels particularly qualified to make now, even if he finds himself struggling to commit to it in full. Is it really brave to hopelessly endure a condemned world that he alone believes is dying? He doesn't know. He's never known.
Anyway. Drinks. He slaps his legs as he rises to his feet. Look at this good-humoured man. He isn't cobbled together using string and adhesive. There isn't a decades-old fire consuming him from the inside.]
Hey, a story doesn't have to be exciting to be worth hearing. And I'd never take back an offer for drinks. Help yourself to whatever in the meantime. Lavatory's over there.
[Verso nods to the bathroom and moves to the kitchen. Grabs a plain silver tray from the cupboard along with two absinthe glasses and a small pitcher. He adds to the pitcher some ice from the ice box and water from the faucet, then grabs the sugar bowl from the counter and two absinthe spoons from a drawer. The bottle of absinthe is sitting unopened atop the liquor cabinet, and he opens it before closing it back up and placing it on the centre of the tray.
When he returns to the living room, he places the tray on whichever part of the coffee table is the most clear, then sets to work preparing one of the drinks. A bit of absinthe in the glass. The spoon on top and the sugar cube on top of that. Slowly, he pours the water over the sugar, letting it all meld together, soothing himself with the simplicity and flow of the process.]
This may taste a bit different from what you're used to. Consider it another gift from the manor.
[Once the drink is done, he offers it to Gustave...]
Here.
[...but then retracts his arm a smidgeon.]
Or do you take yours neat?
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He remembers on at least one occasion thinking that she was one of the people he was doing everything for. Those who come after. And if she already showed such promise at her age, then she would be such an unbelievable asset for the future. Except, Gustave realized just as quickly, her time had been that very same now, same as his. Same as Lune's and Sciel's. How fortunate her strength had manifested so well back then, but, at the same time, Gustave wishes there hadn't been a need for it. Or that it didn't need to be so desperate for their Expedition.
It's okay now, of course. He mustn't lose sight of that. But even as he smiles at Verso in agreement and pride of their shared sort-of sister, a distinct sadness settles into his gut. He tried his best. If only he could have done better and kept her out of trouble entirely.
The leg slapping breaks him out of his thoughts. Gustave gratefully allows it and follows Verso's nod to take note of the facilities before the man makes his way to the kitchen.]
Thanks, Verso.
[The urge to follow him to the kitchen nearly spurs him into action, the need to offer any help butting heads with the expectations of being a well-behaved houseguest, but Gustave finds the strength to resist. This is Verso's home and he seems perfectly capable of gathering up ingredients on his own. What Gustave can do is clear a space on the table they've been sharing. He wipes his fingers on the discarded napkin and takes the open book in hand again, glancing almost longingly at the map of Europe one more time before gently closing it. When the book is returned to the shelf, Gustave lets his fingers run over the spine of it, then momentarily over its neighbors. So much knowledge, right here, under his fingertips. Forbidden, in a way, but so close.
He resists the temptation to draw another book free and instead takes his seat again as Verso brings everything to the living room and begins the drink-making. Neither says anything for the duration, Verso focused on his task and Gustave almost entranced by the process. The sugar cube slowly melting, the green-hued drink lightening as the water mixes in, the glass filling ever higher.
Before too long, the drinks are finished and Verso offers one to Gustave, who reaches for it, only to be taken off-guard when it's pulled just out of his grasp.]
Oh. Oh, no! This is perfect.
[He takes the glass this time and raises it in a kind of salute toward Verso, waiting for the other man to do the same.]
Santé.
[As he brings the glass to his lips, Gustave can smell it clearly, warning him for what he's getting into. He takes a sip, the alcohol bitter on his tongue, but cut through with that sweetness. Still strong, though, and Gustave takes a moment to let it slide down his throat, a dull heat following in its wake.]
...Well, that is certainly potent. But not unpleasant.
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And it is properly served, the liquid clouded just so, the air scented with anise and fennel. It smells like nights at the bar by the harbour, evenings in the manor in Lumiere, afternoons in his apartment after the Fracture, and days spent holed up in a different manor with his nose in a book and his heart in pieces.
He can't start drinking quickly enough. Literally; Gustave raises his glass and Verso lowers his own glass, gesturing it away from himself and towards Gustave, managing a smile and a decently cheery:]
Santé.
[Where Gustave sips, Verso takes a heartier gulp, all too ready for the alcohol's burn to supplant the others that have been haunting him all night. And sure, maybe he could have pretended not to need this as much as he does, but he also knows how to choose when to be honest in order to preserve his lies. Obviously, he's tired. He knows he hasn't exactly been a ray of sunshine. It was his damned idea to begin with. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine.
At least he doesn't immediately move to finish the rest. Instead, he swirls the glass as if it's whiskey.]
Mm. It was my first drink after years of nothing but moonshine. Really hits the spot, huh?
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As he sips again, taking this at a steady pace, Gustave silently vows to keep an eye on Verso. At least for now. At least until the spirits eventually dull his own senses and thoughts as he's sure they will. For Verso's sake. For Maelle's, too, since she loves Verso dearly. Everyone deals with things differently. It's just that Gustave hasn't the slightest idea what Verso is dealing with in the first place.
He won't push right now. Gustave gets the feeling in his gut that Verso wouldn't be apt to share. On the other hand, maybe artists being strange people bears some weight and Verso genuinely likes the taste of absinthe. Best not to make any assumptions. Just watch. Listen. Be kind and attentive as long as he's able.
The question deserves some consideration and Gustave gently swirls the cloudy contents of his glass as he thinks.]
I still find wine preferable, but I understand the appeal here. There's a...
[He struggles to find the words regardless of his efforts, the hand of his prosthetic turning in circles like it can stir up the correct sentiment.]
A bite that rouses the senses and the mind. Wine is smooth, while this almost seems to say, 'Hey, don't fall asleep yet.' Or is that stupid? Pretentious? I dunno. But moonshine, eh? Did you make it yourself?
[Verso spent decades out on the Continent, after all, so he wouldn't exactly have access to proper drinks, as far as Gustave is aware. Unless the Gestrals had their own vineyards or breweries. That's an interesting thought, though, and he can't help but smile into the glass as he takes yet another sip.]
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And that's not an option.
Still, the next sip he takes is a slighter one. He pretends to contemplate it as Gustave extols the early virtues of absinthe, an act that falters when the other man retracts as easily as he began, so naturally calling attention to non-existent flaws in his phrasing and so quickly shifting the focus back on Verso that all he can do in response, at first, is swallow. Another shrug follows, another lopsided smile.]
No, no, that sounds about right.
[But moonshine. They're supposed to be trading war stories. And while there's not a lot of war to that particular story, it's still a decent starting point. Verso points his glass at Gustave and begins.]
And I did. Lumiere stopped launching Search & Rescue teams around the time I left, so it was just me out there. Plus, I hadn't met Esquie or Monoco, was persona non grata in both manors, and...
[A pause, a sigh, a moment taken to catch up with thoughts that are well ahead of him.]
... it didn't feel right to take anything left behind in Old Lumiere, so, moonshine it was. The aftertaste still haunts me.
[Certainly enough that he needs to shake the memory off and chase it away with another sip of his drink.]
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Gustave's chest aches at the thought. Time spent to oneself is always important; he needs it pretty often, despite the joy others bring him and the love he desperately wants to share. Verso feels like a solitary creature, too, but where Gustave's moments of privacy are meant recharge, this apartment in all its darkness and near emptiness almost stifles. Does Verso feel the same way? Or does he prefer the solitude? And yet, he had invited Gustave in so easily.
He swirls the drink once, twice, then sips again, his tongue and mouth acclimating to the bold taste more each time.]
You make do with what you have, right? I'm sure you became intimately familiar with the land, too, in order to master that aspect of it. Though, it...must have been terribly lonely. I can't even imagine. I was only on my own for about a day, after...
[Mm. No. That's still too much.
Gustave inhales a little more sharply than he intends and takes a larger drink this time. Time to start over, focus on something else that doesn't embrace him within the arms of shame and anxiety, even after all these years.]
I never made a habit of drinking moonshine, but I remember when I was ten or eleven, I think, I snuck a taste of my father's whiskey. My grandfather had passed not long before and I remember these little snippets when I was much younger of seeing the two of them drink together in the evening. They looked, you know, refined and comfortable and...I dunno, I must have been sad. Maybe just curious. Probably both, to my detriment.
[A little laugh and a shake of his head.]
Let's just say, I wouldn't go near the stuff for years because of its taste. I sympathize.
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Still, he frowns. Gustave seems to have a habit of these stop-and-starts, and Verso can't help but wonder what's driving them. Whether his thoughts simply get ahead of him. Whether he wants to speak. Whether he needs to speak. He can't possibly hazard a guess either way, though, so he stashes the thought aside for later and waits until Gustave breaks the silence with his anecdote.
Some of the tension he carries dissipates into a soft laugh. It's a cute story. Sometimes, when people share about their childhoods it's hard for Verso to match the person to the tale, but he finds it easy with Gustave. Not because he can picture him pilfering alcohol, but because the man is simply genuine in a rare way that makes the threads of his life stitch together more neatly. In turn, some of the real Verso's memories filter into this Verso's thoughts, most of which involve him also getting into things that he shouldn't. Liquor, like Gustave. Neatly wrapped and imperfectly hidden-away presents with his name on them. The expensive paints his mother used and only ever let Clea borrow. But he quickly shoves them back down. He's not that boy. He's done none of those things. No matter how it might feel.
A different path, then. Earlier, Gustave had commented on Verso's familiarity with the land. And while that did indeed become the case, it doesn't feel quite right, either. After all:]
Being immortal helps. Half of what I made could kill a horse.
[That's not the only thing that doesn't feel quite right, though, and Verso mulls over the words terribly lonely for a moment. When he left his family, it wasn't the loneliness that was terrible. It was the loss, and the grief, and the knowledge of what he truly meant to them that hurt the most. Being alone helped him to find freedom. He discovered himself. He could breathe. It felt so fucking good to just be able to breathe.]
And it wasn't all bad. Really. There are worse things to be than lonely, and I... I was finally getting away from one of them.
[The deep, soul-destructive, truly terrible loneliness he now knows came much later. It took a few Expeditions and too many encounters with his father to assert itself, but it hasn't released him in the decades since. Verso chases these thoughts with the last sip of his own drink before he places the glass back on the tray. Optics are the only thing keeping him from immediately pouring another.]
It's hard to find yourself when everyone around you expects you to be someone else, but when you're alone out there... you don't have to worry about maintaining whatever facades you've got going, or trying to convince yourself that you agree with something you've lost faith in, or, you know, whatever's making you feel wrong. There's nobody left to disappoint. Nothing else matters. You just are.
[Small. Unimportant. Unseen, unheard, unknown.]
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A horse? That really must have been some dreadful stuff.
[Gustave imagines how desperate he would have to be in order to drink something that reprehensible, regardless of mortality status. The thought of the taste alone would probably ward him off, but the idea of drinking to either forget or drown - not foreign concepts - makes his chest hurt for Verso's sake. Assuming that's what Verso was doing, but then why drink something awful for fun?
Gustave lifts his glass for another sip, but stops short as Verso continues. There are worse things to be than lonely. That...makes him think, lowering the glass and swirling the contents slightly. Loneliness has gripped him more times than he'd like in his past and it always left him feeling morose and melancholic and without someone else to be a buffer to his thoughts, his mind - usually an asset - turned into an enemy, telling him things that hurt and cut and made him doubt.
To think that that isn't the worse experience for some people.
His eyes follow Verso's empty glass, its contents gone worryingly quickly, but when he doesn't prepare a second drink, Gustave relaxes somewhat. Pacing. That's good. Something he should tell himself but doesn't, finally taking that new sip.
Loneliness feels awful, but he gives Verso the benefit of the doubt and considers his other point. The word freedom jumps to the forefront of his mind, but that doesn't seem quite right. That word usually constitutes more joyful imagery, not drinking homemade alcohol because there's no other option.]
No more constraints.
[Said quietly, head cocked slightly to the side.]
I don't know if I would have ever looked at it that way. But different experiences breed different results, right? It's...definitely something to think about.
[Perhaps a little too quickly. It strikes him, then, that Verso, who has been existing and living out in the wilds, has returned to Lumiere. Does he still feel the same way?
Gustave looks to Verso again and, with tongue already loosened by the absinthe, asks.]
Would you still rather live out there?
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Do they even know?
It's an unsettling thought, to be immortal without knowing, and Verso's eyes darken in turn. He hopes that's not the case. He really, really does. But he thinks that his not-little-sister might take a bit after him and his not-self, too; he thinks she may prefer to guard the truth with her own lies of omission.
He won't mention that, though, and as he speaks instead about loneliness, Verso continues to pay attention to the subtle shifts in Gustave. The way he moves to take a sip and then stops. That contemplative swirl of his glass. How his focus travels alongside Verso's empty drink. All signs of a man who is proving that he does, indeed, think a lot. Verso is used to being contemplated. It's all a part of being a mysterious stranger, the fabled survivor of Expedition Zero whose name has been lost to time, the man who's mastered revealing just enough and not enough in the same breath. What he's less accustomed to is feeling like someone might actually be piecing together the things he's trying not to say about himself.
Then again, it's been around 80 years since he's been around people who know nearly as much as he does, who aren't almost singularly focused on their missions, and who can afford the time and the energy to focus on who he is as a person rather than what he can provide for them as an ally. He probably should have expected something like this to happen.
There's something else to Gustave's reactions, too. Something that's reinforced by the words that follow: Different experiences breed different results. Everyone gets lonely sometimes, but not everyone has experienced it as something profound. Verso can't help but wonder if Gustave falls into the latter category – if part of his reaction isn't driven by some quiet struggle to picture something worse than being entirely alone in the world. Once again, he finds himself hoping otherwise but not really committing to that hope.
A point which itself gets reinforced when Gustave asks his question. It doesn't feel like a conversational one. Sure, there's some curiosity driving it, but Verso can't help but feel like he's only asking because he has a sense of what the answer will be. Which discourages him from trying to pretend otherwise. Lies only work when they're just as believable as the truth, after all. So instead, he laughs lightly and warms himself up by cracking a joke.]
You 33s really like getting straight to the point, huh?
[And to demonstrate that he isn't all that bothered – even though he is a little bit off-put – he holds out his hands in a gesture of defeat.]
Yeah, I would. I've spent three quarters of my life out there. It's as much my home as Lumiere is yours. But Maelle wants me here and she's very hard to deny.
[A pause. He thinks about making another joke. Something dumb about craving proper food and how the Gestrals get salt and sugar confused. That feels dismissive of Maelle, though, and her importance to everything. Besides which, Verso has a question of his own.]
She's still having a hard time, isn't she?
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Gustave bows his head marginally in embarrassment, but Verso laughs. It brings Gustave's gaze back to his face, where he sees neither sadness or anger written there, but something more like...acceptance. As if this question is leveled at him often or the thought crosses his mind regularly. And then the reason he stays here becomes clear, obviously so.
A small exhale and a little shake of his head precedes Gustave's answer.]
Sorry, that was... I got ahead of myself again.
[A corner of his lips quirks up.]
I guess you could call it an old habit. We knew we didn't have a lot of time left, so no time to beat around the bush. Probably.
[This time he takes a sip of the drink and sets it down, lazily tracing one side of the rim with a finger. Maelle. She really feels like the lynchpin to...everything. Of course, she saved helped save this world, but even before all that, back when Gustave was still part of the Expedition, he couldn't immediately discount the nightmares she had. Why had those mysterious people visited her, the youngest of their group, and not, say, Lune, who was clearly the brains of the operation? She had been important somehow, but Gustave would never have guessed to what extent. And now, despite the Expeditions having come to an end and the original Paintress being ousted from her Monolith, Maelle still manages to hold them all together.]
She has that effect, doesn't she? I blame her eyes. They're very...big. It's like she could cry at any second if you tell her no. Not that she would. She's too stubborn for that. But the threat is there.
[Gustave would laugh, too, except Verso's returning question pulls his brows down into a slight frown. Has Verso noticed something he hasn't?]
What do you mean?
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Gustave's explanation makes sense, though Verso lets out an amused breath at the probably that follows and can't resist teasing at it a bit.]
Good excuse.
[Nosiness, he assumes, is a factor as well. As much as he tries to keep the questions he asks relevant to whatever conversation is being had or whichever goals lie ahead, Verso is still driven by his own desire to simply know things about people, and to understand them, and to fill in the most egregious gaps so that he can see the fullest picture possible without having to imagine what he might be missing. Hell, he had damned near harassed Esquie for information on the real Verso. It was only in hindsight that he realised he was poking at old wounds for the sake of curiosity. The hypocrite in him used to be bothered when people tried to get to know him too well. He wanted to be less seen, not more; he wanted to fade into the background even as he led the charge, not be viewed as something interesting. But the larger his loneliness loomed, the less room he had for such feelings and the more he came to understand a truth he hadn't wanted to admit. The problem wasn't that he didn't want to be seen at all, it was that he had desperately needed to be seen as himself.
So, talking about himself is a bit unfamiliar, but it's fine. It's hard, but it's all right. He is Verso, no last name, and he doesn't want to lose sight of that again.
It's his turn now to watch Gustave put down his drink and fidget with the glass. Briefly, he contemplates pouring himself his second drink, but instead he decides to wait until Gustave is done. It'll look better that way.
Regret over that decision strikes him as soon as Gustave mentions Maelle's eyes and he's flooded by the real Verso's memories of Alicia as a baby, a toddler, a child, a teenager. Her eyes have always been wide and curious and clever and pleading and sad, so very sad. But never lined with wrinkles or cushioned by bags. They were weary but not tired. Young. Vital. So very clear when they were alight with determination.
He'll never see those eyes again. Oh, how he'd love to drive that thought away with a burn at the back of his throat and a renewed warmth in his chest. Instead, he does nothing. He says nothing about them, simply waiting to see how Gustave responds to his question.
It's not possible for Verso to know what Gustave is and is not aware of regarding Maelle's chosen fate without asking him. He knows this. But as Gustave response with confusion and a question, Verso still uses that information to build guardrails for his own truths. Don't mention that Maelle is dying, these ones say. Maintain your course until you have a better sense of what Gustave knows and where he stands.
Which is exactly what he does.]
I mean that she's still trying to figure herself out. Reconciling two sets of memories, it's hard enough when you have a grasp on who you are. Alicia and Maelle both struggled with that on their own, and now...
[A sigh as he collects himself a little. Verso died so that Alicia could live a fulfilling life. Knowing that she never really will is agonising.]
Now it's only gotten worse. Maelle doesn't want to be Alicia, but she can never go back to just being Maelle. That's not stopping her from trying, though. Like you said. Stubborn.
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[Figuring herself out makes sense, Gustave supposes. Maelle had confessed similar to him on the Expedition, but she had been sixteen then. That age comes rife with confusion and frustration and he hadn't been surprised by it, especially not with the added stress of the Continent being anything but welcoming for them.
She had been sixteen then, not now, and yet Gustave still doesn't lay any blame on her. Just because they all grow older doesn't mean the world suddenly reveals its secrets to them. It isn't as if they hit thirty years old and Know What To Do. Having a more stable life makes things easier for him, sure, but he remembers the fluttering of uncertainty in his gut on multiple occasions after his resurrection:
Sophie answering yes. Sophie placing his hands on her still-small belly. Holding Henri in his inexperienced arms for the first time.
That unpredictability shared by all living people is where the similarities end, though. Even imagining the memories of two separate lives, let alone trying to keep them separated, nearly gives Gustave a headache. The alcohol doesn't help, swirling in his body in his mind and dulling critical thinking, even after only half a glass consumed.
Well. What's another drink going to hurt at this point? Gustave lifts the glass and takes a larger sip, the burn still noticeable but warming more than attacking now as he grows used to it.]
Very stubborn.
[Gustave sits back on the couch, cradling the glass against his chest as he thinks on his next words. I can't imagine struggling with two lives is a pointless echo of earlier sentiments and his own helplessness. Maelle told me of the fire feels a little too blunt, especially with the Verso-that-wasn't sitting right across from him.]
We all lost some kind of innocence on the Expedition, I think, not least of all Maelle. But then I'm sure she never expected to remember she had another life outside of here. Before, she couldn't wait to leave Lumiere, but now she almost treasures this place. I think the Continent put things into perspective for her. I know it made me question my decisions at times.
[Another pause before Gustave drinks again and softens his voice as he meets Verso's gaze.]
I assume she has a better life as Maelle than she does as Alicia. From what she's told me. I can't blame her for struggling with...with any of it.
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His experience with lost innocence usually involves its aftermath, not its progression. It's rare that he encounters Expeditioners before they've suffered and bled and died on the Continent, and Maelle is certainly no exception; he had met her seconds after her entire world was slowly, tortuously destroyed before her eyes. Their journey together had more than a few moments where she broke before his eyes and confessed to not knowing how to piece herself back together, and he wasn't any more sure of what that was supposed to mean than she had been because he had no frame of reference. It leaves him with precious little to contribute to the conversation about the Maelle Gustave knows, so he responds with a simple:]
Yeah.
[Mostly, what he can do is fill in the blanks regarding Alicia, except even that's complicated when it comes to the aftermath of the fire. Verso doesn't actually know what awaits Maelle on the other side of the Canvas beyond what he can infer from his Alicia's state. The Alicia he hasn't talked about in over a decade. The Alicia who made it clear to him with one final glance how little she believed her life was worth living, and whose mask resides with all Verso's other regrets in the shade of the red tree, and whose petals rest on a shelf that Verso glances towards, now, as he's overtaken by the suffocating presence of her absence.
He looks back to Gustave as he speaks, if only because he knows how it will look if he doesn't. There's no focus to his gaze, though; he may well be staring at something miles away.]
Maman holds her responsible for the fire. Alicia – my sister – had done nothing wrong, nothing, but every scar was left intact when she was painted here, and she spent her whole life imprisoned by them. I can't blame Maelle, either.
[But still, that doesn't mean she should run away. That doesn't mean she should kill herself. That doesn't mean her life is over and all that she has left is make-believe. It doesn't. He will always believe that.
Holding out his free hand, Verso summons a journal. The 33s had found it during one of their forays into the manor, and he had taken possession of it after Maelle awoke as Alicia to keep her from ever having to hear it again. Thoughts of freeing Maelle from her grief intensify with the gesture, and Verso takes a moment to consider whether revealing Aline's thoughts to Gustave would help or hamper his efforts. Maybe Gustave would prefer to spare Maelle from such a mother. Or, he thinks, maybe it's better for him to understand these consequences ahead of the others. Having the whole picture does tend to simplify the choice between two cruelties. At least in his experience, anyway. So, he presents the journal to Gustave.]
Here. In the words of the Paintress herself.
[The journal reads:
…his little grin, so proud of his latest creation. But at least those memories remain. What hurts more are the memories unmade. The conversations we’ll never have, the time we’ll never spend.
I want rage to consume me, anything to fill the hollow. But rage won’t come. I just float in an endless nothingness…
…the person I cannot be around is Alicia. Her pain is a broken mirror, the shards reflecting back tenfold. Every moment with her, the cuts deepen, and I feel myself unravelling…
…I know what he’ll say, but this is the first time I’ve felt any surcease. For a few moments a day, my heart beats again…]
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Verso shares more, his words doing little to nothing at all to, well, paint the Paintress in a positive light. Gustave never got the chance to meet that Alicia, only knowing vaguely of her existence due to Maelle's nightmares. To hear a mother blame her child for a family tragedy doesn't sit well with him. Was Alicia responsible? Gustave has no idea, but even if she were, shouldn't her mother still display some love and loyalty toward her? Instead she painted another version to bear her...anger? Resentment? It seems cruel. And if that Alicia were just a representation of the Paintress' true feelings, then what is Maelle's life truly like in that family?
Apparently Verso has an answer for that unspoken question, too. He summons a journal and holds it out for Gustave. From the Paintress herself.
Any other time, Gustave's excitement to study anything with historical significance would leave him practically vibrating. To think that he would be so lucky to not only read, but touch an artifact of the Paintress' true life would have been an impossible dream before. Now, even understanding what he does about that woman, it still feels like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Really, it is.
He leans forward and puts his glass down, taking the journal in his hands carefully and with a kind of reverence. It's easy to imagine this journal being displayed in the museum, a memento of a human woman set against a backdrop of an unreachable villain. Is this the only one of its kind? Are more snippets available on the Continent? How many other people have gotten this chance to hold such a monumental object?
But he actually takes in the words and all those previous thoughts blur away into nothingness. The beginning, which must be about the Verso she lost, grips Gustave's heart. The thought of losing a child, a son, terrifies him. Henri is so young still and while the world is safe now without either of Alicia's parents in it, Gustave is no stranger to unfortunate accidents. Humans are fragile beings. People can still die in an unforeseen instant. Sciel's husband did. Sciel nearly did. People get sick. Babies aren't born with all the strength they need. Others had decided to rob the Paintress of the success of the Gommage by beating her to the punch, so to speak, back when she was to blame. If...anything were to happen to his son, would Gustave sound different from the woman who never stopped grieving her own? He may not.
That empathy cracks when she speaks of Alicia, though, and Gustave finds himself frowning even more deeply. It's the dismissal of her own daughter that hurts him. Instead of trying to face their grief together, she instead leaves Alicia alone. Did Renoir help Alicia in the aftermath?
Gustave sets the journal down on the table, still carefully despite his opinion on the secrets therein.]
I, um. I don't know what to say that isn't uncharitable.
[It would be simple enough to expound on his negativity toward a woman he never met, but he hasn't forgotten that she is Verso's mother. This Verso. He still has enough wits about him not to immediately speak ill of her in front of her son's face, painted or otherwise.
Instead, he takes another sizable drink of and exhales while gazing into the cloudy remains of the absinthe.]
I just...I hope I can do better by Maelle than her mother has. I hope we both can.
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Don't worry about being charitable. She didn't.
[His tone is slightly bitter. He loves his mother, he does, but not in a way that leaves him blind to the cruelties of her faults. And he understands why Gustave and the others would speak ill of her. The whole Canvas suffered because she couldn't bear the burden of her own grief without forcing it upon everyone else as well. Empathy can only go so far. It should have its limits – limits that he can't bear the thought of ever having to apply to Maelle, even as her grief continues to bring devastation upon him.
Up until she became the Paintress, she had never been her mother's daughter. May that never change, he wishes to a fate that's never favoured him. May he never look at her and see someone so intent on perpetuating her own suffering that it becomes the main thing that matters. And if Renoir does show up to bring her home, may she refuse to create her own sequence of drawn-out yet too-soon deaths over a future where the Canvas carries on without her. May she prove Verso's fears unfounded.
None of that begs mentioning, though, so he lowers his glass and lightly shakes his head at Gustave's humbleness.]
I don't think you have anything to worry about with Maelle, either. You've done good with her. The girl I travelled with, she–
[The next words come to Verso immediately and of their own volition, but still he holds them on his tongue. He sits with them a moment, weighing whether he wants to use them as they are or make them into his own. It's an easy decision to make. A painful one, too. The person who had originally spoke them had never really been given a voice in the first place, and yet she'd had it taken from her again and again and again all the same. Including by himself. Verso can't deny her now.]
She was Alicia as she was meant to be.
[Idly, he wonders how she'd feel if she knew what he was revealing to Gustave. It's hard for him to picture her appreciating his candor, but he can't bring himself to care. If she resents him for sharing these sides of her, so be it. If she hates him for taking away her ability to lie after he had insisted upon his own, he can live with that. Hypocrisy thrives in Dessendre blood. So, he cleanses himself of that rising guilt and finishes with a different thought.]
I never thought I'd see that side of her.
[He misses it.]
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He picks up the glass again and swirls the little bit of drink remaining. Verso praises his work with Maelle and Gustave feels his skin flush for reasons not alcohol-induced. It isn't embarrassment, not really. Gustave has never had the grace to accept compliments well, generally mumbling his thanks and shrugging a shoulder. His engineering accomplishments, while admittedly his own, have always been for the betterment of Lumiere and its residents. He shouldn't reap all the rewards when their lives are meant to be simpler and more fulfilling. Humility plays its role, yes, but so does the desire for a kind of anonymity. Too much attention feels terrible to him, like a lantern shined right in his face, blinding and disorienting.
It's similar with his relationship with Maelle and how others have commented on it in the past. She didn't open up to him at first, and she was even more hesitant with Emma, but she did eventually come to trust him. Not that this has ever felt like a competition to Gustave, like he was the one to win her over or keep her from running away from home every so often. Like he told Verso earlier tonight, he just listened to her and openly cared. There was never some huge secret he uncovered to being an older brother or teen-raising that no one before him missed.
Now, to hear the same appreciation from someone who should have a degree more familiarity with Maelle...]
No, I...I just care, that's all.
[Caring got him killed. Caring made her cry and scream and watch as he could do nothing but buy her moments he's still not sure would have mattered if Verso hadn't arrived just in time to save her.
Fuck. The glass trembles in his hand just enough to send ripples in the liquid. Gustave takes a breath, then finishes the drink in one gulp, setting the glass down on the table a little heavier than intended. Sorry.]
Thank you. For looking after her, when I...
[...Well. It doesn't need saying, really. Still, Gustave clears his throat and pushes on, still avoiding certain words, but gaining some of that courage he had sought before.]
When things got fucked. Though, I guess you don't need to be thanked when you did what I imagine was natural. It's still... Well, I'm glad. That you got to see Alicia in her.
[Gustave still sees the Maelle he knew in her, despite the white hair and the ever-present worry and the added maturity, but he misses the teenager who would call him old and needle him into friendly fights. People change. They grow up and find new focus. No one is ever they same person they were as a child.
But he still misses it. Maelle doesn't smile the same as she did. The lines around her mouth and eyes speak of years of life, but he doesn't see happiness etched within. But that's not surprising; everything changed for all of them, perhaps most of all for Maelle. Gustave breathes out and speaks softly.]
She's different, now. Obviously.
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