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.]
[As much as Verso appreciates Gustave finding some reason to laugh, he doesn't join in, if only because his little sister occupies so much of his heart that he's focused on holding back a different reaction. Drowning in his sadness, he thinks, as he watches Gustave consider the depths of his absinthe. The rebuttal doesn't surprise him, but the way Gustave submerges himself in what remains of his drink and the force with which he returns the glass to the table do take him somewhat aback.
Of course, that uncertainty doesn't last; of course, it all comes back to Gustave dying on that cliff. Verso ignores how the weight of his own absinthe almost seems to reassert itself in his hand, instead bearing the brunt of Gustave's gratitude absent distraction, letting the full force of guilt wash over him. As full as that force can be with his first glass of absinthe already having taken effect, anyway.
It's not lost on him how Gustave is better able to find his words this time around; neither does he go without noticing how he still speaks in abstracts. Another step towards talking about it, but not enough of one to convince Verso that the timing is right for him to press. So, he shifts his focus to what Gustave says about caring, thinking back to something Maelle had told him Gustave might have said, something about how if people cared more, the collective burden would be reduced.
When he had joined up with the remaining 33s, he had apologised for not saving Gustave. He isn't going to do the same thing now. Lying about his culpability had served a purpose with the others, earning him some of the trust he needed to remain by their sides. There's nothing to gain from making the same lie to Gustave. Besides, a new regret rises to the fore. Had he revealed himself sooner, maybe then Verso would have cared enough to not write Gustave off as another dead Expeditioner taken by the cruelties of the Continent. Maybe then he wouldn't have made Maelle into a living example of how one person's failure to care enough increases the load for others. Not that he's inclined to apologise for this, either. The conversation isn't about him and his guilt; it isn't creating space for him to get it off his chest. It's about Maelle.]
She looked after me more than the other way around. I remember us talking one night about condolences and she starts laughing. Completely out of nowhere. I mean, there I was, hiding in the darkest corner I could find, and she draws me out of it like it was nothing.
[At least until she started talking about Gustave and Verso found himself craving a better hiding spot in a darker corner, one where he wouldn't be found. That part, he's keeping to himself.]
After that, she gave me her armband and officially welcomed me to the, uh...
[Another shrug, another quirk of a smile.]
The Disaster Expedition.
[He thinks about playing the piano for her on the cliff, of smiling so big it grew out of his control, a feeling he hadn't experienced in decades. For those few precious moments, all his masks fell and he was simply Verso, his fingers loose and floating across the piano keys instead of clenched tight around the grip of a blade, blood and ink seeping through his gauntlets. He thinks about another time she sat beside him, too, her head such a heavy weight against his shoulder that he had to get up and move away. Immediately, she was different. Immediately. He can't imagine how much more disarming it was for Gustave to meet the new Maelle.
Maybe Gustave doesn't want the recognition. Verso still can't help but drive it home. If he's going to reach Alicia, he needs Gustave to find Maelle.]
And she said something that's stuck with me: That if more of us cared, things would be easier for everyone. I haven't been here long, but even I can see that Maelle's surrounded by people who care about her. But Alicia is... She's still voiceless. It'll take a lot of caring to help lift the burdens she's carrying. I'm going to need your help.
[He sighs softly and his tone shifts into something more wistful.]
I miss Maelle, too.
[Maybe he's wrong about that too and Gustave is speaking of something else when he comments on Maelle being different now, but he also knows well enough how it feels when people change. Julie from love to resentment. Renoir from a gentle father to a merciless killer. Aline from a mother to a captor. Maelle from a girl who saw him to a girl who saw her dead brother. And he knows there are parts of him that others miss as well, the ones that are buried behind memories and experiences that demand dominance even if he'd rather deny their place in his existence. It seems like a safe assumption. The worst thing he can be is wrong.]
[Gustave remembers the early days of his miraculous revivement, how, despite the smile on Lune's face and the strength in Sciel's hug and the palpable relief vibrating throughout Maelle entirely, he still felt just somewhat...off. Then, he had put it down to being released from Death's clutches, a new beginning that would take time to shrug off. And he has, for the most part. His friends and family made the transition as easy as they could, including him in get-togethers and city-wide efforts to not only restore Lumiere, but build it up beyond what it had been.
He has never felt neglected. And yet, sometimes, when the 33s gather amongst themselves, he can sense some careful considerations. Other times, Gustave catches Maelle watching him for a little longer than necessary, glancing away quickly when she notices.
Now, Verso shares a story. A story that happened after Gustave's time. A story about Maelle laughing with a different brother. An ugly feeling pricks at him for a moment, a feeling he won't acknowledge as jealousy. But going from one of the few surviving members of Expedition 33, a handful of comrades, to a man who feels as if he's on the outside looking in for so much of their reminiscing, leaves him just off-balance.
It's stupid. He's being stupid. Maelle loves him. Sciel and Lune still appreciate him. And Verso, while not originally part of their Expedition, only seems to care, if in a more reserved way. Why should Gustave be jealous? Isn't it better for Maelle, for Alicia, to have two brothers now? After all the years of being an orphan in Lumiere, being jostled from family to family from far too impressionable an age, after the suffering she's endured outside of this place that she feels it's necessary to escape her flesh and blood family, shouldn't she benefit from having multiple people support her? This isn't a competition. It's just life, and life has been so, so hard for decades, for lifetimes.
He breathes in, and exhales a little laugh, expelling his selfish, negative feelings out with that breath. Gone. Be gone.]
The Disaster Expedition. I haven't heard her call it that in years. Still sounds like her, though. She's funny like that.
[She had been. When she felt comfortable enough around Gustave, they could spend hours just existing together in the rooftop gardens, reading, or watching people mill about below, or doing their best to make the other laugh with increasingly cheesy jokes. That girl still lives inside the Maelle that saved the Canvas; Gustave can occasionally pull a chuckle from her when he springs a well-timed pun on her. It's just that, these days, she has the world on her shoulders and that tends to get in the way of the little joys she once found.
That little bit of Maelle wisdom Verso shares makes Gustave stop and think for a moment. If more of us cared... That sounds like her, too, if a little more melancholic. Maelle is a bright, bold presence, if also shuttered by a lack of confidence sometimes, but she has always been contemplative, too, and empathetic toward those who have lost too much. The way she used to volunteer to spend time with the city orphans or at least be an understanding presence as she helped guide them to the orphanage always struck Gustave as remarkably mature. It wasn't a necessary thing for her to do, and yet, if more of us cared. This Canvas world may be limited in scope, but the capacity for love holds no such boundaries.]
It's hard to follow our own advice, isn't it? She's right, though. Things would be easier if we all cared more. She just has to let us help, too.
[Accepting help. Admitting vulnerability. Setting aside pride or fear. Gustave leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. His next words come forth easily, without fear of recourse.]
I'd do anything for her.
[He already did, once.]
Maelle, Alicia. Whoever she is, whoever she needs to be. She's still family.
[No, it's complicated. Verso can't hold back a frown at the word family, but he does catch it quickly enough to shift it towards something more contemplative. The fact that Alicia isn't his family is the problem. It's been the problem ever since her memories came back to her, and it will remain the problem until she stakes her claim on a life that's not scaffolded by grief and make-believe.
Also a problem is the nagging understanding that he hasn't put half as much effort into the other Alicia, the one he will always claim as his real little sister. Time and again, she has watched him choose others over her. The mother who burned her. The Alicia who caused the fire that unjustly condemned them both. Himself. Verso wonders if she ever understood that in an ideal world – one where his life was not the epicentre of storm after storm of suffering – he would have put her first.
It's not that he doesn't care about the Alicia who still lives because he does, deeply. Rather, he can't help her by pretending what she's done to him isn't wrong; he can't leave her to the same denials and delusions that nearly destroyed their mother.
A large part of Verso wants to level with Gustave and admit these truths, reclaiming the voice that was taken from him even as he begged and pleaded to be heard. But a larger part knows what will happen if does. The simple thought of being perceived as her brother, her Verso, brings up so many painful things that he holds no faith in his ability to keep himself together once he starts putting his objections to it to words. Still, his thoughts try to convince him otherwise. Pretending is what got him into this situation; denying everyone else the right to understand has only made it impossible for him to succeed. For the first time tonight – and likely not the last – he regrets the absinthe for how it clouds and amplifies his thoughts in equal measure.
Leaning forward, Verso puts his glass on the table. Then, he leans all the way back, sinking against the couch with a heavy sigh. Getting people on the same page as him used to be the easy part. He supplied them with the least amount of information he could and they agreed to whatever plans he concocted. Now, it feels different. Not wrong, exactly, but discomforting. If he had taken Maelle aside and told her what she was doing to him, would she have given things a second thought? If he had tried to convince her to leave the Canvas rather than following along as if he'd already decided she wouldn't listen, would she have still made the decision to sacrifice herself?
This world has long suffered. For decades, that suffering owed to his mother's determination to keep his existence going. Now, though, he can't really blame Alicia. He had seen all the warning signs and he had ignored them until it was too late.
With another sigh to mask the fuck he utters, Verso lets his frown ring more honest.]
Then, there's more you should know. She tell you about the fire?
[Even if Verso had been a little slower on masking his initial frustration, the absinthe has made things just fuzzy enough in Gustave's head the longer it soaks into his body that he would still miss it. It doesn't help that his thoughts continue to dwell on Maelle. How can they not when she is the connection between himself and Verso? And when Verso says he needs his help to lift her burdens, that remains a priority.
Concern pinches his brow when Verso continues, though. Of course, there's more he should know. Despite having had all these years to play catchup with Maelle and everyone else, Gustave remains blind to certain knowledge. Just as his rocks never made it to the monolith, he always remained behind the others in their quest. And now, it's almost as if he's grasping for clues with his eyes closed.
Sighing in turn, however, Gustave puts these frustrations and doubts behind him. This isn't about him.]
She told me a little. Enough. It's obvious that it hurts her to talk about it, so I've never pried for more details, but...
[Gustave reaches for the upper portion of his left arm, idly rubbing along the flesh that can still feel sensation and soothing actions.]
I know she was injured in a house fire and...and her brother died saving her.
[A pause in his answer, eyes glancing up at Verso before he continues, because he really doesn't know how all of it affects the other man.]
Her brother. Verso.
[If Gustave found out one day that there were someone just like him in another world, living a separate existence, he has no idea how he'd feel. Strange, obviously. And then to learn that he was created in that other Gustave's image? Would he even feel like a person? Like he would have any defining qualities of his own?
Just the thought, self-centered as it is to put himself in a situation that isn't his, makes his heart begin to race with the hint of terror. Of panic. He stops moving his hand and squeezes his arm tightly, closing his eyes to focus on his breathing and get himself back to the present and his own reality. Fuck. Fuck.]
Her, uh...her family never really recovered. It's why everything...happened. Here.
[The facts themselves are familiar enough to Verso that he's built up a slight resistance to their telling. Which is to say that he doesn't really react at first, even as Gustave mentions his other self. And he could have maintained that even keel if it wasn't for Gustave's own reactions, that gripping of his arm, the closing of his eyes, the way his breath bears the slow and long markers of being controlled. These things happen, though, and so it goes that Verso crosses his arms over his chest, digging his fingers into his ribcage in a two-tiered attempt at an impossible comfort.
He wants to look away but doesn't. Instead, he tilts his head to the side, his shoulder following after it in a halved shrug.]
That's the gist of it, yeah. I'm not surprised she didn't tell you everything. It's... worse than you might expect.
[Breathe in, breathe out. He can do this. Verso sighs and stares forlornly at his absinthe, then continues.]
Out in her world, there's a conflict going on between Painters and Writers, and sometimes it got violent. Alicia really took to writing, though. Maman tried to get her to stop but, you know, she's stubborn. She didn't listen. The Writers gained her trust, she invited them inside, and they set fire to the manor.
[There are things Verso leaves out. Like how the original Verso had encouraged her to follow her heart and set her own course, and all the ways that he'd supported Alicia in her attempts to make friends. He had been near enough to save her because he'd heard her talking with someone and chose to give her privacy, lurking a few rooms away like a dutiful older brother. Sometimes, this Verso feels a surge of guilt over the other's naivete, like he's being haunted by his ghost. Shouldn't he have been more protective than personable? Shouldn't he have done more to keep her safe? Why didn't he at least check in? Verso wasn't the same as his mother. His relationship with Alicia was strong. She might not have seen it as an intrusion.
Such thoughts will get him nowhere, though, so he shakes them off and continues.]
Right in front of her. Guess they couldn't resist that final insult.
[A huff of a laugh, humorless though it is, rushes past his lips.]
Worse...
[Because losing a beloved sibling in a fire isn't already terrible enough? But Gustave bites back any other commentary, knowing it won't help anything. He's just reacting, emotional over a terrible fate suffered by someone he loves, but it won't change anything. No matter how much he cares.
So he listens, giving Verso the time to relay those awful details he doesn't fault Maelle for keeping close to her chest. Whatever this Painters and Writers conflict is doesn't really matter. Just another detail about that Europe he'll never see or experience. Another paragraph to be written in a history book some time later or a scene immortalized in a community mural. What matters is that Alicia trusted...with her only reward a biting betrayal.
He gives his arm another squeeze, a little too hard. Gustave blinks the pain away and drops his hand back to his leg.]
And her brother died to save her from it.
[He knows this broad stroke; it's one Gustave understands all too well. Not the fire part, of course. As painful as his own death had been, being burned alive sounds more horrific than anything he can imagine. To endure such heat and light, tongues of flame licking at him as if he's a feast for death... Not even having a hole blasted through his chest could compare. His lung, torn open and gasping for air, could at least find some way to breathe for a short while, but in a fire, when all breath would be greedily consumed by the flames...
And yet Gustave still understands the necessity. To protect, even if it's hopeless. Even if it means leaving one's family drenched in grief. Even if the protector's last moments consist only of suffering. He did it for Maelle. He would do it for Emma, or Sophie, or Henri, or any of his friends. Does that make Gustave a glutton for self-sacrifice? Maybe. It doesn't feel that way. Usually someone can only die once, so it's not as if he could have conducted experiments about it. Nor does he want to, now that his life has been returned to him.
[Gustave supplies the ending to the story and Verso reflexively purses his lips. It's a harmless comment. A reasonable one. But Verso has been existing in the Alicia space of those memories, and with that no longer being the case, his mind needs a moment to recalibrate. In the meantime, he halfheartedly offers:]
Yeah. That's... still the gist.
[From here, he could dive straight into explaining what happens to Alicia through a straightforward sequence of events. Get it all over with and rid himself of the burden of someone else's memories. Certainly, it would be the easiest course of action. He's not in the mood for easy, though, so instead, he focuses on Gustave's statement rather than his own follow-up. There's a connection there. Maelle's brother died to save her from Renoir. Brutally. And while Verso's guilt insists that he has no right to see the man before him as a kindred spirit, his heart thinks about how lonely it is to be resurrected from that kind of death. Nobody can relate. Nobody knows how to respond. It only takes a conversation or two before sharing starts to feel more like expanding the burden and imposing it on others than healing. If that's been Gustave's experience as well, then what would really be the most selfish course here?
Verso can't say he knows, only that his heart pleads a more compelling case. So, he delves deeper into the vault of memories and withdraws far more than he had originally intended to share. The absinthe renders everything somewhat hazy and distant, but he still can smell the smoke and the gasoline, still can feel the heat and the sweat and the aching breaths, still can't escape the sight of Alicia burning on the floor or the sounds rising from her destroyed throat. It hurts. It really fucking hurts. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and letting his hands dangle between his knees. It's a position he's well-familiar with. All the more easy to cast his gaze downwards, should the need arise.]
He got there just in time to hear something shatter and... see his sister go up in flames. By the time he put them out, it was like it was already too late.
[The need arises. He looks down at his hands. They had been the first to burn as Verso fought to smother the flames eating away at his little sister. He clenches them together into white-knuckled fists.]
He thought they put a mask on her until he... he went to touch it. Her eye... Nothing was going to save that eye. Or her throat. She couldn't talk and was struggling to breathe. Another fire blocked the door. Verso was covered in gasoline. He didn't know if he could get her out of there but he had to try, right? Even if he didn't think she was going to make it, he still... he had to try.
[And he did try, and he did succeed, and he did die horrifically in those flames, hoping beyond hope that Alicia remembered his last words to her – you're okay – and not the sound of his screaming.
Freed from the other Verso's memories, this one looks back up from his hands.]
So. That's the whole story. At least as far as Verso knows it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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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Of course, that uncertainty doesn't last; of course, it all comes back to Gustave dying on that cliff. Verso ignores how the weight of his own absinthe almost seems to reassert itself in his hand, instead bearing the brunt of Gustave's gratitude absent distraction, letting the full force of guilt wash over him. As full as that force can be with his first glass of absinthe already having taken effect, anyway.
It's not lost on him how Gustave is better able to find his words this time around; neither does he go without noticing how he still speaks in abstracts. Another step towards talking about it, but not enough of one to convince Verso that the timing is right for him to press. So, he shifts his focus to what Gustave says about caring, thinking back to something Maelle had told him Gustave might have said, something about how if people cared more, the collective burden would be reduced.
When he had joined up with the remaining 33s, he had apologised for not saving Gustave. He isn't going to do the same thing now. Lying about his culpability had served a purpose with the others, earning him some of the trust he needed to remain by their sides. There's nothing to gain from making the same lie to Gustave. Besides, a new regret rises to the fore. Had he revealed himself sooner, maybe then Verso would have cared enough to not write Gustave off as another dead Expeditioner taken by the cruelties of the Continent. Maybe then he wouldn't have made Maelle into a living example of how one person's failure to care enough increases the load for others. Not that he's inclined to apologise for this, either. The conversation isn't about him and his guilt; it isn't creating space for him to get it off his chest. It's about Maelle.]
She looked after me more than the other way around. I remember us talking one night about condolences and she starts laughing. Completely out of nowhere. I mean, there I was, hiding in the darkest corner I could find, and she draws me out of it like it was nothing.
[At least until she started talking about Gustave and Verso found himself craving a better hiding spot in a darker corner, one where he wouldn't be found. That part, he's keeping to himself.]
After that, she gave me her armband and officially welcomed me to the, uh...
[Another shrug, another quirk of a smile.]
The Disaster Expedition.
[He thinks about playing the piano for her on the cliff, of smiling so big it grew out of his control, a feeling he hadn't experienced in decades. For those few precious moments, all his masks fell and he was simply Verso, his fingers loose and floating across the piano keys instead of clenched tight around the grip of a blade, blood and ink seeping through his gauntlets. He thinks about another time she sat beside him, too, her head such a heavy weight against his shoulder that he had to get up and move away. Immediately, she was different. Immediately. He can't imagine how much more disarming it was for Gustave to meet the new Maelle.
Maybe Gustave doesn't want the recognition. Verso still can't help but drive it home. If he's going to reach Alicia, he needs Gustave to find Maelle.]
And she said something that's stuck with me: That if more of us cared, things would be easier for everyone. I haven't been here long, but even I can see that Maelle's surrounded by people who care about her. But Alicia is... She's still voiceless. It'll take a lot of caring to help lift the burdens she's carrying. I'm going to need your help.
[He sighs softly and his tone shifts into something more wistful.]
I miss Maelle, too.
[Maybe he's wrong about that too and Gustave is speaking of something else when he comments on Maelle being different now, but he also knows well enough how it feels when people change. Julie from love to resentment. Renoir from a gentle father to a merciless killer. Aline from a mother to a captor. Maelle from a girl who saw him to a girl who saw her dead brother. And he knows there are parts of him that others miss as well, the ones that are buried behind memories and experiences that demand dominance even if he'd rather deny their place in his existence. It seems like a safe assumption. The worst thing he can be is wrong.]
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He has never felt neglected. And yet, sometimes, when the 33s gather amongst themselves, he can sense some careful considerations. Other times, Gustave catches Maelle watching him for a little longer than necessary, glancing away quickly when she notices.
Now, Verso shares a story. A story that happened after Gustave's time. A story about Maelle laughing with a different brother. An ugly feeling pricks at him for a moment, a feeling he won't acknowledge as jealousy. But going from one of the few surviving members of Expedition 33, a handful of comrades, to a man who feels as if he's on the outside looking in for so much of their reminiscing, leaves him just off-balance.
It's stupid. He's being stupid. Maelle loves him. Sciel and Lune still appreciate him. And Verso, while not originally part of their Expedition, only seems to care, if in a more reserved way. Why should Gustave be jealous? Isn't it better for Maelle, for Alicia, to have two brothers now? After all the years of being an orphan in Lumiere, being jostled from family to family from far too impressionable an age, after the suffering she's endured outside of this place that she feels it's necessary to escape her flesh and blood family, shouldn't she benefit from having multiple people support her? This isn't a competition. It's just life, and life has been so, so hard for decades, for lifetimes.
He breathes in, and exhales a little laugh, expelling his selfish, negative feelings out with that breath. Gone. Be gone.]
The Disaster Expedition. I haven't heard her call it that in years. Still sounds like her, though. She's funny like that.
[She had been. When she felt comfortable enough around Gustave, they could spend hours just existing together in the rooftop gardens, reading, or watching people mill about below, or doing their best to make the other laugh with increasingly cheesy jokes. That girl still lives inside the Maelle that saved the Canvas; Gustave can occasionally pull a chuckle from her when he springs a well-timed pun on her. It's just that, these days, she has the world on her shoulders and that tends to get in the way of the little joys she once found.
That little bit of Maelle wisdom Verso shares makes Gustave stop and think for a moment. If more of us cared... That sounds like her, too, if a little more melancholic. Maelle is a bright, bold presence, if also shuttered by a lack of confidence sometimes, but she has always been contemplative, too, and empathetic toward those who have lost too much. The way she used to volunteer to spend time with the city orphans or at least be an understanding presence as she helped guide them to the orphanage always struck Gustave as remarkably mature. It wasn't a necessary thing for her to do, and yet, if more of us cared. This Canvas world may be limited in scope, but the capacity for love holds no such boundaries.]
It's hard to follow our own advice, isn't it? She's right, though. Things would be easier if we all cared more. She just has to let us help, too.
[Accepting help. Admitting vulnerability. Setting aside pride or fear. Gustave leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. His next words come forth easily, without fear of recourse.]
I'd do anything for her.
[He already did, once.]
Maelle, Alicia. Whoever she is, whoever she needs to be. She's still family.
[Simple, right?]
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Also a problem is the nagging understanding that he hasn't put half as much effort into the other Alicia, the one he will always claim as his real little sister. Time and again, she has watched him choose others over her. The mother who burned her. The Alicia who caused the fire that unjustly condemned them both. Himself. Verso wonders if she ever understood that in an ideal world – one where his life was not the epicentre of storm after storm of suffering – he would have put her first.
It's not that he doesn't care about the Alicia who still lives because he does, deeply. Rather, he can't help her by pretending what she's done to him isn't wrong; he can't leave her to the same denials and delusions that nearly destroyed their mother.
A large part of Verso wants to level with Gustave and admit these truths, reclaiming the voice that was taken from him even as he begged and pleaded to be heard. But a larger part knows what will happen if does. The simple thought of being perceived as her brother, her Verso, brings up so many painful things that he holds no faith in his ability to keep himself together once he starts putting his objections to it to words. Still, his thoughts try to convince him otherwise. Pretending is what got him into this situation; denying everyone else the right to understand has only made it impossible for him to succeed. For the first time tonight – and likely not the last – he regrets the absinthe for how it clouds and amplifies his thoughts in equal measure.
Leaning forward, Verso puts his glass on the table. Then, he leans all the way back, sinking against the couch with a heavy sigh. Getting people on the same page as him used to be the easy part. He supplied them with the least amount of information he could and they agreed to whatever plans he concocted. Now, it feels different. Not wrong, exactly, but discomforting. If he had taken Maelle aside and told her what she was doing to him, would she have given things a second thought? If he had tried to convince her to leave the Canvas rather than following along as if he'd already decided she wouldn't listen, would she have still made the decision to sacrifice herself?
This world has long suffered. For decades, that suffering owed to his mother's determination to keep his existence going. Now, though, he can't really blame Alicia. He had seen all the warning signs and he had ignored them until it was too late.
With another sigh to mask the fuck he utters, Verso lets his frown ring more honest.]
Then, there's more you should know. She tell you about the fire?
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Concern pinches his brow when Verso continues, though. Of course, there's more he should know. Despite having had all these years to play catchup with Maelle and everyone else, Gustave remains blind to certain knowledge. Just as his rocks never made it to the monolith, he always remained behind the others in their quest. And now, it's almost as if he's grasping for clues with his eyes closed.
Sighing in turn, however, Gustave puts these frustrations and doubts behind him. This isn't about him.]
She told me a little. Enough. It's obvious that it hurts her to talk about it, so I've never pried for more details, but...
[Gustave reaches for the upper portion of his left arm, idly rubbing along the flesh that can still feel sensation and soothing actions.]
I know she was injured in a house fire and...and her brother died saving her.
[A pause in his answer, eyes glancing up at Verso before he continues, because he really doesn't know how all of it affects the other man.]
Her brother. Verso.
[If Gustave found out one day that there were someone just like him in another world, living a separate existence, he has no idea how he'd feel. Strange, obviously. And then to learn that he was created in that other Gustave's image? Would he even feel like a person? Like he would have any defining qualities of his own?
Just the thought, self-centered as it is to put himself in a situation that isn't his, makes his heart begin to race with the hint of terror. Of panic. He stops moving his hand and squeezes his arm tightly, closing his eyes to focus on his breathing and get himself back to the present and his own reality. Fuck. Fuck.]
Her, uh...her family never really recovered. It's why everything...happened. Here.
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He wants to look away but doesn't. Instead, he tilts his head to the side, his shoulder following after it in a halved shrug.]
That's the gist of it, yeah. I'm not surprised she didn't tell you everything. It's... worse than you might expect.
[Breathe in, breathe out. He can do this. Verso sighs and stares forlornly at his absinthe, then continues.]
Out in her world, there's a conflict going on between Painters and Writers, and sometimes it got violent. Alicia really took to writing, though. Maman tried to get her to stop but, you know, she's stubborn. She didn't listen. The Writers gained her trust, she invited them inside, and they set fire to the manor.
[There are things Verso leaves out. Like how the original Verso had encouraged her to follow her heart and set her own course, and all the ways that he'd supported Alicia in her attempts to make friends. He had been near enough to save her because he'd heard her talking with someone and chose to give her privacy, lurking a few rooms away like a dutiful older brother. Sometimes, this Verso feels a surge of guilt over the other's naivete, like he's being haunted by his ghost. Shouldn't he have been more protective than personable? Shouldn't he have done more to keep her safe? Why didn't he at least check in? Verso wasn't the same as his mother. His relationship with Alicia was strong. She might not have seen it as an intrusion.
Such thoughts will get him nowhere, though, so he shakes them off and continues.]
Right in front of her. Guess they couldn't resist that final insult.
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Worse...
[Because losing a beloved sibling in a fire isn't already terrible enough? But Gustave bites back any other commentary, knowing it won't help anything. He's just reacting, emotional over a terrible fate suffered by someone he loves, but it won't change anything. No matter how much he cares.
So he listens, giving Verso the time to relay those awful details he doesn't fault Maelle for keeping close to her chest. Whatever this Painters and Writers conflict is doesn't really matter. Just another detail about that Europe he'll never see or experience. Another paragraph to be written in a history book some time later or a scene immortalized in a community mural. What matters is that Alicia trusted...with her only reward a biting betrayal.
He gives his arm another squeeze, a little too hard. Gustave blinks the pain away and drops his hand back to his leg.]
And her brother died to save her from it.
[He knows this broad stroke; it's one Gustave understands all too well. Not the fire part, of course. As painful as his own death had been, being burned alive sounds more horrific than anything he can imagine. To endure such heat and light, tongues of flame licking at him as if he's a feast for death... Not even having a hole blasted through his chest could compare. His lung, torn open and gasping for air, could at least find some way to breathe for a short while, but in a fire, when all breath would be greedily consumed by the flames...
And yet Gustave still understands the necessity. To protect, even if it's hopeless. Even if it means leaving one's family drenched in grief. Even if the protector's last moments consist only of suffering. He did it for Maelle. He would do it for Emma, or Sophie, or Henri, or any of his friends. Does that make Gustave a glutton for self-sacrifice? Maybe. It doesn't feel that way. Usually someone can only die once, so it's not as if he could have conducted experiments about it. Nor does he want to, now that his life has been returned to him.
He imagines Verso didn't want to, either.]
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Yeah. That's... still the gist.
[From here, he could dive straight into explaining what happens to Alicia through a straightforward sequence of events. Get it all over with and rid himself of the burden of someone else's memories. Certainly, it would be the easiest course of action. He's not in the mood for easy, though, so instead, he focuses on Gustave's statement rather than his own follow-up. There's a connection there. Maelle's brother died to save her from Renoir. Brutally. And while Verso's guilt insists that he has no right to see the man before him as a kindred spirit, his heart thinks about how lonely it is to be resurrected from that kind of death. Nobody can relate. Nobody knows how to respond. It only takes a conversation or two before sharing starts to feel more like expanding the burden and imposing it on others than healing. If that's been Gustave's experience as well, then what would really be the most selfish course here?
Verso can't say he knows, only that his heart pleads a more compelling case. So, he delves deeper into the vault of memories and withdraws far more than he had originally intended to share. The absinthe renders everything somewhat hazy and distant, but he still can smell the smoke and the gasoline, still can feel the heat and the sweat and the aching breaths, still can't escape the sight of Alicia burning on the floor or the sounds rising from her destroyed throat. It hurts. It really fucking hurts. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and letting his hands dangle between his knees. It's a position he's well-familiar with. All the more easy to cast his gaze downwards, should the need arise.]
He got there just in time to hear something shatter and... see his sister go up in flames. By the time he put them out, it was like it was already too late.
[The need arises. He looks down at his hands. They had been the first to burn as Verso fought to smother the flames eating away at his little sister. He clenches them together into white-knuckled fists.]
He thought they put a mask on her until he... he went to touch it. Her eye... Nothing was going to save that eye. Or her throat. She couldn't talk and was struggling to breathe. Another fire blocked the door. Verso was covered in gasoline. He didn't know if he could get her out of there but he had to try, right? Even if he didn't think she was going to make it, he still... he had to try.
[And he did try, and he did succeed, and he did die horrifically in those flames, hoping beyond hope that Alicia remembered his last words to her – you're okay – and not the sound of his screaming.
Freed from the other Verso's memories, this one looks back up from his hands.]
So. That's the whole story. At least as far as Verso knows it.
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