Well, there's a difference between seeking out trouble and taking care of it if it seeks you out, but sometimes the end result still falls in our favor -
[But Gustave notices the amused tilt of Verso's lips just a little too late into his explanation, realizing that he's being teased. It isn't the first time he's been baited into an answer and it probably won't be the last. He can pick up on others' emotions well enough, Gustave thinks, and yet this keeps happening. He just easily gets ahead of himself. Too easily, sometimes.
He fixes Verso with a mildly exasperated look, but huffs out a little laugh and gives a shake of his head.]
Yeah, yeah. Okay.
[Glancing back at the table, he notices the pastry he had abandoned earlier and leans forward to take it in his hands, tearing off a little bite. It's cooled down considerably since the conversation has started - and gone to some dark places - but the sweetness remains, bursting on his tongue afresh. It's a far cry from their talk of being eaten by Nevrons; Gustave takes a moment to let the chocolate filling overwhelm his tastebuds and push down any unpleasant memories from years past.
It also gives him a moment to consider what Verso reveals about one of the other Painters, though Gustave isn't sure who he means. Though he seems as if he knows her, so it must not be a random Painter. Perhaps Alicia's sister?]
Hm. Now that you mention it, I do remember most Nevrons being bipedal. What that says about anything, I'm not quite sure, though. I'm not great with metaphors.
[It isn't that Gustave doesn't understand the concept, but seeing past the surface level takes some real focus for him. It's a flaw of his, sure, but something he's accepted. Where Sophie might have sympathized with the Paintress once all those years ago, Gustave never saw past the entity who stole everyone's future. Where Lune could embrace her curiosity and desire to learn more about the Nevrons, Gustave always braced for the inevitable attack, or took the opportunity to strike if given. He doesn't like this about himself, but despite his idealism, Gustave knows that pragmatism is what keeps people alive.
He tears off another bit of pastry and looks at Verso again, taking in the pride on his features.]
So you finally got payback?
[He can't say he'd be any different. There's a certain satisfaction in overcoming a difficult problem, to put it lightly.
Talk of his arm, however, being anything but useful earns Verso another soft chuckle.]
[Once Verso realises that Gustave has taken him literally, he dons a mask of seriousness knocked playfully askew while he accepts this lecture on the differing validities of Nevron slaying. And when finally Gustave catches on and laughs, Verso laughs, too, raising his hands as if to say, guilty, as charged.
His own pastry sits off to the side barely bitten, but he can't really bring himself to take another bite. The first one still feels like a rock in his stomach, heavy with the weight of forced normalcy. Following the ebbs and flows of the conversation – a good one despite its rocky waters – feels like a better kind of real, anyway, the type that he can actually lose and then find himself within. At least with the absinthe's help, anyway; that he does reach for, taking a sip that's more conservative than the others he's had tonight then returning the glass to the table, focusing on the burn in his throat rather than on those of the explanation he's about to provide.]
It says that the Nevrons are the monsters we already know.
[He thinks of Pelerin and how his top hat always reminded him of the real Renoir from the real Verso's memories, and he thinks of the doglike Stalact and the fear it managed to strike in the otherwise fearless Monoco. Verso had hated Serpenphare but he hadn't feared him in quite the same way as the Nevrons who wore pants and cloaks and had eyes he could look into like mirrors.]
Because what their creators are doing, it's monstrous and they understand that. Especially Clea, I think. What's happened here, oh, it pisses her off. This Canvas is... well, she helped create it so she has more right to it than anyone else. Francois is one of hers, if you met him. And there's another one out there whose sole purpose is to preserve beauty. Those are the kinds of creatures she gave life to before everything went to hell.
[Verso keeps the details on Goblu sparse. While he had been keeping a reasonable distance from the 33s, he was still close enough to have witnessed what happened when Gustave picked that flower and Goblu took violent offense. He's sure that Gustave could put those pieces together if he really cared to try, but he doesn't see any reason to force that connection.]
I met her a few times. She started off trying to kill me, so not the best first impression, but she came by later wanting to recruit me, if you'll believe it. I refused and didn't see her again until she asked me to keep an eye on Alicia. Maelle. We didn't talk much, you know? Just enough to give me the feeling that she was more upset by what her father was doing than... what Maman had done.
[Form over function, though. Verso's thoughts travel back to Clea and the creation of this Canvas. While he has no memories of it, he does have what he's gleaned from his encounters with both the real and the faded Cleas, along with with what Esquie has told him over the years and what the real Verso's memories reveal about his approach to life. So, he adds:]
I guess you could say that Verso gave this place form and Clea gave it function.
[It's not that black and white, of course, but Verso doesn't feel like he has to clarify that. Humans are almost always gray. With all that out of the way, he circles back to Serpenphare]
And oh yeah, I got payback. Thanks to the 33s and your Lumina Converter.
[Gustave doesn't expect Verso to explain the metaphors, instead already having decided that it was a moot point. But he does and Gustave fingers slow in their tearing of the pastry as he listens, trying to take it all in and make sense of it.
The monsters we already know. Thinking back on the few types of Nevrons he encountered, Gustave can't say he could connect them to anything in his life before the Continent. They all were just exotic enough in their appearance and so many degrees separate from humans that it was easy to label them as dangerous or enemies. Even if most stood on two legs and clutched weapons with two arms, they weren't like him.
They were monsters. The creatures on the beach with their huge hands that covered what should have been a face, but instead revealed a terror of light. Those same oversized hands that called forth hideous attacks or simply swiped his fellow Expeditioners away. What are they supposed to represent aside from impartial destruction? Though, Gustave thinks, for him, they only inflict fear. Fear and his damned failure by freezing up when he should have made some effort to fight back. So many people died that night. Lucien died for him...
No. No, he can't let that guilt consume him again, not right now. Clea. He lets the name settle in his mind, vaguely familiar after discussions with Maelle, mostly, though she doesn't mention her sister very much, or the rest of her family, really, except for Verso. This Verso. But that's who Clea is. Alicia's sister. He remembers.
From what else Verso shares about Clea, though, Gustave tries to form a better understanding of the woman. A co-creator of this world who also created the very monsters that attack its inhabitants. Isn't that a contradiction? Or did she create the Nevrons because the Lumierans were the Paintress' creations and she wanted to protect the Canvas, as well as remove her mother? It probably isn't something so easily summed up, but then people hardly ever are.]
I did meet Francois. He was surprisingly formidable.
[Considering he's a rock. Turtle. Rock turtle. And if he was created when things were still peaceful in the Canvas...]
Do you know if he's a reflection of what Clea is like? Because she sounds...
[Unpredictable? Dangerous? Angry? None of these descriptors are what Gustave wants to say aloud to a man who is her brother, of sorts. Verso probably holds affection for her, even if she did try to kill him at first. Gustave is sure he would still love Emma if their situations were similar.]
She sounds complicated. But who isn't, right? We've all got something going on in our lives, even on good days.
[Verso rounds up the Serpenphare anecdote with an an acknowledgment that fills Gustave with warmth. He smiles despite himself, ducking his head a little.]
I'm glad the Converter helped. And the others, of course. That was the whole point of it, but...you know, it's...it's nice to hear. To know.
[That his contribution truly did help after he was gone. For those who come after, indeed.
With some appetite returned to him, Gustave pulls off another piece of the pastry, thinking over Verso's words some more. Specifically how Clea asked him to keep an eye on Maelle. She mentioned once how Verso saved her from the beach, a fact that Gustave is simultaneously grateful for, but which also hurt to know. Could he have saved any of the others? Of course, Maelle would have been most important to him, but...but what if? Even if Maelle has brought everyone back, what if one more person could have been spared the terror and the pain of death?
Stop. Dwelling on this won't help, either. What's done is done. He saved Maelle when Gustave couldn't. That should be appreciated. Gustave takes another, smaller bite, but then tilts his head as he thinks. Verso took her away from the beach. They found Maelle in the Manor.]
Hey. If you were watching over Maelle, then that means... It was you who left the message at the Indigo Tree, right?
[This is probably fairly obvious, but every solved mystery, no matter how small, still feels like a victory.]
[Francois is practically a stranger to Verso. He's only ever known the grumpy, cranky side of him, never the one that Esquie talked about, sometimes, who sang and laughed and played, and whose whee once outshone his whoo. The other Verso's memories of Clea help him form a clearer picture of her as someone headstrong yet obliging, brilliant in ways that seemed at once effortless and burdensome. Who she was in the Canvas when she was free from her parents' expectations and literally had the whole world at her disposal, though? He hasn't a clue.
So, he purses his lips and thinks for a moment about how to answer Gustave's question. This becomes a much easier prospect when he starts making comparisons between his other self and Esquie and all the things the latter has told him about the former. His mouth loosens, then softens into a smile.]
Apparently, Francois used to be a lot different, you know, happier, more adventurous. He just misses Clea.
[And she misses Verso, but that's a blank he doesn't feel the need to fill in. Besides, it hurts to think about, never mind to speak aloud.]
I couldn't tell you what he's meant to be a reflection of, but if he's anything like Esquie, then he was exactly what she needed.
[Until she didn't anymore, he supposes. It's hard not to ache for him, hard not to feel a bit guilty for how often he'd written him off as an ornery rock turtle who just wanted to be left the fuck alone when that was the last thing he ever wanted. The next sip Verso takes of his drink is for Francois, and he holds it up in the general direction of Esquie's Nest to salute him before placing the glass back down on the table.
Everything that Verso can come up with in response to Gustave's gladness about the Lumina Converter feels like the wrong thing to say. It's all bragging, really, and he feels like there's a fine line between building up the value of Gustave's accomplishments and reminding him of how much he had missed out on after his passing. And that line is much easier to cross once he starts getting into the specifics of their most exciting battles, their strongest efforts, their more masterful uses of Gustave's invention.
Of course, then Gustave goes and switches focus to what he's picked up on instead and Verso finds himself at a different kind of loss. It's a natural question following a natural progression, given how he'd just mentioned watching after Maelle. Yet he's not prepared for its asking, and so some of his thoughts do scramble in concern over where Gustave might be taking this. He thinks that millennia could pass and he'd still feel antsy about being betrayed the way Julie had done all those years ago. But that's silly. He hasn't been telling the same kind of lies. It's fine. With a half smile and a hidden apprehension, he answers.]
Yeah, it was.
[There are many things he could say. There is much he could apologise for. But instead, he waits to see which direction – if any – Gustave guides things towards.]
[This shines a sudden light on Francois' grumpiness and Gustave suddenly regrets simply thinking of him as only a rock. When there were so many wondrous sights on the Continent, why shouldn't one being such as Esquie's neighbor have his own complex feelings and an actual history? And if he misses Clea, then Clea must not visit often, or for reasons aside from business. Gustave tries to imagine if Maelle were to leave one day and never come back despite how much she obviously cares for him. Would he, too, eventually grow bitter and angry and lonely?
But maybe Clea doesn't visit because she misses her brother and immersing herself in an entire world that he created would be too much. That's a valid response, too, he thinks. Why should she torture herself unnecessarily? It's just that, at the end of the day, it seems someone will always hurt.
He watches Verso drink and lift his glass, assumedly toward where Francois still resides across the sea. Because surely he hasn't actually moved, despite his threat to the contrary. Since he has no drink left, Gustave instead bows his head in his own moment of recognition, however late it is.]
No one deserves to be left behind.
[Or forgotten. Or unloved. Or whatever the case may be between creator and creation. And yet, even as Gustave softly speaks, he knows it's a futile statement. Just because some things shouldn't be doesn't mean the world listens. Sometimes, far more often than not, fairness doesn't get its time in the sun.
And then, another thought pops up with a sense of relief. Maybe it's better in the long run if Clea doesn't visit again. He can't imagine her presence would be harmless, not if her visits according to Verso are anything to go by. Maybe it's better to let some things be.
Thoughts of Clea and poor, unfortunate Francois are easily swept aside when Verso confirms Gustave's theory. There's a fleeting surge of pettiness that rises up within, a nasty feeling, when he thinks that he was right to have believed that message and not worry about it being a trap like Lune had. He breathes in and squashes it down, though. They had both been acting on limited information back then, as well as heightened emotions. Every decision presented to them had been rife with cons.
He breathes out, and allows the warmth of gratitude to bloom in that space instead. Raising his head, Gustave offers a small, but still genuine smile.]
Thank you.
[Then, a little laugh as he shakes his head.]
Who knows how long Lune and I would have stayed there without any other communication. I dunno, I probably would have still set out on my own and either gotten hopelessly lost or -
[Or killed, but he doesn't need to spell it out. He doesn't want to spell it out, not when that fate still found him in the end. A few moments pass with Gustave looking back down at the rather destroyed remnant of pastry in his hand and finally sets it back on the napkin.]
[Idly, when Gustave cuts himself off once again, Verso wonders what the tally is of times he's toed that line only to pull himself back. Not that he blames him, of course, only that the more it happens the more concerned he grows. There are things one keeps inside oneself that nest therein, comforted by the thought of never seeing the light of day. And then there are those that are corrosive no matter whether they're held in or released into open ears, rising and falling and rising and falling, leaving little real room for relief. There's little doubt in his mind which one of those Gustave's death favours.
That still isn't the point of the conversation, but it is getting a bit harder to ignore each time it comes up, especially in the silence that follows. A silence that Verso maintains a little while longer, even after Gustave finds the rest of his words, his own delay owing to him trying to figure out what, exactly, to say.
An apology rests on his tongue, one that he has full intention of speaking, but giving it context requires more thought. Once, coming up with a deft deception would have been easy for him; these days, however, it's growing harder and harder to see the point in hiding himself away. He looks down at his own hands and thinks about all the things he'd tried to accomplish, both when he still believed in his own nobility and after, and all those he'd failed to bring about. Look what lying has earned you in the end, he thinks. Look how it's only caused everyone around you to suffer.
So, honesty it is, then.]
Still, I wish I'd done more. I'm sorry I didn't. Wasn't sure how welcomed I'd be after what happened on the beach, so I figured I'd keep an eye on you instead, make sure you got to the manor all right since I knew Maelle was safe with her father. But, you know, hindsight, right?
[Gustave's brows knit together as he looks back at Verso. He hadn't really expected any kind of reaction, but especially not an apology. The early days on the Continent were difficult, to be sure, but after that message giving them - or at least Gustave - a metaphorical kick in the pants to go somewhere, they made good progress. Meeting Noco told them how to get to the Gestral Village and Golgra. Golgra directed them toward Esquie's Nest for his help. Francois, of all people - of all creatures - put the Stone Wave Cliffs as their next objective. They all managed to keep moving, to keep getting just a little bit closer to the Monolith and the Paintress.
Would it have been nice to have had a guide, someone who knew the world perhaps even better than the Gestrals or Esquie, to get them to their goal? Of course. Maybe they wouldn't have wasted so much time wandering the Ancient Sanctuary trying to find the Gestral Village. But they still found their way.
Gustave's expression softens.]
You did enough. We were able to continue, thanks to you.
[Though, Verso's other point earns him an acquiescent hum and tilt of the head.]
I want to believe that I would have given you a chance had you come to us then, but...
[He can be honest, too. Gustave doesn't always live up to his own expectations or ideals of others, or himself. He lifts a shoulder in a little shrug and laughs softly.]
But I probably would have been pretty wary of you. Defensive. One unknown Expeditioner had already proven himself a threat, who was to say he acted alone, right?
[That's just good logic, and reasonable expectation. That constant sense of danger really put a damper on the beauty of the world, though, and Gustave's own curiosity. Add that to his list of regrets from his former life. But, like Verso said, hindsight.]
Yeah. It's hard to wrestle with it. And far too easy to get bogged down by thinking of what you could have done instead. I don't know if it helps, but I try to remind myself that, at the time, I did what I thought was best. I didn't have all the information, so I acted on what I did have and what I could see as potential outcomes. It's...sometimes it's an act of forgiving yourself. And that's hard, too, but... Well, that's another subject.
[The words Gustave uses in affirmation are too similar to the ones Verso had clung to on the Stone Wave Cliffs as he watched Gustave's desperate struggle to survive; they land like a barrage of bullets to the chest, accelerating his heartbeat and shortening his breath. All the guilt he'd been trying to hold back in his earlier apology bleeds through, and he can only think, at first, how shitty it is of him to be sitting here with the man who's borne the worst of the consequences of his distancing, wallowing in a regret that he doesn't deserve comfort for yet that he's being advised on how to forgive himself over all the same.
Stop it, he wants to say. You don't know what I've done. To say so would be even more selfish than to say nothing, though, for how it's driven more by Verso's desire to assuage his guilt than by a genuine belief that it's for the best. And though there is an oppressive itch in his mind pointing out that this silence draws from the same motivations and justifications he regrets claiming, it feels different. This isn't a lie to armour himself against his own actions or control the narrative, it's one to protect Gustave from a hurt he doesn't need to experience. Telling him would accomplish nothing.
Resolving that is easier than pulling himself together, but he finds some promise in focusing on the generalities of what Gustave is saying, the easy relatability of choice and forgiveness and regret. All he has to do is agree, right? Toss in some thoughts of his own?]
Yeah.
[It is such a small, light lie, one word, one syllable, one intent, yet it has weight enough that his voice breaks under the pressure of its speaking and no more words follow. He's sorry. He's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry. But he doesn't expect forgiveness, doesn't want it, doesn't deserve it from anyone, least of all Gustave. Which should make it easy for him to pull himself together as he always does when his emotions feel like impositions, but he is tired, so fucking tired, and he's had too much to drink, and the contrast of how relaxed he'd felt moments ago to how sick he feels now makes everything feel a little more futile, and it all dominates the space around and inside of him. Verso can't find anything to grasp onto in order to pull himself out of this.
So, he lets out a self-admonishing laugh as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs and his head in his hands, and he wills himself to offer another apology he doesn't deserve to make.]
Sorry, I... It's been a long day.
[A long life, really. Much too long of one. He really is exhausted. Still, he lifts his head and offers a slight, apologetic smile.]
[Maybe Gustave got a little carried away there, offering more advice than is necessary. Verso is a grown man, after all, but he puts it down to simple habit. When he and Emma had taken Maelle in, he assumed his role once more of older brother, being her guide in a world that had been anything but stable and consistent. Maelle wasn't...a difficult child, not in Gustave's opinion, but rather unmoored. Adrift. Afraid, too, of latching onto anyone else by the time she came into his life. He just needed patience and understanding, and that willingness to try when it seemed everyone else had given up on her.
And more recently, with Henri, though Gustave still isn't sure he knows how to be a father, he's fallen back into the role of mentor. Raising his son has been different from raising Maelle, of course, since he's known Henri since he was born, but a part of it has been made easier because of his time fostering. Though his life may not be the richest or full of countless experiences, he still finds he can draw from enough to help and relate.
Again, Verso probably doesn't need it. He's lived far longer than Gustave ever has, maybe more than he ever will, and lived through far more. His answering affirmation doesn't surprise Gustave, either; this is probably nothing groundbreaking for him.
Except his voice breaks. Gustave leans forward slightly, as if that change in posture will help in any way. Something inside his chest aches for the man despite not knowing why. All Gustave really suspects is they're not speaking of the same thing anymore. Why would Verso feel so terribly over not meeting the 33s face-to-face earlier than he had? Things had turned out okay until Renoir caught up to them again.
There's no way he'll know without bluntly asking and with the new apology given, as well as that clear sendoff, Gustave doesn't dare pry further. Besides, Verso is right, and has clearly reached the end of his social rope. If that isn't Gustave's cue, then he doesn't know what is.]
Right. Yeah. It's late, isn't it? Soph'll think I fell into a hole somewhere.
[He pushes himself to his feet, a little too quickly judging by how his head swims for a moment from the alcohol still marinating in his system, and takes a moment to collect himself. Looking down at Verso, he wants to stay, regardless. Offer a silent presence while the other man works through whatever's going on in his head. He's done it for Maelle and Sciel before, and Sophie, too, but the difference here is that Verso isn't his friend. Even if he's been invited into this apartment, it was more of a social call. And that dismissal, however incompletely given, is final enough.]
Thanks, though. For the drink and the pastry. And the time. It's been...
[Well, nice doesn't feel quite right, but there are worse ways either of them could spend their night, he's sure.]
It's been good.
[That seems a decent compromise. He pats his thighs and takes a few steps toward the door, but turns back.]
I'll let you get some rest. We both probably need it. But, um...I hope to see you around. Have another drink or something, or... Yeah.
[Another moment of hesitation, but then Gustave nods to himself and sees himself out.]
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[But Gustave notices the amused tilt of Verso's lips just a little too late into his explanation, realizing that he's being teased. It isn't the first time he's been baited into an answer and it probably won't be the last. He can pick up on others' emotions well enough, Gustave thinks, and yet this keeps happening. He just easily gets ahead of himself. Too easily, sometimes.
He fixes Verso with a mildly exasperated look, but huffs out a little laugh and gives a shake of his head.]
Yeah, yeah. Okay.
[Glancing back at the table, he notices the pastry he had abandoned earlier and leans forward to take it in his hands, tearing off a little bite. It's cooled down considerably since the conversation has started - and gone to some dark places - but the sweetness remains, bursting on his tongue afresh. It's a far cry from their talk of being eaten by Nevrons; Gustave takes a moment to let the chocolate filling overwhelm his tastebuds and push down any unpleasant memories from years past.
It also gives him a moment to consider what Verso reveals about one of the other Painters, though Gustave isn't sure who he means. Though he seems as if he knows her, so it must not be a random Painter. Perhaps Alicia's sister?]
Hm. Now that you mention it, I do remember most Nevrons being bipedal. What that says about anything, I'm not quite sure, though. I'm not great with metaphors.
[It isn't that Gustave doesn't understand the concept, but seeing past the surface level takes some real focus for him. It's a flaw of his, sure, but something he's accepted. Where Sophie might have sympathized with the Paintress once all those years ago, Gustave never saw past the entity who stole everyone's future. Where Lune could embrace her curiosity and desire to learn more about the Nevrons, Gustave always braced for the inevitable attack, or took the opportunity to strike if given. He doesn't like this about himself, but despite his idealism, Gustave knows that pragmatism is what keeps people alive.
He tears off another bit of pastry and looks at Verso again, taking in the pride on his features.]
So you finally got payback?
[He can't say he'd be any different. There's a certain satisfaction in overcoming a difficult problem, to put it lightly.
Talk of his arm, however, being anything but useful earns Verso another soft chuckle.]
Oh, I see. You're a form over function man.
[Makes sense for an artist, really.]
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His own pastry sits off to the side barely bitten, but he can't really bring himself to take another bite. The first one still feels like a rock in his stomach, heavy with the weight of forced normalcy. Following the ebbs and flows of the conversation – a good one despite its rocky waters – feels like a better kind of real, anyway, the type that he can actually lose and then find himself within. At least with the absinthe's help, anyway; that he does reach for, taking a sip that's more conservative than the others he's had tonight then returning the glass to the table, focusing on the burn in his throat rather than on those of the explanation he's about to provide.]
It says that the Nevrons are the monsters we already know.
[He thinks of Pelerin and how his top hat always reminded him of the real Renoir from the real Verso's memories, and he thinks of the doglike Stalact and the fear it managed to strike in the otherwise fearless Monoco. Verso had hated Serpenphare but he hadn't feared him in quite the same way as the Nevrons who wore pants and cloaks and had eyes he could look into like mirrors.]
Because what their creators are doing, it's monstrous and they understand that. Especially Clea, I think. What's happened here, oh, it pisses her off. This Canvas is... well, she helped create it so she has more right to it than anyone else. Francois is one of hers, if you met him. And there's another one out there whose sole purpose is to preserve beauty. Those are the kinds of creatures she gave life to before everything went to hell.
[Verso keeps the details on Goblu sparse. While he had been keeping a reasonable distance from the 33s, he was still close enough to have witnessed what happened when Gustave picked that flower and Goblu took violent offense. He's sure that Gustave could put those pieces together if he really cared to try, but he doesn't see any reason to force that connection.]
I met her a few times. She started off trying to kill me, so not the best first impression, but she came by later wanting to recruit me, if you'll believe it. I refused and didn't see her again until she asked me to keep an eye on Alicia. Maelle. We didn't talk much, you know? Just enough to give me the feeling that she was more upset by what her father was doing than... what Maman had done.
[Form over function, though. Verso's thoughts travel back to Clea and the creation of this Canvas. While he has no memories of it, he does have what he's gleaned from his encounters with both the real and the faded Cleas, along with with what Esquie has told him over the years and what the real Verso's memories reveal about his approach to life. So, he adds:]
I guess you could say that Verso gave this place form and Clea gave it function.
[It's not that black and white, of course, but Verso doesn't feel like he has to clarify that. Humans are almost always gray. With all that out of the way, he circles back to Serpenphare]
And oh yeah, I got payback. Thanks to the 33s and your Lumina Converter.
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The monsters we already know. Thinking back on the few types of Nevrons he encountered, Gustave can't say he could connect them to anything in his life before the Continent. They all were just exotic enough in their appearance and so many degrees separate from humans that it was easy to label them as dangerous or enemies. Even if most stood on two legs and clutched weapons with two arms, they weren't like him.
They were monsters. The creatures on the beach with their huge hands that covered what should have been a face, but instead revealed a terror of light. Those same oversized hands that called forth hideous attacks or simply swiped his fellow Expeditioners away. What are they supposed to represent aside from impartial destruction? Though, Gustave thinks, for him, they only inflict fear. Fear and his damned failure by freezing up when he should have made some effort to fight back. So many people died that night. Lucien died for him...
No. No, he can't let that guilt consume him again, not right now. Clea. He lets the name settle in his mind, vaguely familiar after discussions with Maelle, mostly, though she doesn't mention her sister very much, or the rest of her family, really, except for Verso. This Verso. But that's who Clea is. Alicia's sister. He remembers.
From what else Verso shares about Clea, though, Gustave tries to form a better understanding of the woman. A co-creator of this world who also created the very monsters that attack its inhabitants. Isn't that a contradiction? Or did she create the Nevrons because the Lumierans were the Paintress' creations and she wanted to protect the Canvas, as well as remove her mother? It probably isn't something so easily summed up, but then people hardly ever
are.]
I did meet Francois. He was surprisingly formidable.
[Considering he's a rock. Turtle. Rock turtle. And if he was created when things were still peaceful in the Canvas...]
Do you know if he's a reflection of what Clea is like? Because she sounds...
[Unpredictable? Dangerous? Angry? None of these descriptors are what Gustave wants to say aloud to a man who is her brother, of sorts. Verso probably holds affection for her, even if she did try to kill him at first. Gustave is sure he would still love Emma if their situations were similar.]
She sounds complicated. But who isn't, right? We've all got something going on in our lives, even on good days.
[Verso rounds up the Serpenphare anecdote with an an acknowledgment that fills Gustave with warmth. He smiles despite himself, ducking his head a little.]
I'm glad the Converter helped. And the others, of course. That was the whole point of it, but...you know, it's...it's nice to hear. To know.
[That his contribution truly did help after he was gone. For those who come after, indeed.
With some appetite returned to him, Gustave pulls off another piece of the pastry, thinking over Verso's words some more. Specifically how Clea asked him to keep an eye on Maelle. She mentioned once how Verso saved her from the beach, a fact that Gustave is simultaneously grateful for, but which also hurt to know. Could he have saved any of the others? Of course, Maelle would have been most important to him, but...but what if? Even if Maelle has brought everyone back, what if one more person could have been spared the terror and the pain of death?
Stop. Dwelling on this won't help, either. What's done is done. He saved Maelle when Gustave couldn't. That should be appreciated. Gustave takes another, smaller bite, but then tilts his head as he thinks. Verso took her away from the beach. They found Maelle in the Manor.]
Hey. If you were watching over Maelle, then that means... It was you who left the message at the Indigo Tree, right?
[This is probably fairly obvious, but every solved mystery, no matter how small, still feels like a victory.]
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So, he purses his lips and thinks for a moment about how to answer Gustave's question. This becomes a much easier prospect when he starts making comparisons between his other self and Esquie and all the things the latter has told him about the former. His mouth loosens, then softens into a smile.]
Apparently, Francois used to be a lot different, you know, happier, more adventurous. He just misses Clea.
[And she misses Verso, but that's a blank he doesn't feel the need to fill in. Besides, it hurts to think about, never mind to speak aloud.]
I couldn't tell you what he's meant to be a reflection of, but if he's anything like Esquie, then he was exactly what she needed.
[Until she didn't anymore, he supposes. It's hard not to ache for him, hard not to feel a bit guilty for how often he'd written him off as an ornery rock turtle who just wanted to be left the fuck alone when that was the last thing he ever wanted. The next sip Verso takes of his drink is for Francois, and he holds it up in the general direction of Esquie's Nest to salute him before placing the glass back down on the table.
Everything that Verso can come up with in response to Gustave's gladness about the Lumina Converter feels like the wrong thing to say. It's all bragging, really, and he feels like there's a fine line between building up the value of Gustave's accomplishments and reminding him of how much he had missed out on after his passing. And that line is much easier to cross once he starts getting into the specifics of their most exciting battles, their strongest efforts, their more masterful uses of Gustave's invention.
Of course, then Gustave goes and switches focus to what he's picked up on instead and Verso finds himself at a different kind of loss. It's a natural question following a natural progression, given how he'd just mentioned watching after Maelle. Yet he's not prepared for its asking, and so some of his thoughts do scramble in concern over where Gustave might be taking this. He thinks that millennia could pass and he'd still feel antsy about being betrayed the way Julie had done all those years ago. But that's silly. He hasn't been telling the same kind of lies. It's fine. With a half smile and a hidden apprehension, he answers.]
Yeah, it was.
[There are many things he could say. There is much he could apologise for. But instead, he waits to see which direction – if any – Gustave guides things towards.]
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[This shines a sudden light on Francois' grumpiness and Gustave suddenly regrets simply thinking of him as only a rock. When there were so many wondrous sights on the Continent, why shouldn't one being such as Esquie's neighbor have his own complex feelings and an actual history? And if he misses Clea, then Clea must not visit often, or for reasons aside from business. Gustave tries to imagine if Maelle were to leave one day and never come back despite how much she obviously cares for him. Would he, too, eventually grow bitter and angry and lonely?
But maybe Clea doesn't visit because she misses her brother and immersing herself in an entire world that he created would be too much. That's a valid response, too, he thinks. Why should she torture herself unnecessarily? It's just that, at the end of the day, it seems someone will always hurt.
He watches Verso drink and lift his glass, assumedly toward where Francois still resides across the sea. Because surely he hasn't actually moved, despite his threat to the contrary. Since he has no drink left, Gustave instead bows his head in his own moment of recognition, however late it is.]
No one deserves to be left behind.
[Or forgotten. Or unloved. Or whatever the case may be between creator and creation. And yet, even as Gustave softly speaks, he knows it's a futile statement. Just because some things shouldn't be doesn't mean the world listens. Sometimes, far more often than not, fairness doesn't get its time in the sun.
And then, another thought pops up with a sense of relief. Maybe it's better in the long run if Clea doesn't visit again. He can't imagine her presence would be harmless, not if her visits according to Verso are anything to go by. Maybe it's better to let some things be.
Thoughts of Clea and poor, unfortunate Francois are easily swept aside when Verso confirms Gustave's theory. There's a fleeting surge of pettiness that rises up within, a nasty feeling, when he thinks that he was right to have believed that message and not worry about it being a trap like Lune had. He breathes in and squashes it down, though. They had both been acting on limited information back then, as well as heightened emotions. Every decision presented to them had been rife with cons.
He breathes out, and allows the warmth of gratitude to bloom in that space instead. Raising his head, Gustave offers a small, but still genuine smile.]
Thank you.
[Then, a little laugh as he shakes his head.]
Who knows how long Lune and I would have stayed there without any other communication. I dunno, I probably would have still set out on my own and either gotten hopelessly lost or -
[Or killed, but he doesn't need to spell it out. He doesn't want to spell it out, not when that fate still found him in the end. A few moments pass with Gustave looking back down at the rather destroyed remnant of pastry in his hand and finally sets it back on the napkin.]
Well. It helped. Having a lead.
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That still isn't the point of the conversation, but it is getting a bit harder to ignore each time it comes up, especially in the silence that follows. A silence that Verso maintains a little while longer, even after Gustave finds the rest of his words, his own delay owing to him trying to figure out what, exactly, to say.
An apology rests on his tongue, one that he has full intention of speaking, but giving it context requires more thought. Once, coming up with a deft deception would have been easy for him; these days, however, it's growing harder and harder to see the point in hiding himself away. He looks down at his own hands and thinks about all the things he'd tried to accomplish, both when he still believed in his own nobility and after, and all those he'd failed to bring about. Look what lying has earned you in the end, he thinks. Look how it's only caused everyone around you to suffer.
So, honesty it is, then.]
Still, I wish I'd done more. I'm sorry I didn't. Wasn't sure how welcomed I'd be after what happened on the beach, so I figured I'd keep an eye on you instead, make sure you got to the manor all right since I knew Maelle was safe with her father. But, you know, hindsight, right?
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Would it have been nice to have had a guide, someone who knew the world perhaps even better than the Gestrals or Esquie, to get them to their goal? Of course. Maybe they wouldn't have wasted so much time wandering the Ancient Sanctuary trying to find the Gestral Village. But they still found their way.
Gustave's expression softens.]
You did enough. We were able to continue, thanks to you.
[Though, Verso's other point earns him an acquiescent hum and tilt of the head.]
I want to believe that I would have given you a chance had you come to us then, but...
[He can be honest, too. Gustave doesn't always live up to his own expectations or ideals of others, or himself. He lifts a shoulder in a little shrug and laughs softly.]
But I probably would have been pretty wary of you. Defensive. One unknown Expeditioner had already proven himself a threat, who was to say he acted alone, right?
[That's just good logic, and reasonable expectation. That constant sense of danger really put a damper on the beauty of the world, though, and Gustave's own curiosity. Add that to his list of regrets from his former life. But, like Verso said, hindsight.]
Yeah. It's hard to wrestle with it. And far too easy to get bogged down by thinking of what you could have done instead. I don't know if it helps, but I try to remind myself that, at the time, I did what I thought was best. I didn't have all the information, so I acted on what I did have and what I could see as potential outcomes. It's...sometimes it's an act of forgiving yourself. And that's hard, too, but... Well, that's another subject.
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Stop it, he wants to say. You don't know what I've done. To say so would be even more selfish than to say nothing, though, for how it's driven more by Verso's desire to assuage his guilt than by a genuine belief that it's for the best. And though there is an oppressive itch in his mind pointing out that this silence draws from the same motivations and justifications he regrets claiming, it feels different. This isn't a lie to armour himself against his own actions or control the narrative, it's one to protect Gustave from a hurt he doesn't need to experience. Telling him would accomplish nothing.
Resolving that is easier than pulling himself together, but he finds some promise in focusing on the generalities of what Gustave is saying, the easy relatability of choice and forgiveness and regret. All he has to do is agree, right? Toss in some thoughts of his own?]
Yeah.
[It is such a small, light lie, one word, one syllable, one intent, yet it has weight enough that his voice breaks under the pressure of its speaking and no more words follow. He's sorry. He's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry. But he doesn't expect forgiveness, doesn't want it, doesn't deserve it from anyone, least of all Gustave. Which should make it easy for him to pull himself together as he always does when his emotions feel like impositions, but he is tired, so fucking tired, and he's had too much to drink, and the contrast of how relaxed he'd felt moments ago to how sick he feels now makes everything feel a little more futile, and it all dominates the space around and inside of him. Verso can't find anything to grasp onto in order to pull himself out of this.
So, he lets out a self-admonishing laugh as he leans forward, resting his arms on his legs and his head in his hands, and he wills himself to offer another apology he doesn't deserve to make.]
Sorry, I... It's been a long day.
[A long life, really. Much too long of one. He really is exhausted. Still, he lifts his head and offers a slight, apologetic smile.]
Maybe you should, you know...
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And more recently, with Henri, though Gustave still isn't sure he knows how to be a father, he's fallen back into the role of mentor. Raising his son has been different from raising Maelle, of course, since he's known Henri since he was born, but a part of it has been made easier because of his time fostering. Though his life may not be the richest or full of countless experiences, he still finds he can draw from enough to help and relate.
Again, Verso probably doesn't need it. He's lived far longer than Gustave ever has, maybe more than he ever will, and lived through far more. His answering affirmation doesn't surprise Gustave, either; this is probably nothing groundbreaking for him.
Except his voice breaks. Gustave leans forward slightly, as if that change in posture will help in any way. Something inside his chest aches for the man despite not knowing why. All Gustave really suspects is they're not speaking of the same thing anymore. Why would Verso feel so terribly over not meeting the 33s face-to-face earlier than he had? Things had turned out okay until Renoir caught up to them again.
There's no way he'll know without bluntly asking and with the new apology given, as well as that clear sendoff, Gustave doesn't dare pry further. Besides, Verso is right, and has clearly reached the end of his social rope. If that isn't Gustave's cue, then he doesn't know what is.]
Right. Yeah. It's late, isn't it? Soph'll think I fell into a hole somewhere.
[He pushes himself to his feet, a little too quickly judging by how his head swims for a moment from the alcohol still marinating in his system, and takes a moment to collect himself. Looking down at Verso, he wants to stay, regardless. Offer a silent presence while the other man works through whatever's going on in his head. He's done it for Maelle and Sciel before, and Sophie, too, but the difference here is that Verso isn't his friend. Even if he's been invited into this apartment, it was more of a social call. And that dismissal, however incompletely given, is final enough.]
Thanks, though. For the drink and the pastry. And the time. It's been...
[Well, nice doesn't feel quite right, but there are worse ways either of them could spend their night, he's sure.]
It's been good.
[That seems a decent compromise. He pats his thighs and takes a few steps toward the door, but turns back.]
I'll let you get some rest. We both probably need it. But, um...I hope to see you around. Have another drink or something, or... Yeah.
[Another moment of hesitation, but then Gustave nods to himself and sees himself out.]