[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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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.]