[There's another quip he could make here, something about the luxury will make him a changed man, but that doesn't feel like the right move; it doesn't just hit too close to home, it's the whole damned easily crumbled framework of the home. Maybe it's the depression, maybe it's some inborn pessimism, maybe its the way ideation pervades everything Verso thinks, but he already feels like he's lost the ability to recognise himself.
So, he fails to find his words. Maybe that's obvious, or maybe he'll come across as being a distracted tourist, focused on his surroundings. One room he probably won't eat in, another where he'll probably get used to the feeling of bending over the sink as he splashes water on his face. A third that reminds him of the kitchen in his apartment above the boulangerie, which has him letting out a breath of a response to Maelle's question.
In those earliest days when he'd just started making his own memories and had yet to move out, he'd almost never spent any time in the kitchen. After that, he had money enough to eat out, so that's what he did. For the most part, anyway. Which would be an easy way to answer if there wasn't a third stage to his culinary adventures: cooking with Julie.
Once, Sciel had asked him if there was anyone he'd want Maelle to bring back, and he had answered yes. Now, though, in this still-condemned (as far as he's convinced) world, with him barely able to piece himself together enough to don the barest of masks, the thought fills him with dread. So, he dulls his tone into something ordinary. It's just cooking, after all. No need to fret.]
I've... dabbled. Used to make a great sole meuniere.
[He'll leave his Continent culinary misadventures unspoken. Largely because many of them involve eating poisonous mushrooms and other such tales that don't need to be shared. So, he continues being awkward.]
[ Maelle isn't thinking of Julie. Not at the moment, anyway, though of course it's come to mind more than once. They know now about Search & Rescue and the violent betrayal, but...everything's different. Surely with time, with explanation, he could get through to her again. Maybe she's the only person who might have a chance at getting through to Verso in turn, to convince him that there's a reason to give this world another chance.
Those had been some of Maelle's previous thoughts on the matter. But with things so precarious, she's decided firmly that it'd probably be a terrible idea to take that step without his go-ahead.
Probably. ]
What's not to love about that? [ Maelle remarks, thinking only of the dish and not of the woman he'd loved and killed. ] Butter and lemon juice? [ There's a pause, then a reflective hum. ] I never liked it looking too...fishy, though. It always scared me, when I was little, thinking what was on my plate was looking at me.
[ Someone usually indulged her by making sure the meal looked as little like a previously-living thing as possible, though. Benefits of being the family baby. ]
Wise. [ She chuckles in response to his 'advice,' shaking her head again. ] It's incredible you know all that without having gone to culinary school. [ There's a pause, then a breath. ] Shall we?
[ The invitation hangs briefly before she ascends, leading them into a smaller hall that splits to a full bath on one side and a simple bedroom on the other. The latter especially is lighter on any decor, it being the most personal space of the bunch, but it's more than livable. Has good light, too, in the first half of the day, which is evident now in the way it streams in. ]
Pretty basic. [ Maelle declares, as if she hadn't been fretting on even these uncomplicated details in her getting everything together. ] But it's definitely functional, and...yeah.
[ A memory, unbidden: running down the hall of the manor, laughing madly, as Verso chased her. Scampering into his room and throwing herself under the bed to hide, breathing loudly as he stalked the room, pretending not to see her. Her shrieks of delight as he dropped his head down and surprised her before scooting under it himself in the hopes they might both be able to startle Clea as she passed.
As usual, her heart clenches a bit. ]
Like I said, just let me know if you need anything else. [ And because she's not exactly racing to get out of here, she lingers just inside the door, pressing her back to the wall. ] You know, once you've settled in a bit.
[It's uncomfortable how quickly Maelle mentioning the look of the fish brings to mind the very same memories she speaks about. They're not his, that wasn't him, and yet he finds himself feeling sheepish over mentioning a dish that resonates with her in the wrong way. Idly, he wonders if those memories could be unpainted, somehow, but he knows it's nothing but a passing fancy, one of those little thoughts he tells himself when he needs to believe in better.
He needs to believe it it now, as well, but with everything inside of him telling him otherwise, he clings steadfast to the belief in worst, all while maintaining his white-knuckled grip on the masks he's holding up in front of himself. Case in point:]
I am a man of much wisdom and many talents.
[There. That sounds like him, right? Self-deprecatingly self-aggrandizing? He keeps his steps light as he ascends the stairs behind Maelle, fingers grazing the polished banister, focus grazing the waxed wood steps until the end. Then, it's back to being the rapt new resident, head canted at a curious angle as he peers into the bedroom, almost as if he's already formulating plans for how to add character and life to all the things left relatively blank.
Really, he just feels ready to lie down. Exist in that space between being awake and slipping into the void. Breathe in the silence and the knowledge that he's more alone than he's been since he first started wanting to exist in total isolation again. Pretend like he's all right with breaking Maelle's heart in these small ways as all she tries to do is hold on to the people who matter to her.
At least the bed doesn't trigger any memories for him; moving fully into the room, he sits down on it like he's lived even more years than he has, trying to cover up the way he almost collapses onto the mattress by pretending to test it out, bouncing a little before nodding in approval.]
It's functioning, all right.
[He can see that she doesn't want to leave, but isn't that what's best in the end? Doesn't she need to know how to live without a Verso in her life? It's not something he can say with any certainty, but that hardly stops him from believing it all the same. That everything would be better for everyone if he weren't around still feels like an absolute truth.]
Yeah, I will. [The liar lies.] And you too, okay? [The brother genuinely offers.] Take... care.
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tableauvivant) wrote2025-09-17 01:14 pm
no subject
So, he fails to find his words. Maybe that's obvious, or maybe he'll come across as being a distracted tourist, focused on his surroundings. One room he probably won't eat in, another where he'll probably get used to the feeling of bending over the sink as he splashes water on his face. A third that reminds him of the kitchen in his apartment above the boulangerie, which has him letting out a breath of a response to Maelle's question.
In those earliest days when he'd just started making his own memories and had yet to move out, he'd almost never spent any time in the kitchen. After that, he had money enough to eat out, so that's what he did. For the most part, anyway. Which would be an easy way to answer if there wasn't a third stage to his culinary adventures: cooking with Julie.
Once, Sciel had asked him if there was anyone he'd want Maelle to bring back, and he had answered yes. Now, though, in this still-condemned (as far as he's convinced) world, with him barely able to piece himself together enough to don the barest of masks, the thought fills him with dread. So, he dulls his tone into something ordinary. It's just cooking, after all. No need to fret.]
I've... dabbled. Used to make a great sole meuniere.
[He'll leave his Continent culinary misadventures unspoken. Largely because many of them involve eating poisonous mushrooms and other such tales that don't need to be shared. So, he continues being awkward.]
The secret is to not burn the fish.
no subject
Those had been some of Maelle's previous thoughts on the matter. But with things so precarious, she's decided firmly that it'd probably be a terrible idea to take that step without his go-ahead.
Probably. ]
What's not to love about that? [ Maelle remarks, thinking only of the dish and not of the woman he'd loved and killed. ] Butter and lemon juice? [ There's a pause, then a reflective hum. ] I never liked it looking too...fishy, though. It always scared me, when I was little, thinking what was on my plate was looking at me.
[ Someone usually indulged her by making sure the meal looked as little like a previously-living thing as possible, though. Benefits of being the family baby. ]
Wise. [ She chuckles in response to his 'advice,' shaking her head again. ] It's incredible you know all that without having gone to culinary school. [ There's a pause, then a breath. ] Shall we?
[ The invitation hangs briefly before she ascends, leading them into a smaller hall that splits to a full bath on one side and a simple bedroom on the other. The latter especially is lighter on any decor, it being the most personal space of the bunch, but it's more than livable. Has good light, too, in the first half of the day, which is evident now in the way it streams in. ]
Pretty basic. [ Maelle declares, as if she hadn't been fretting on even these uncomplicated details in her getting everything together. ] But it's definitely functional, and...yeah.
[ A memory, unbidden: running down the hall of the manor, laughing madly, as Verso chased her. Scampering into his room and throwing herself under the bed to hide, breathing loudly as he stalked the room, pretending not to see her. Her shrieks of delight as he dropped his head down and surprised her before scooting under it himself in the hopes they might both be able to startle Clea as she passed.
As usual, her heart clenches a bit. ]
Like I said, just let me know if you need anything else. [ And because she's not exactly racing to get out of here, she lingers just inside the door, pressing her back to the wall. ] You know, once you've settled in a bit.
no subject
He needs to believe it it now, as well, but with everything inside of him telling him otherwise, he clings steadfast to the belief in worst, all while maintaining his white-knuckled grip on the masks he's holding up in front of himself. Case in point:]
I am a man of much wisdom and many talents.
[There. That sounds like him, right? Self-deprecatingly self-aggrandizing? He keeps his steps light as he ascends the stairs behind Maelle, fingers grazing the polished banister, focus grazing the waxed wood steps until the end. Then, it's back to being the rapt new resident, head canted at a curious angle as he peers into the bedroom, almost as if he's already formulating plans for how to add character and life to all the things left relatively blank.
Really, he just feels ready to lie down. Exist in that space between being awake and slipping into the void. Breathe in the silence and the knowledge that he's more alone than he's been since he first started wanting to exist in total isolation again. Pretend like he's all right with breaking Maelle's heart in these small ways as all she tries to do is hold on to the people who matter to her.
At least the bed doesn't trigger any memories for him; moving fully into the room, he sits down on it like he's lived even more years than he has, trying to cover up the way he almost collapses onto the mattress by pretending to test it out, bouncing a little before nodding in approval.]
It's functioning, all right.
[He can see that she doesn't want to leave, but isn't that what's best in the end? Doesn't she need to know how to live without a Verso in her life? It's not something he can say with any certainty, but that hardly stops him from believing it all the same. That everything would be better for everyone if he weren't around still feels like an absolute truth.]
Yeah, I will. [The liar lies.] And you too, okay? [The brother genuinely offers.] Take... care.