[Something surprising. Verso's mind is scattered enough that he still isn't quite sure which direction to head down, but it's a good start for how it excludes simple things, things she's already known, things she's probably close to figuring out for herself. So, what he does is he focuses on the evening they've had here at the carousel. The thematic elements of it all. Starlight and children. Grief. How loss and love tend to linger.
None of those feel right, but they do guide him in a certain direction, towards a past that's never been his but that has shaped him all the same, and so he claims it now with an easy:]
I used to be afraid of the dark. Really afraid.
[He follows up with a smile, a look on his face that says, kids, right, but which quickly gets dismissed when he shifts into something more serious. Kids know more than adults understand.]
Obviously, I got over it, until it came back in a different form. See, I don't dream anymore. Haven't in a really long time. For a while, the nightmares were more than happy to take over.
[About the world being fractured anew, and about Nevrons and Renoir and Clea. Fire, sometimes, when the real Verso's nightmares seeped into his own. Losing Alicia. What happened with Julie. Deceptively ordinary dreams that lulled him into a long-missed sense of security only to obliterate it soon thereafter.]
But those stopped too, and. Now, every time I sleep it's just… it's like getting lost in a void.
[Why is he telling her this? He doesn't really know. Maybe he's still a little sore over how he'd shared with Lune and she only saw the science of it all; maybe the part of him that still daydreams wonders if her affinity for the stars and higher powers might grant her some insight into how he could free himself from that emptiness. Or maybe it's an extension of that anytime he'd just offered her, a quiet go ahead and keep me up all night.]
Never thought I'd miss waking up in a cold sweat.
[Said with a restored smile and a soft laugh. It sucks but that's okay. A lot of things do.]
[ Kids, right. Right. It isn't uncommon at all, she knows. Sciel has even heard (and corrected) some of her students teasing others for that very thing, needling at it even in the light of day. But, as Verso says, it's something you grow out of...in a sense. That fear and darkness mature with you, finding their own new ways to manifest in adult life, transforming as you do. So this opening piece isn't surprising, of course, but she knows it's headed toward another point, so Sciel merely listens with that same curious, searching expression as she takes it all in.
To not be able to dream...for someone who's been through a lot of terrible things, it could be a blessing...at first. Though it sounds like what he means is that any more benign experiences he might have while asleep had just been co-opted completely by nightmares instead, bringing all of those tragedies and losses to the fore. With no escape: waking or unconscious. It clouds her face a little because she's been there, too. But she keeps her focus on him rather than letting it drag her back into the ruin of her own past, instead regarding him with a soft focus. It isn't difficult to imagine, even from the little she knows, what kinds of things might have haunted him on those nights.
And now? "Getting lost in a void." Maybe it's better than the torture waiting for him in those nightmares, but maybe not. Emptiness can be just as crushing, in its way. Sometimes...being left with nothing but your own thoughts, with no escape, is the worst outcome of them all.
Sciel is quiet for a long stretch after his concluding chuckle, returning her attention to the swath of lights above them. There are a lot of things she could say. That the way she'd dealt with her own (waking) nightmare-slash-void had been to completely occupy herself with bottles of wine, with tumbling into bed with someone, with extensive training for the Expedition. None of that feels...appropriate for the vulnerability he'd offered up, though. Even considering they had slept together maybe as a distraction and maybe just for the fun of it, it seems too irreverent an answer when he'd legitimately surprised her with something this sincere. It probably goes without saying that she's available for a drink, a fuck, a fight, should any of that help. But...that doesn't fit what it sounds like he's asking for right now.
So she looks up, telescope still in her hand where it lies folded over her navel. ]
...I assume, the way you said it, it's not like you close your eyes, then...all of a sudden, it's morning. [ As if the period of sleep simply didn't exist for him at all. ] Well, Verso... [ And she draws in and out a sigh-like breath, though not one of exasperation, but one that sounds as though she's resigned to something. ] Lucky for you, most Expeditioners don't need all that much sleep. [ Except Maelle, who is still growing!! ] I can get a few hours while you debrief with Monoco, or reminisce about some of your adventures with Esquie... Lune's a night owl, you've probably noticed, if you want to occupy some of that time with more questions. [ There's a mischievous twitch of the lip as she adds: ] You can probably derail her by talking about music, if you haven't tried that yet. And then...after that, when I'm up, we can talk like this. Or whatever else you're in the mood for that night.
[ No harm in lacing that one with a little flirtatious intent, she thinks, rolling her head his way again with a knowing look. If he can't sleep, or isn't willing to sink into that void, she can be there to...try and beat him at piquet, hear whatever pre-Fracture stories he wants to tell, or just sit, awake, in companionable silence. ]
But, for when you do have to sleep? [ Because the dreams and nightmares might be gone, and it may not ever feel restful, but it seems like he does still need to sleep in at least some form. ] ...Try and make that void your own. You've heard of lucid dreaming? I know...this isn't that, since it's not dreaming at all, but it could work. As much as you can, try and form an awareness in that space. Define yourself, your physical self, as part of it. Like you're really standing there, and you can feel and see your body, even if there's nothing else around you. [ Here she offers an almost-apologetic smile, shrugging her bundled shoulders. ] I'm not an expert on-...whatever this is, but I think if you start there, maybe you can work up to filling that emptiness with something else. With anything else. Not that it'd be easy, but...
[ It isn't as if Sciel has been through this particular exercise, and truth be told, she isn't completely sure what she's basing the advice off of. Still, it feels right as she says it, and she hopes -- very, very much, she realizes, with an odd pang in her stomach -- that she's right, and that it helps. ]
We'll figure something out. [ She murmurs. ] It can be a side project, yeah?
[ What's the point of it all if they can't help each other along the way of their larger, looming mission? And while it's true she'd offer to help any of the others with whatever ails them, Sciel recognizes that him bringing all this up is him showing a level of trust that's probably both unusual and uncomfortable for the immortal loner. It means something, and she intends to repay that gesture however she can. ]
[Sciel is right. This isn't the kind of comfort Verso usually receives from the Expeditioners, in large part because it's not the kind he usually wants. It's hard for him to see it as anything other than self-serving, considering the nature of his overarching goals. Just the thought alone of seeking more than collaboration and a tentative companionship that toes the line between friend and acquaintance often ends up making him feel worse.
But what she had said earlier still resonates. We won't get very far if we don't trust each other, back when Lune was at her angriest. Do you trust us Verso, before they'd hopped onto Esquie and left camp. Questions that prod at a different trust than the one that's been guiding them thus far, one that he can't prove by bleeding alongside them and pulling them back from the brink. And having that kind of an impact feels like its own kind of worse.
Which results in this: When Sciel moves to help, worse faces off against worse.
At first, Verso's struck by the urge to downplay what he said or else joke her efforts away. He's all right. It's just an off-hand story. Just a little insight into one of the surprises of immortality. But that's yet another thing that helps nothing besides his guilt, and so after looking for a moment like he might interrupt, he relaxes instead, gazing back out into the stars to help clear his head of a little more of that doubt.
None of that really makes it less hard for him to openly seek distraction from the 33s, even if it might be obvious when that's what he's doing, but thanks to the ease with which Sciel approaches things, he can receive the encouragement to do so without devolving into shame over allowing himself to be in this position in the first place. And once he does, it's... nice to think about having a group of people who'll look out for him off the battlefield as well. He'll probably never follow up on it, at least not without convincing himself that he's doing it for other reasons, but still. It's a far cry from what happened that first time someone discovered one of his secrets and wasn't happy about having been lied to; it's another layer of safety in a world where that's a luxury.
By the end, when he realises her suggestions to approach the others centre on filling in the silence while she sleeps, he's back to not knowing how to feel. Because it's comforting to know how deep her support runs, and it's confusing how he thinks he might be all right with that. Again, maybe not to such an extent that he bares his heart to her, but something like going to sit with her rather than wandering off alone when he needs the comfort of silence feels within the realm of possibility. It's no easier for him to grapple with than the others, of course. All the same, he finds himself almost wanting to do that grappling.
Almost. Baby steps. He's so set in his ways that he isn't sure he'd know how.
The lucid dreaming is easier for him to think through, naturally, because he doesn't have to think about his own actions and what they might or might not mean. He does tend to get caught up in his own mind, letting it take him wherever it sees fit. Self-flagellation is easiest, after all, when one has been given the tools to see it through and cause enough not to question its occurrence.
It's feels ridiculous to say in one breath that he misses the nightmares only to insist in the next that he doesn't deserve any different, so he thinks about it. Imagines how it might be accomplished. Internalises everything she says about awareness of space as opposed to awareness of self. Maybe it'll take him a few more sleeps to actually commit himself to trying – and maybe time will run out on them all before he can make any progress – but... he'll get to the point of making an effort.
He should probably get to the point of saying something, too; there she is effectively telling him to get out of his head, and here he is settling deeper and deeper inside of it. So, he looks away from the stars and back towards her, and he tries to think of something to say besides more praises.]
It's been a while since I had a good side project. I haven't been one in a few decades, either. Could be interesting.
[That hardly feels serious enough, though, so he lets out a soft sigh and allows himself to reach for that strand of her hair he'd held back from fidgeting with earlier.]
Thanks. The perspective, it helps. I guess if you spend enough time in a world that never changes, you end up losing sight of how to take control of... things that seem like they're set in stone.
[ "Could be interesting" earns him a soft scoff and a lopsided grin; the amusement stems from the casual response to a rare statement from a rarity of a man. Someone who has 'decades' in which to have or not have projects. Verso is clearly and acutely aware of he fact that he's an outlier this way, given how often his immortality comes up, but that doesn't mean she won't find a kind of humour in some of the offhand comments that slip through. ]
Not sure you need any more that's interesting in your life, but I'm glad you might make room for it. Hopefully it helps.
[ His hand returns, moving aside that wayward piece. Sciel watches him as he does, though her attention is still trained on his face, thinking with idle curiosity what might've been going through his head in that stretch of silence after her proposal. He may be humouring her, but once again, it almost doesn't matter. Not when he at least seemed to consider it in sincerity and respond as such.
(Thinking about that is simpler than acknowledging the feeling that the brush of his fingers along her face almost feels, bizarrely, more intimate than the sex.) ]
It makes sense. I'd be surprised if anyone felt differently, and we've all been stuck in this cycle for a fraction of the time you have. [ There's a pause as she continues to chew on the subject. ] ...Perspective's key. You've been able to give us some of that, having seen all this from the beginning. So I'm glad we can offer some of the same.
[ The music of the carousel continues to drift up from below, like a party happening in the other room when you've stepped away for a moment's reprieve. It also echoes a bit from the surrounding hills, traveling back across the snow-covered ground in such a way that gives the song an almost-muted quality. ]
Things aren't set in stone. [ Sciel stresses, like a promise. ] That you're doomed to an eternity of drifting off to the void, or anything else. Doesn't mean we've got control over everything, but...it doesn't mean we're just along for the ride, either.
[Verso retracts his hand shortly after Sciel makes her almost-promise. The apprehension guiding this shift doesn't show in his expression, which maintains its gentle gratitude and masks the way the casual side of his demeanour slips, but maybe it carries a bit in the way his next exhale slows as if he's expelling more than breath. It'd be nice to believe that she's right on a broader level than that of his sleep void, nice to look into the future and not see the impenetrable stone of the Monolith bearing down on him, oblivion alone existing on the other side. But whether through sheer stubbornness or a genuine sense of awareness of his circumstances – he doesn't know which – he has convinced himself that he can't afford to change his mind. He knows how his heart bleeds, after all. Even if it does detect weak points in that stone, it's not trustworthy. It wants for things it can never have.
Which is probably what he should be addressing: all those hang-ups he's been letting get the better of himself since Julie and the others decided to make his heart bleed in a different way. His absolute refusal to believe in a different path than the one that guides everyone into a tomorrow that will never come. It's easy, it's so fucking easy to think you know better when you guard the truth so ferociously that you're the only one with boots on the ground who understands what's going on, and everything else is so complicated that he leans into that ease too much.
Again, he finds himself not sure of what to say. No part of him is willing to push back on any optimism any Expeditioner shows because he knows how precious it is and holds it as something almost sacred. But everything else that comes to mind feels like a platitude. He's backed himself into a corner, he realises, one that's familiar enough. He'll share to the point where dishonesty becomes the surest way free, but it's the kind of dishonesty that makes him feel like shit, and so it's something he tries to avoid. The alternative is opening up more of himself but that feeds into the earlier problem of him not wanting to put too much on the Expeditioners. So on, so forth.
They all saw how he reacted when they'd lost their chance at getting the Paintress' heart, though, how close to giving up he'd been when they returned to camp afterward. That bothers him, too, the way he couldn't keep himself under control, but there's no point acting like it didn't happen, so he shakes his head and finds his words between the lines of the patience written across Sciel's face.]
In theory, I should have a better grasp on that. Wallowing is just so much easier.
[He jokes. He says in earnest. Laughing a little at the end. It comes with the territory of being physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted, and that's probably something Sciel can read into him already. But then, a sobering. The gratitude lingers but the casualness makes way for something more sombre.]
That's another part of the reason why I like spending time in places like this. Makes it harder for me to feel sorry for myself.
[ They're getting to a point in the conversation where the sincerity is pushing its limits, she feels. This latest silence that stretches out between her words and his seems overly-full in what it holds within, and though she doesn't know its shape, she sees the gears turning in Verso. Jamming, maybe, on occasion. But that's to be expected: it isn't easy to hope -- even the measured amount she's offered, amid her own realism -- and it definitely isn't easy for someone in his position, who's seen what he's seen. Maybe Sciel herself wouldn't have a single optimistic thing to say if she'd been watching people throw themselves bodily at the Monolith year after year, adding to the piles of corpses and accomplishing nothing but leaving another scar on the local immortal that he'd be unable to heal. ]
I don't blame you. Wallowing is a lot easier. [ Speaking from experience. ] ...But, you're right: mixing it up a bit, coming to a place like this, really helps. Stepping out of the 'what we have to do' for a little of the 'what we want to do' is nice, when it's possible.
[ Like tonight. They'd probably otherwise have spent it at camp, either in uncomfortable silence, or uncomfortable forced conversation, or uncomfortable interrogation. Sciel flattens her mouth into an unhappy line at the thought. ]
I'm really glad you suggested this. I know it's done a lot for me. [ Still lying down, she shifts the position of her head a little, tilting it a bit more his way. ] Sounds like it did some for you, too. At least, I hope so.
[ He'd basically said as much, and she hopes this part, if nothing else, is honest. ]
Maybe you can't die, but you can get burnt out. [ Or worse. ] If...stepping away gives some perspective, or...even just a distraction for a few hours, it's worth it.
[ Worth the possibility of mild frostbite. The likely lecture from Lune. Et cetera. ]
Yeah. [Softly. Centred. The word comes out on an easy breath, interlaced, perhaps, with a bit of relief over for how both the moment passes and how it continues. The air is a pleasant kind of cold – at least to him – but it still has a bite to it, and he settles into the warmth of his jacket and the radiant heat from the gears below, letting himself relax away some of the tension he's built up.] Yeah, it's been worth it. I'm glad you got something out of it, too.
[Because even if his heart is a bit muddied, his thoughts feel clearer, and it's nice to have this confirmation that Sciel, at least, understands where he'd been coming from, even if that understanding may be incomplete. The fear of waking up in the morning with blades bearing down on him is still a bit haunting – it almost always is – but it feels like it's slipped outside of the realm of possibility now, too, and that's... well, it's something he's going to have to dwell on later.
The moment is also done, he feels like. Or at least there's little left for them here on the carousel; the horses have been ridden and named, the stars gazed upon and spoken to and viewed through new lenses, and they've both shared their stories. Not a bad end to an awful day. He won't let himself think about how he probably deserves worse – not, he would argue, for keeping his father a secret, but rather for the lies that nobody's picked up on yet, those big things that set him apart even as he keeps seeking greater meaning in the moments like this that bring them together. There'll be time for that later. He'll probably be making more and more time for it as the days draw on and they get ever closer to the Monolith.
For now, though, he wouldn't mind dragging things out a little longer if Sciel wants to, too. Not that he'd be opposed to returning to camp, either; she may not need much sleep but she does need some, and maybe she promised to report back to Lune or something. Verso doesn't particularly like the thought of being the topic du soir, but it also comes with the territory. There's also Maelle, and... it's selfish, he's selfish, but there's also precious little time left, so he'd rather open avenues than assume the answer. So:]
Speaking of stepping out... is there anything else you want to do before we head back? There's no more snow after this and, well, we've already talked about what's waiting for us on the Axon islands, so... now might be our only chance.
[For sight-seeing, for exploring, for having fun being ridiculous, for spending time alone together, for whatever.]
[ The quiet that lies between and around them now is a different sort than the previous, where she'd been waiting for his reply and watching his thoughts bubble beneath the surface. Instead, it's...like the gentle closing of a book. Or at least, the leafing through of the final few pages of a book before shutting the cover. Because, as he's thinking, they've probably done all of the things he'd planned for them here: admired the scenery, talked about history (of the carousel, its former occupants, and beyond), and generally took in every facet of it that could be utilized or admired. Sciel continues to lie on its roof and breathes deep, the cold air a (pleasant) shock through her system, while the gears just beneath keep her comfortable enough, as had been promised.
When he does speak up again, opening that door one last time, she rolls onto her side to look back at him, considering. There are a lot of ways she could answer, of course, given the reality that this may be their last snowy excursion for a while, if ever again. Naturally, part of her drifts back to the train, to the option of extending that particular invitation again to gauge if it'd been a one-off (because though they'd both expressed ongoing interest, she's aware it could've easily been something born of the rush of the moment). ...But, even as she lets the option drift into the fore of her mind again, Sciel isn't really feeling it. Not right now, after the odd day they'd had, and the pleasant, if unusually deep conversations they've engaged in since arriving.
...And maybe, at least partially, because it'd probably be cold as hell, even with the accommodations they've currently got to keep from freezing. Next time they slip away, assuming she isn't dead, she'll try and angle for a place better-suited for taking their clothes off. This particular trip, though, is pretty perfect as it is.
She releases a breath: another visible cloud between them. ]
One more story. [ She settles. ] One last memory you've got of this place from before, or...whenever you like. It's already so...vivid and alive, but if there's anything else you want to share, I'd love to hear it. And then we can go.
[ Every recollection of his fills in the gaps in her own imagination, adding even more vividness to the colours that spill out over the snow, adding chatter and laughter to the music and sound that surrounds them. If there are any last details or moments he can summon that further define the magic of this rare spot, then...they're precious, and she finds she has a sort of hunger for them. ]
Besides, maybe the snow doesn't have to be a foregone conclusion. Lune might be able to change how she uses chroma to make some of it for us, instead of just the very dangerous ice.
[ There's a half-cocked smile at that: the joke a twinkle in her eyes. ]
[A light laugh at Sciel's joke, followed by a slightly put-upon sigh. Not towards Sciel, it's just...]
Why do I get the feeling Lune would expect me to answer at least a dozen questions first?
[It's probably because she would.
One more story, though. Verso lifts himself up to get a better view of the landscape, scanning the faraway wreckage of buildings and the nearby clutter of scattered amusement park booths and lampposts and cobblestones.
Immediately, his mind goes to the regrets that are wrapped up in this landscape. All the promise the people had for expansion – talk of rollercoasters and skating rinks, of setting up a second city where the sun shone the brightest and the warmth from the sea sometimes carried through the valley. There's the memories he didn't get to make, too. All the rides he'd wanted to take Alicia on once she started feeling better, the ones that were more exciting than the carousel. Just before the fracture, he'd started harbouring thoughts of spending a weekend with Julie in the little resort carved into a now caved-in mountain, the ring he kept looking at in the joaillerie by the gardens tucked into his pocket as he waited for the just-right moment. Big things. Small things. Incessant reminders that time is often stolen and never returned.
He wants to end the night on a better note than that, though, so he digs a little deeper until he unearths something on the other end of the sadness.]
There was a tree, right over there. [He points to a nondescript patch of white.] A glorious pine, centuries old. Every year, we'd have a big holiday party around it. And we'd go all out. I mean, they'd fly in the airships so people could rappel down and decorate the thing. There were booths everywhere selling cocoa and pastries. People would dress up in costumes. All the train cars were decorated with colourful lights and these flowers that smelled like berries, and you could duck inside to warm up or grab a bite to eat. Oh, and I can't forget the carolers. They'd come out around midnight and everything would go quiet until they started to sing and...
[Verso himself falls silent for a moment, as if he can hear their ghosts still singing, voices carrying so differently in the snow than in concert halls and brasseries and on the streets of Lumiere. Eventually, the silence grates, a little, and so he sings part of one of the songs – a lilting melody about snow crunching beneath dancers' feet – in a voice that's raw but practised. Only a few lines, not wanting to get carried away.]
It was mostly for the kids, but I never missed a year.
[ "She expects that even without asking a favour," Sciel thinks, but doesn't say. Instead, she merely offers a little smile and another half-shrug, assuming Verso already knows as much without her needing to voice it. Besides, this moment -- this trip -- isn't for ruminating on any unpleasantness that might await them either back in camp or further down the road. It's about the kind of stories he's shared so far, and the one he offers up now.
It is, again, easy to imagine. Sciel pulls herself up into a seated position to cast her gaze out over the lip of the roof, following the direction he indicates. A glorious pine, centuries old. Tall and proud, dusted with snow, bowing in the occasional winds and dropping sheets of white onto the already-blanketed ground below. ...Or onto the festivities below, as people gather close for warmth and celebration amid the cold and dark. There are lights, of course: not just from the carousel, but from lanterns and candles and sparklers. There is a joyful cacophony, of course: not just from the carousel, but from barking laughing and children's delighted shrieks and well-practiced carolers. Surrounding the tree are the booths, each tempting passers-by with the mouth-watering smells that drifted out from within. And the people...people everywhere, just happy to be together and alive, giving themselves over fully to simple pleasures and good company.
The ghosts of the scene linger, and they're all so vivid that she can nearly see them gathered. Sciel closes her eyes and the illusion strengthens as the sounds of the memory that isn't really there almost seem to increase in volume when the visual aspect is removed.
And Verso sings. It's another surprise that almost has her open her eyes right away, but she resists it. Instead, Sciel smiles gently in an almost quiet reverence, unwilling to do anything that could cause him to stop. His voice joins those from the past, carrying them through to the present, keeping them alive in those scant lines and warm notes. When he stops singing to caveat the event itself, she finally opens her eyes again, lips pressed together in a grateful smile. ]
...Keep telling those stories. To us, to those who come after... [ She turns outward again, briefly searching for something, before returning her attention to him. ] ...or just to yourself. They're all still here, in a way, if you keep their memories alive.
[ It's another rare feat that only he can accomplish. Maybe someday he'd tell someone about the 33s, too.
Delicately, Sciel stows the telescope in her pack, taking care to do so in a way that'll keep it safe during travel. She draws a deep inhale before getting to her feet, though before she does anything else, she's distracted by a light prickle of cold on her face, nudging her into looking up.
[It is a nice thought, carrying the lost into tomorrow on stories that would be forgotten otherwise. Giving shape and colour and texture to a world that has been set in its own ways for so long that the old ones don't exist anymore. Finding more ways to refuse the erasure that Renoir has long sought to bring about and that Verso, too, fights for on different terms, begrudgingly accepted and stubbornly held onto. And certainly, that's part of it for him. He wants the lost to linger; he wants their lives to have meant fucking something, even if it's a distant thing, faceless and nameless but indelibly part of this world all the same.
But the canvas can't sustain many more of those who come after, so there's an ache to it too, one that he pretends to work out of his system with a roll of his shoulders and a preemptive stretch.
It only ends up burying itself deeper.]
I will. [Tell the stories to himself, he means, and to the 33s as well. He doesn't want to humour anything beyond that.] It's like they say, yeah? We all have two deaths.
[We will be ignoring that Hemingway was six when Verso died.
As Sciel starts preparing to get up, Verso starts preparing to be prepared, looking out one last time into the sky, letting his gaze fall one last time onto the crystalline snow, wondering if this'll be his last time seeing it, too. Breathing the burn away from the backs of his eyes, he looks over to Sciel's offered hand with a smile, taking it and pulling himself up to his feet. No, his heart beats in its stubbornly persistent rhythm. But as he makes his way back to the ladder, he of course says differently.]
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tableauvivant) wrote2025-09-17 01:14 pm
no subject
None of those feel right, but they do guide him in a certain direction, towards a past that's never been his but that has shaped him all the same, and so he claims it now with an easy:]
I used to be afraid of the dark. Really afraid.
[He follows up with a smile, a look on his face that says, kids, right, but which quickly gets dismissed when he shifts into something more serious. Kids know more than adults understand.]
Obviously, I got over it, until it came back in a different form. See, I don't dream anymore. Haven't in a really long time. For a while, the nightmares were more than happy to take over.
[About the world being fractured anew, and about Nevrons and Renoir and Clea. Fire, sometimes, when the real Verso's nightmares seeped into his own. Losing Alicia. What happened with Julie. Deceptively ordinary dreams that lulled him into a long-missed sense of security only to obliterate it soon thereafter.]
But those stopped too, and. Now, every time I sleep it's just… it's like getting lost in a void.
[Why is he telling her this? He doesn't really know. Maybe he's still a little sore over how he'd shared with Lune and she only saw the science of it all; maybe the part of him that still daydreams wonders if her affinity for the stars and higher powers might grant her some insight into how he could free himself from that emptiness. Or maybe it's an extension of that anytime he'd just offered her, a quiet go ahead and keep me up all night.]
Never thought I'd miss waking up in a cold sweat.
[Said with a restored smile and a soft laugh. It sucks but that's okay. A lot of things do.]
no subject
To not be able to dream...for someone who's been through a lot of terrible things, it could be a blessing...at first. Though it sounds like what he means is that any more benign experiences he might have while asleep had just been co-opted completely by nightmares instead, bringing all of those tragedies and losses to the fore. With no escape: waking or unconscious. It clouds her face a little because she's been there, too. But she keeps her focus on him rather than letting it drag her back into the ruin of her own past, instead regarding him with a soft focus. It isn't difficult to imagine, even from the little she knows, what kinds of things might have haunted him on those nights.
And now? "Getting lost in a void." Maybe it's better than the torture waiting for him in those nightmares, but maybe not. Emptiness can be just as crushing, in its way. Sometimes...being left with nothing but your own thoughts, with no escape, is the worst outcome of them all.
Sciel is quiet for a long stretch after his concluding chuckle, returning her attention to the swath of lights above them. There are a lot of things she could say. That the way she'd dealt with her own (waking) nightmare-slash-void had been to completely occupy herself with bottles of wine, with tumbling into bed with someone, with extensive training for the Expedition. None of that feels...appropriate for the vulnerability he'd offered up, though. Even considering they had slept together maybe as a distraction and maybe just for the fun of it, it seems too irreverent an answer when he'd legitimately surprised her with something this sincere. It probably goes without saying that she's available for a drink, a fuck, a fight, should any of that help. But...that doesn't fit what it sounds like he's asking for right now.
So she looks up, telescope still in her hand where it lies folded over her navel. ]
...I assume, the way you said it, it's not like you close your eyes, then...all of a sudden, it's morning. [ As if the period of sleep simply didn't exist for him at all. ] Well, Verso... [ And she draws in and out a sigh-like breath, though not one of exasperation, but one that sounds as though she's resigned to something. ] Lucky for you, most Expeditioners don't need all that much sleep. [ Except Maelle, who is still growing!! ] I can get a few hours while you debrief with Monoco, or reminisce about some of your adventures with Esquie... Lune's a night owl, you've probably noticed, if you want to occupy some of that time with more questions. [ There's a mischievous twitch of the lip as she adds: ] You can probably derail her by talking about music, if you haven't tried that yet. And then...after that, when I'm up, we can talk like this. Or whatever else you're in the mood for that night.
[ No harm in lacing that one with a little flirtatious intent, she thinks, rolling her head his way again with a knowing look. If he can't sleep, or isn't willing to sink into that void, she can be there to...try and beat him at piquet, hear whatever pre-Fracture stories he wants to tell, or just sit, awake, in companionable silence. ]
But, for when you do have to sleep? [ Because the dreams and nightmares might be gone, and it may not ever feel restful, but it seems like he does still need to sleep in at least some form. ] ...Try and make that void your own. You've heard of lucid dreaming? I know...this isn't that, since it's not dreaming at all, but it could work. As much as you can, try and form an awareness in that space. Define yourself, your physical self, as part of it. Like you're really standing there, and you can feel and see your body, even if there's nothing else around you. [ Here she offers an almost-apologetic smile, shrugging her bundled shoulders. ] I'm not an expert on-...whatever this is, but I think if you start there, maybe you can work up to filling that emptiness with something else. With anything else. Not that it'd be easy, but...
[ It isn't as if Sciel has been through this particular exercise, and truth be told, she isn't completely sure what she's basing the advice off of. Still, it feels right as she says it, and she hopes -- very, very much, she realizes, with an odd pang in her stomach -- that she's right, and that it helps. ]
We'll figure something out. [ She murmurs. ] It can be a side project, yeah?
[ What's the point of it all if they can't help each other along the way of their larger, looming mission? And while it's true she'd offer to help any of the others with whatever ails them, Sciel recognizes that him bringing all this up is him showing a level of trust that's probably both unusual and uncomfortable for the immortal loner. It means something, and she intends to repay that gesture however she can. ]
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But what she had said earlier still resonates. We won't get very far if we don't trust each other, back when Lune was at her angriest. Do you trust us Verso, before they'd hopped onto Esquie and left camp. Questions that prod at a different trust than the one that's been guiding them thus far, one that he can't prove by bleeding alongside them and pulling them back from the brink. And having that kind of an impact feels like its own kind of worse.
Which results in this: When Sciel moves to help, worse faces off against worse.
At first, Verso's struck by the urge to downplay what he said or else joke her efforts away. He's all right. It's just an off-hand story. Just a little insight into one of the surprises of immortality. But that's yet another thing that helps nothing besides his guilt, and so after looking for a moment like he might interrupt, he relaxes instead, gazing back out into the stars to help clear his head of a little more of that doubt.
None of that really makes it less hard for him to openly seek distraction from the 33s, even if it might be obvious when that's what he's doing, but thanks to the ease with which Sciel approaches things, he can receive the encouragement to do so without devolving into shame over allowing himself to be in this position in the first place. And once he does, it's... nice to think about having a group of people who'll look out for him off the battlefield as well. He'll probably never follow up on it, at least not without convincing himself that he's doing it for other reasons, but still. It's a far cry from what happened that first time someone discovered one of his secrets and wasn't happy about having been lied to; it's another layer of safety in a world where that's a luxury.
By the end, when he realises her suggestions to approach the others centre on filling in the silence while she sleeps, he's back to not knowing how to feel. Because it's comforting to know how deep her support runs, and it's confusing how he thinks he might be all right with that. Again, maybe not to such an extent that he bares his heart to her, but something like going to sit with her rather than wandering off alone when he needs the comfort of silence feels within the realm of possibility. It's no easier for him to grapple with than the others, of course. All the same, he finds himself almost wanting to do that grappling.
Almost. Baby steps. He's so set in his ways that he isn't sure he'd know how.
The lucid dreaming is easier for him to think through, naturally, because he doesn't have to think about his own actions and what they might or might not mean. He does tend to get caught up in his own mind, letting it take him wherever it sees fit. Self-flagellation is easiest, after all, when one has been given the tools to see it through and cause enough not to question its occurrence.
It's feels ridiculous to say in one breath that he misses the nightmares only to insist in the next that he doesn't deserve any different, so he thinks about it. Imagines how it might be accomplished. Internalises everything she says about awareness of space as opposed to awareness of self. Maybe it'll take him a few more sleeps to actually commit himself to trying – and maybe time will run out on them all before he can make any progress – but... he'll get to the point of making an effort.
He should probably get to the point of saying something, too; there she is effectively telling him to get out of his head, and here he is settling deeper and deeper inside of it. So, he looks away from the stars and back towards her, and he tries to think of something to say besides more praises.]
It's been a while since I had a good side project. I haven't been one in a few decades, either. Could be interesting.
[That hardly feels serious enough, though, so he lets out a soft sigh and allows himself to reach for that strand of her hair he'd held back from fidgeting with earlier.]
Thanks. The perspective, it helps. I guess if you spend enough time in a world that never changes, you end up losing sight of how to take control of... things that seem like they're set in stone.
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Not sure you need any more that's interesting in your life, but I'm glad you might make room for it. Hopefully it helps.
[ His hand returns, moving aside that wayward piece. Sciel watches him as he does, though her attention is still trained on his face, thinking with idle curiosity what might've been going through his head in that stretch of silence after her proposal. He may be humouring her, but once again, it almost doesn't matter. Not when he at least seemed to consider it in sincerity and respond as such.
(Thinking about that is simpler than acknowledging the feeling that the brush of his fingers along her face almost feels, bizarrely, more intimate than the sex.) ]
It makes sense. I'd be surprised if anyone felt differently, and we've all been stuck in this cycle for a fraction of the time you have. [ There's a pause as she continues to chew on the subject. ] ...Perspective's key. You've been able to give us some of that, having seen all this from the beginning. So I'm glad we can offer some of the same.
[ The music of the carousel continues to drift up from below, like a party happening in the other room when you've stepped away for a moment's reprieve. It also echoes a bit from the surrounding hills, traveling back across the snow-covered ground in such a way that gives the song an almost-muted quality. ]
Things aren't set in stone. [ Sciel stresses, like a promise. ] That you're doomed to an eternity of drifting off to the void, or anything else. Doesn't mean we've got control over everything, but...it doesn't mean we're just along for the ride, either.
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Which is probably what he should be addressing: all those hang-ups he's been letting get the better of himself since Julie and the others decided to make his heart bleed in a different way. His absolute refusal to believe in a different path than the one that guides everyone into a tomorrow that will never come. It's easy, it's so fucking easy to think you know better when you guard the truth so ferociously that you're the only one with boots on the ground who understands what's going on, and everything else is so complicated that he leans into that ease too much.
Again, he finds himself not sure of what to say. No part of him is willing to push back on any optimism any Expeditioner shows because he knows how precious it is and holds it as something almost sacred. But everything else that comes to mind feels like a platitude. He's backed himself into a corner, he realises, one that's familiar enough. He'll share to the point where dishonesty becomes the surest way free, but it's the kind of dishonesty that makes him feel like shit, and so it's something he tries to avoid. The alternative is opening up more of himself but that feeds into the earlier problem of him not wanting to put too much on the Expeditioners. So on, so forth.
They all saw how he reacted when they'd lost their chance at getting the Paintress' heart, though, how close to giving up he'd been when they returned to camp afterward. That bothers him, too, the way he couldn't keep himself under control, but there's no point acting like it didn't happen, so he shakes his head and finds his words between the lines of the patience written across Sciel's face.]
In theory, I should have a better grasp on that. Wallowing is just so much easier.
[He jokes. He says in earnest. Laughing a little at the end. It comes with the territory of being physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted, and that's probably something Sciel can read into him already. But then, a sobering. The gratitude lingers but the casualness makes way for something more sombre.]
That's another part of the reason why I like spending time in places like this. Makes it harder for me to feel sorry for myself.
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I don't blame you. Wallowing is a lot easier. [ Speaking from experience. ] ...But, you're right: mixing it up a bit, coming to a place like this, really helps. Stepping out of the 'what we have to do' for a little of the 'what we want to do' is nice, when it's possible.
[ Like tonight. They'd probably otherwise have spent it at camp, either in uncomfortable silence, or uncomfortable forced conversation, or uncomfortable interrogation. Sciel flattens her mouth into an unhappy line at the thought. ]
I'm really glad you suggested this. I know it's done a lot for me. [ Still lying down, she shifts the position of her head a little, tilting it a bit more his way. ] Sounds like it did some for you, too. At least, I hope so.
[ He'd basically said as much, and she hopes this part, if nothing else, is honest. ]
Maybe you can't die, but you can get burnt out. [ Or worse. ] If...stepping away gives some perspective, or...even just a distraction for a few hours, it's worth it.
[ Worth the possibility of mild frostbite. The likely lecture from Lune. Et cetera. ]
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[Because even if his heart is a bit muddied, his thoughts feel clearer, and it's nice to have this confirmation that Sciel, at least, understands where he'd been coming from, even if that understanding may be incomplete. The fear of waking up in the morning with blades bearing down on him is still a bit haunting – it almost always is – but it feels like it's slipped outside of the realm of possibility now, too, and that's... well, it's something he's going to have to dwell on later.
The moment is also done, he feels like. Or at least there's little left for them here on the carousel; the horses have been ridden and named, the stars gazed upon and spoken to and viewed through new lenses, and they've both shared their stories. Not a bad end to an awful day. He won't let himself think about how he probably deserves worse – not, he would argue, for keeping his father a secret, but rather for the lies that nobody's picked up on yet, those big things that set him apart even as he keeps seeking greater meaning in the moments like this that bring them together. There'll be time for that later. He'll probably be making more and more time for it as the days draw on and they get ever closer to the Monolith.
For now, though, he wouldn't mind dragging things out a little longer if Sciel wants to, too. Not that he'd be opposed to returning to camp, either; she may not need much sleep but she does need some, and maybe she promised to report back to Lune or something. Verso doesn't particularly like the thought of being the topic du soir, but it also comes with the territory. There's also Maelle, and... it's selfish, he's selfish, but there's also precious little time left, so he'd rather open avenues than assume the answer. So:]
Speaking of stepping out... is there anything else you want to do before we head back? There's no more snow after this and, well, we've already talked about what's waiting for us on the Axon islands, so... now might be our only chance.
[For sight-seeing, for exploring, for having fun being ridiculous, for spending time alone together, for whatever.]
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When he does speak up again, opening that door one last time, she rolls onto her side to look back at him, considering. There are a lot of ways she could answer, of course, given the reality that this may be their last snowy excursion for a while, if ever again. Naturally, part of her drifts back to the train, to the option of extending that particular invitation again to gauge if it'd been a one-off (because though they'd both expressed ongoing interest, she's aware it could've easily been something born of the rush of the moment). ...But, even as she lets the option drift into the fore of her mind again, Sciel isn't really feeling it. Not right now, after the odd day they'd had, and the pleasant, if unusually deep conversations they've engaged in since arriving.
...And maybe, at least partially, because it'd probably be cold as hell, even with the accommodations they've currently got to keep from freezing. Next time they slip away, assuming she isn't dead, she'll try and angle for a place better-suited for taking their clothes off. This particular trip, though, is pretty perfect as it is.
She releases a breath: another visible cloud between them. ]
One more story. [ She settles. ] One last memory you've got of this place from before, or...whenever you like. It's already so...vivid and alive, but if there's anything else you want to share, I'd love to hear it. And then we can go.
[ Every recollection of his fills in the gaps in her own imagination, adding even more vividness to the colours that spill out over the snow, adding chatter and laughter to the music and sound that surrounds them. If there are any last details or moments he can summon that further define the magic of this rare spot, then...they're precious, and she finds she has a sort of hunger for them. ]
Besides, maybe the snow doesn't have to be a foregone conclusion. Lune might be able to change how she uses chroma to make some of it for us, instead of just the very dangerous ice.
[ There's a half-cocked smile at that: the joke a twinkle in her eyes. ]
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Why do I get the feeling Lune would expect me to answer at least a dozen questions first?
[It's probably because she would.
One more story, though. Verso lifts himself up to get a better view of the landscape, scanning the faraway wreckage of buildings and the nearby clutter of scattered amusement park booths and lampposts and cobblestones.
Immediately, his mind goes to the regrets that are wrapped up in this landscape. All the promise the people had for expansion – talk of rollercoasters and skating rinks, of setting up a second city where the sun shone the brightest and the warmth from the sea sometimes carried through the valley. There's the memories he didn't get to make, too. All the rides he'd wanted to take Alicia on once she started feeling better, the ones that were more exciting than the carousel. Just before the fracture, he'd started harbouring thoughts of spending a weekend with Julie in the little resort carved into a now caved-in mountain, the ring he kept looking at in the joaillerie by the gardens tucked into his pocket as he waited for the just-right moment. Big things. Small things. Incessant reminders that time is often stolen and never returned.
He wants to end the night on a better note than that, though, so he digs a little deeper until he unearths something on the other end of the sadness.]
There was a tree, right over there. [He points to a nondescript patch of white.] A glorious pine, centuries old. Every year, we'd have a big holiday party around it. And we'd go all out. I mean, they'd fly in the airships so people could rappel down and decorate the thing. There were booths everywhere selling cocoa and pastries. People would dress up in costumes. All the train cars were decorated with colourful lights and these flowers that smelled like berries, and you could duck inside to warm up or grab a bite to eat. Oh, and I can't forget the carolers. They'd come out around midnight and everything would go quiet until they started to sing and...
[Verso himself falls silent for a moment, as if he can hear their ghosts still singing, voices carrying so differently in the snow than in concert halls and brasseries and on the streets of Lumiere. Eventually, the silence grates, a little, and so he sings part of one of the songs – a lilting melody about snow crunching beneath dancers' feet – in a voice that's raw but practised. Only a few lines, not wanting to get carried away.]
It was mostly for the kids, but I never missed a year.
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It is, again, easy to imagine. Sciel pulls herself up into a seated position to cast her gaze out over the lip of the roof, following the direction he indicates. A glorious pine, centuries old. Tall and proud, dusted with snow, bowing in the occasional winds and dropping sheets of white onto the already-blanketed ground below. ...Or onto the festivities below, as people gather close for warmth and celebration amid the cold and dark. There are lights, of course: not just from the carousel, but from lanterns and candles and sparklers. There is a joyful cacophony, of course: not just from the carousel, but from barking laughing and children's delighted shrieks and well-practiced carolers. Surrounding the tree are the booths, each tempting passers-by with the mouth-watering smells that drifted out from within. And the people...people everywhere, just happy to be together and alive, giving themselves over fully to simple pleasures and good company.
The ghosts of the scene linger, and they're all so vivid that she can nearly see them gathered. Sciel closes her eyes and the illusion strengthens as the sounds of the memory that isn't really there almost seem to increase in volume when the visual aspect is removed.
And Verso sings. It's another surprise that almost has her open her eyes right away, but she resists it. Instead, Sciel smiles gently in an almost quiet reverence, unwilling to do anything that could cause him to stop. His voice joins those from the past, carrying them through to the present, keeping them alive in those scant lines and warm notes. When he stops singing to caveat the event itself, she finally opens her eyes again, lips pressed together in a grateful smile. ]
...Keep telling those stories. To us, to those who come after... [ She turns outward again, briefly searching for something, before returning her attention to him. ] ...or just to yourself. They're all still here, in a way, if you keep their memories alive.
[ It's another rare feat that only he can accomplish. Maybe someday he'd tell someone about the 33s, too.
Delicately, Sciel stows the telescope in her pack, taking care to do so in a way that'll keep it safe during travel. She draws a deep inhale before getting to her feet, though before she does anything else, she's distracted by a light prickle of cold on her face, nudging her into looking up.
It's started flurrying. ]
...Ready? [ There's a smile, an extended hand, and another tomorrow ahead of them. ]
excuse me that song is RUDE
But the canvas can't sustain many more of those who come after, so there's an ache to it too, one that he pretends to work out of his system with a roll of his shoulders and a preemptive stretch.
It only ends up burying itself deeper.]
I will. [Tell the stories to himself, he means, and to the 33s as well. He doesn't want to humour anything beyond that.] It's like they say, yeah? We all have two deaths.
[
We will be ignoring that Hemingway was six when Verso died.As Sciel starts preparing to get up, Verso starts preparing to be prepared, looking out one last time into the sky, letting his gaze fall one last time onto the crystalline snow, wondering if this'll be his last time seeing it, too. Breathing the burn away from the backs of his eyes, he looks over to Sciel's offered hand with a smile, taking it and pulling himself up to his feet. No, his heart beats in its stubbornly persistent rhythm. But as he makes his way back to the ladder, he of course says differently.]
Yeah. Let's go.