[ Yes: the dueling sets of memories, her two lives, make it complicated. The role her love of writing played in catalysing the whole of the events of the Canvas makes it complicated. The fact that she's using her ability as a Paintress to support this whole world for as long as she can while working to coerce at least one person to continue existing makes it complicated.
Everything is complex at the moment. And, as Verso says, a lot's changed since the last time she sat down at her desk in the manor with a typewriter at her fingertips.
What would she even write about now? Maelle drops her gaze as she considers it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. If...Verso had succeeded in forcing her from the Canvas, then it'd be easy: she'd be writing about her life here, and all of the people she'd loved who would be gone, and everything they'd experienced. But as things are now? She's still with those people, still living that story.
Maybe the answer is easy, then. It's the opposite of what she would do in that case. Since she's committed to living here, then...maybe it'd do her some good to remember the Dessendres by using writing as a vessel to...say goodbye to them, really. Because as far as she's concerned, she won't be seeing her parents or sister again, no matter what Verso believes.
Speaking of. His question draws her again from the train of thought, and she meets his gaze with a look that hangs. ]
Of course I have. [ Maelle replies, tone crisp and suggestive of her willingness to argue, should he contradict her claim (obvious lie though it is). ] I've been doing a lot of sitting around, actually.
[ Well, it's true in a way, at least. Especially when things were at their worst, when she'd haunted the front room of the shared apartment, unwilling to stray too far. ]
There's a lot to do. [ She adds unnecessarily, shrugging. ] It's a whole new world and all.
[ Everyone has to figure out how to exist far into years they never thought they'd have. It's a lot for everyone to do. ]
[There is some comfort, he supposes, in how easy it is to don more and more of his masks once the prior ones have settled comfortably – perhaps convincingly – into place. Which makes sense, naturally, given how he's spent more of his life lying about most everything than he has being honest even with himself, but it still comes as a bit of a surprise after so much time spent grappling with one of the deepest, most hopeless-feeling depressions he's ever known. But it still feels strange. Different now that he has no real truths left to hide. More futile for how he holds no stock in what tomorrow might bring.
And maybe that's what drives him to meet her own attempt at lying with a bit of flippancy, shrugging both his shoulders and his hands. An unwillingness to be the only one exposed. A knowingness of how it feels not to be. Another contradiction, but also another part of the Dessendre side of himself shining through.]
Ooh, I love a good semantics argument.
[It's brotherly more than anything, though, his heart incapable of treating any version of Alicia with anything worse than gentle teasing, at least in matters such as this. Even if it is driven by something darker; even if is frustrates and worries and, frankly, terrifies to think of how much she's pushing herself and how that might quicken her family's violent return to the Canvas, particularly if she grows accustomed to enduring this level of strain, this insistence on making things right no matter the cost.]
Next, you're going to tell me you've only been doing what needs to be done, right?
[ There's a short exhale through the nose as she looks back at him, eyebrow lifting in an expression that asks are we doing this? ]
I'm not saying that. [ Can they still walk the line between the easy teasing of siblings that she's so desperate to win back, and the harsh reality of having been at deadly odds not long ago? Maelle draws a deep breath, sighing audibly before her face eases back into something more relaxed.
Mind over matter. ] Just that there's a lot to do. I'm not...running the city or anything, but Papa destroyed it. Manually rebuilding takes a lot of time.
[ Because she knows that he's worrying about her Painting, though, she adds: ] Not all of it needs to be done right away, or by me. Verso, I'm being careful. And if it helps, I've got a long, relaxing evening ahead of me today.
[ Strictly untrue, since she'll be going back to the empty apartment and has no idea how it's going to feel, except 'probably bad,' but. ]
It's not as if I can just sit around doing nothing. We have to rebuild.
[ Honestly, she'd probably lose her mind sooner that way, she thinks. ]
[He's not sure what else to do besides pretend that they can walk that line. It's a tentative embrace of make-believe, one that will no doubt unravel the moment Maelle starts to bear the same signs of dying to the Canvas as Aline had, her skin prematurely ageing, splashes of paint peeking through the cracks in her veneer of normalcy. But the alternative is to commit his own eating away of her lifeforce, and that's far more unfathomable to him than reverting to being a filthy fucking liar.
He only has the energy and the drive to pose so much of a challenge, though. Up go his hands in defeat, a gesture he half-heartedly turns into a shrug before leaning back more against the couch. A very comfortable couch, though he doesn't appreciate that nearly as much as he does the feeling of sinking into the cushions, that lack of effort, that glimpse of a thought of how much he can disappear into them.
Besides, it's not like she's wrong.]
All right, all right.
[Idly, he'll wonder if he ever actually means those words again. Yes, okay, all right. Fine. Good. He lets out an upward puff of breath, his bangs lifting in its breeze.]
[ The teasing -- for however much it was teasing, versus something more serious -- is gone in an instant. Or...more accurately: the fight is gone. And it isn't as if she wants to fight him, of course, whether in an argument, or...in the very literal way they had before. But to have him start up a bit and then abandon the thread just as quickly...
Maelle looks at him with blatant concern, unwilling to hide this, at least: that she's still, forever, worried about him. Really, he hasn't been the same since they'd forced Aline from the Canvas. Even when she'd recovered her memories and they'd set about gathering chroma from corpses, he'd been like a puppet with his strings cut.
She sighs, but doesn't say anything about it. Not at the moment, anyway. ]
Tonight... [ Probably would've been best to come up with some plan for the evening, but every time she'd given it some thought, her mind had just been full of static. So there's a pause as she thinks it over, blinking in his direction, before she slowly answers with: ] I might go and take a look at the damage near the docks, see what has to be done. And after that, Gustave and Sophie said I should come 'round for dinner.
[ Though she'd actually planned to try and make herself food, to avoid any questions about how she's feeling, or how Verso is feeling, or how she's feeling about how he's feeling.
There's another pause, then: ] Kinda assumed you'd want to have some time for yourself today.
[ Whatever the...deeper complications that they're dealing with, he's also just an adult who needs space. And though she'd argue he'd gotten a lot of that holed up in his room...she also knows it isn't the same. ]
What'll you do? [ She asks next, keeping her tone light, but her intent clear: please at least try not to wallow the whole night. ]
[You can start by getting rid of those statues, he almost wants to offer, sure that he could make it lighthearted if he really tried. Far less sure that he could make it convincing, though, especially with the way she looks at him, gaze working its way through the latticework of his masks, concern eating away at him like the familiar rot of failure.
He's so fucking tired.
But it's good that she has a second family. Once, he'd been a bit... not quite jealous, but prone towards comparison with Gustave. A much better role model, a much better brother, enough of both to make him incredibly dangerous to Verso's plans. Joke's on him, though: in hindsight, he can't help but feel like Gustave is only person in this world who could have convinced Maelle to save both herself and the Canvas. Or maybe that's the self-loathing speaking once again. He's lost the ability to differentiate it.
A dark part of himself wonders if that's his key, to convince Gustave of the necessity of Maelle's departure. He tables it for a far-distant later.]
Oh yeah? What's on the menu?
[It goes beyond his notice how similar this question is to his last one, how that might make it seem that he's going through the motions. Which only becomes more true shortly afterwards. Somehow, Verso hadn't anticipated Maelle turning his question back on him; the frown that follows its asking is deep and genuine and exhausted in ways that slips between his masks, making it more apparent than he'd like. So he got cocky, then; so he still needs to pace himself. Lesson learned.]
I haven't thought that far yet. Maybe I'll...
[Blank. Every idea he tries to chase ends up at a dead end. All he can do is offer a self-effacing laugh and a halved smile as he completes the thought without an answer.]
[ Good that she can't read his mind, good that she doesn't consider for a second that her former guardian could possibly be used against her. She's no longer merely Maelle, which is why she'd been able to work through the truth of Gustave's death with much less intensity than she would've wielded otherwise. Were she to suspect Verso of trying to convince the other man to advocate for Maelle's exit from the Canvas... ]
Daube, I think. [ One of her favorites, again as Maelle. Warm, spiced: the kind of meal that sticks to your bones. And it'd been offered, before she'd turned down the dinner, so she isn't...completely lying. ] It feels like forever since I've had it.
[ Had they eaten it much back home? Probably, but for some reason details like that about her life in the manor beyond this world seem distant. Hazy. And she feels no real need to examine them with greater scrutiny.
She also tries not to overly-scrutinize the face he makes when she merely asks what he intends to do with the rest of his day. ]
Okay. [ Comes the reply, because what else can she say? And it's...fine that he hasn't thought of it, she knows he's still...recovering.
There's a sense that she should go and leave him to the space he'd requested. There is, too, a hesitancy, and not just because she's worried about him. The whole point had been to get to spend some of that lost time together. She wants to be around him. But...maybe it's too much, too soon. ]
I can...leave you to it, if you want. [ Her madeliene eaten, Maelle rests her hands on her lap. ] Check back in another time?
[ The posture and tone make it obvious, though: she doesn't want to go. ]
[Daube. Verso has to think for a moment what that even is; the closest that he gets is that it's some kind of stew. How long has it been since he's had real food, made with farm-fresh ingredients, herbs greening the sauce? He'd try to bring to mind the flavours he was once used to – beef braised in wine, rich and creamy bechamels, the bouillabaisse they'd sold on the docks in Old Lumiere – but his stomach is quick to protest, and he obliges it, letting all food-related thoughts quiet. As such, all he offers in response is a paltry:]
Sounds good.
[It's lost on him that Maelle is lying about the dinner – that, in fact, she had only said it was offered, a classic tactic that he himself had made ample use of over the decades – so he accepts the miniscule comfort he's afforded by the thought of her enjoying a meal with good company.
That comfort doesn't last, though; as blind as he was to her twisting of words before, he's not oblivious to how she makes him an offer that she hopes he'll refuse. And there is a small and bitter part of him, fuelled by that ever-present exhaustion, that urges him not to care. Let her come to understand how he'd rather she leave him alone; let her realise that there is no future where he gives into the fantasy. There is some logic behind it, though, that he does acknowledge. Maelle does need to learn to leave him alone, for one; even ignoring his own need for space, it's not healthy for her to keep hovering. So, he makes a move to compromise.]
What, and let you get away without giving me a tour? I'll never find anything on my own.
[Because he'll give up looking five seconds in and revert to his forestman tendencies, but not all details need to be shared.]
Then you can go. Gotta get ready for dinner, right?
[ It's...some compromise, at least. She realizes this, and yet it does nothing to untangle the twisted knot that is her stomach. She'd grown up the baby sister, after all: had spent countless hours trailing Verso and Clea, whining about their needing to include her in their games, clutching at their legs, gazing up wide-eyed at their creations. She'd more than earned her moniker of "little shadow."
Had Maman given that nickname to Alicia, too? Given her memories of those days of childhood when she'd desperately tried to do everything with her siblings?
That isn't the only reason, of course. With her memories returned, it's endlessly complicated to look at him and not think of the brother she'd lost. He isn't Verso, she'd said, but there are still little tics that go beyond his appearance or voice alone.
...None of this is helping, though. He'd asked for a tour, is gently suggesting she give him space, and...it's the right thing to do, but it still doesn't sit well with her. ]
Sure. [ They might as well be putting on a terrible play, for how stilted it all feels. Still, Maelle rises to her feet and gives her lap a quick brush for any errant madeliene crumbs before stepping more toward the center of the room, arms behind her back. ] Well...this is the sitting room. Having just given it a try, I agree it's very good for sitting.
[ She won't mention the piano, feature though it may be.
Maelle moves further in, passing where she'd deposited the wine, and waits for him in the doorway to the hall. ]
Come on, lots to see. And I've got another tour scheduled right after.
[ Merde. Try. It's all she can do, at least at the moment. ]
[It catches Verso off guard for a moment how Maelle locks her arms behind her back. He had noticed her doing it on the expedition, of course, one of those little idiosyncrasies that Aline was exceptionally good at capturing in her paintings. But with the white hair and the ordinary clothes – with how she carries herself around him like a sister who needs her brother and not the friend she'd become as Maelle, too – he can't help but bring to mind his Alicia again. That last moment they'd spent in each other's good graces. The way she's stood beside him, silent as ever, and they'd crossed their arms behind their backs in perfect synchronicity.
Here and now, Verso crosses his over his chest. Not a deliberate rebellion, but perhaps a subconscious one.
He makes his way past the piano himself, almost looking away from it as he does, still unsure how to deal with having his symbol of hope and self and beauty sitting so central to a life that feels like it's denying him all three. None of that shows in his expression, at least, as he meets her in the doorway, peeking down the hall.]
Ah, so the lady is in high demand.
[It's a tease he doesn't think through as well as he should have, perhaps; they've already establish how busy she is, now, how hard she's pushing herself. Of course, she's in high demand. But he sighs the faux pas off, already familiar with committing them against her, and tries to shift gears a bit.]
This is nice. You know, I always wanted a hallway.
[Alas, there wasn't room for one in his forestman shack. ]
[ Any deeper meaning -- intended or otherwise -- in his body language goes unnoticed by the young woman in the doorway. She merely watches him move with a perfectly serene expression...until he cracks a joke, which earns him both a snort and a weary shake of the head. ]
Oh, yes. Completely booked up. [ It's at least half a joke, isn't it? Yes, she's got a lot to do, but she's also been avoiding those responsibilities in favour of hovering around Verso as he...recovers.
The quip that follows does make her smile more deeply in earnest, though she punctuates it with a roll of her eyes. ]
Then: you're welcome. I hope you won't let this life of luxury go straight to your head.
[ Not far is a doorway to a small dining space, then a powder room, and further down the little hall is a galley-style kitchen. At the end is a set of stairs going up and she lingers at the bottom until he's done whatever amount of poking his head into the other spaces he'd like.
Resisting the urge to add the kind of touches like you'd find in the manor had been...harder than expected. Not adding a gallery or studio had been easy, but declining to put in a little library, for example, had taken more willpower.
At least it isn't as if they can't change it, should he want any tweaks. ]
Not sure I've asked: did you cook much?
[ While in his own version of the manor: probably not, if Aline had been keeping the Dessendres as true to their out-of-Canvas counterparts' lived experience. Maybe when he'd been on his own, though? Whether in that first apartment, or some meager meal above a campfire. ]
[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
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Everything is complex at the moment. And, as Verso says, a lot's changed since the last time she sat down at her desk in the manor with a typewriter at her fingertips.
What would she even write about now? Maelle drops her gaze as she considers it, chewing at the inside of her cheek. If...Verso had succeeded in forcing her from the Canvas, then it'd be easy: she'd be writing about her life here, and all of the people she'd loved who would be gone, and everything they'd experienced. But as things are now? She's still with those people, still living that story.
Maybe the answer is easy, then. It's the opposite of what she would do in that case. Since she's committed to living here, then...maybe it'd do her some good to remember the Dessendres by using writing as a vessel to...say goodbye to them, really. Because as far as she's concerned, she won't be seeing her parents or sister again, no matter what Verso believes.
Speaking of. His question draws her again from the train of thought, and she meets his gaze with a look that hangs. ]
Of course I have. [ Maelle replies, tone crisp and suggestive of her willingness to argue, should he contradict her claim (obvious lie though it is). ] I've been doing a lot of sitting around, actually.
[ Well, it's true in a way, at least. Especially when things were at their worst, when she'd haunted the front room of the shared apartment, unwilling to stray too far. ]
There's a lot to do. [ She adds unnecessarily, shrugging. ] It's a whole new world and all.
[ Everyone has to figure out how to exist far into years they never thought they'd have. It's a lot for everyone to do. ]
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And maybe that's what drives him to meet her own attempt at lying with a bit of flippancy, shrugging both his shoulders and his hands. An unwillingness to be the only one exposed. A knowingness of how it feels not to be. Another contradiction, but also another part of the Dessendre side of himself shining through.]
Ooh, I love a good semantics argument.
[It's brotherly more than anything, though, his heart incapable of treating any version of Alicia with anything worse than gentle teasing, at least in matters such as this. Even if it is driven by something darker; even if is frustrates and worries and, frankly, terrifies to think of how much she's pushing herself and how that might quicken her family's violent return to the Canvas, particularly if she grows accustomed to enduring this level of strain, this insistence on making things right no matter the cost.]
Next, you're going to tell me you've only been doing what needs to be done, right?
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I'm not saying that. [ Can they still walk the line between the easy teasing of siblings that she's so desperate to win back, and the harsh reality of having been at deadly odds not long ago? Maelle draws a deep breath, sighing audibly before her face eases back into something more relaxed.
Mind over matter. ] Just that there's a lot to do. I'm not...running the city or anything, but Papa destroyed it. Manually rebuilding takes a lot of time.
[ Because she knows that he's worrying about her Painting, though, she adds: ] Not all of it needs to be done right away, or by me. Verso, I'm being careful. And if it helps, I've got a long, relaxing evening ahead of me today.
[ Strictly untrue, since she'll be going back to the empty apartment and has no idea how it's going to feel, except 'probably bad,' but. ]
It's not as if I can just sit around doing nothing. We have to rebuild.
[ Honestly, she'd probably lose her mind sooner that way, she thinks. ]
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He only has the energy and the drive to pose so much of a challenge, though. Up go his hands in defeat, a gesture he half-heartedly turns into a shrug before leaning back more against the couch. A very comfortable couch, though he doesn't appreciate that nearly as much as he does the feeling of sinking into the cushions, that lack of effort, that glimpse of a thought of how much he can disappear into them.
Besides, it's not like she's wrong.]
All right, all right.
[Idly, he'll wonder if he ever actually means those words again. Yes, okay, all right. Fine. Good. He lets out an upward puff of breath, his bangs lifting in its breeze.]
So, what's on the agenda for tonight?
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Maelle looks at him with blatant concern, unwilling to hide this, at least: that she's still, forever, worried about him. Really, he hasn't been the same since they'd forced Aline from the Canvas. Even when she'd recovered her memories and they'd set about gathering chroma from corpses, he'd been like a puppet with his strings cut.
She sighs, but doesn't say anything about it. Not at the moment, anyway. ]
Tonight... [ Probably would've been best to come up with some plan for the evening, but every time she'd given it some thought, her mind had just been full of static. So there's a pause as she thinks it over, blinking in his direction, before she slowly answers with: ] I might go and take a look at the damage near the docks, see what has to be done. And after that, Gustave and Sophie said I should come 'round for dinner.
[ Though she'd actually planned to try and make herself food, to avoid any questions about how she's feeling, or how Verso is feeling, or how she's feeling about how he's feeling.
There's another pause, then: ] Kinda assumed you'd want to have some time for yourself today.
[ Whatever the...deeper complications that they're dealing with, he's also just an adult who needs space. And though she'd argue he'd gotten a lot of that holed up in his room...she also knows it isn't the same. ]
What'll you do? [ She asks next, keeping her tone light, but her intent clear: please at least try not to wallow the whole night. ]
no subject
He's so fucking tired.
But it's good that she has a second family. Once, he'd been a bit... not quite jealous, but prone towards comparison with Gustave. A much better role model, a much better brother, enough of both to make him incredibly dangerous to Verso's plans. Joke's on him, though: in hindsight, he can't help but feel like Gustave is only person in this world who could have convinced Maelle to save both herself and the Canvas. Or maybe that's the self-loathing speaking once again. He's lost the ability to differentiate it.
A dark part of himself wonders if that's his key, to convince Gustave of the necessity of Maelle's departure. He tables it for a far-distant later.]
Oh yeah? What's on the menu?
[It goes beyond his notice how similar this question is to his last one, how that might make it seem that he's going through the motions. Which only becomes more true shortly afterwards. Somehow, Verso hadn't anticipated Maelle turning his question back on him; the frown that follows its asking is deep and genuine and exhausted in ways that slips between his masks, making it more apparent than he'd like. So he got cocky, then; so he still needs to pace himself. Lesson learned.]
I haven't thought that far yet. Maybe I'll...
[Blank. Every idea he tries to chase ends up at a dead end. All he can do is offer a self-effacing laugh and a halved smile as he completes the thought without an answer.]
Figure it out before bed.
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Daube, I think. [ One of her favorites, again as Maelle. Warm, spiced: the kind of meal that sticks to your bones. And it'd been offered, before she'd turned down the dinner, so she isn't...completely lying. ] It feels like forever since I've had it.
[ Had they eaten it much back home? Probably, but for some reason details like that about her life in the manor beyond this world seem distant. Hazy. And she feels no real need to examine them with greater scrutiny.
She also tries not to overly-scrutinize the face he makes when she merely asks what he intends to do with the rest of his day. ]
Okay. [ Comes the reply, because what else can she say? And it's...fine that he hasn't thought of it, she knows he's still...recovering.
There's a sense that she should go and leave him to the space he'd requested. There is, too, a hesitancy, and not just because she's worried about him. The whole point had been to get to spend some of that lost time together. She wants to be around him. But...maybe it's too much, too soon. ]
I can...leave you to it, if you want. [ Her madeliene eaten, Maelle rests her hands on her lap. ] Check back in another time?
[ The posture and tone make it obvious, though: she doesn't want to go. ]
no subject
Sounds good.
[It's lost on him that Maelle is lying about the dinner – that, in fact, she had only said it was offered, a classic tactic that he himself had made ample use of over the decades – so he accepts the miniscule comfort he's afforded by the thought of her enjoying a meal with good company.
That comfort doesn't last, though; as blind as he was to her twisting of words before, he's not oblivious to how she makes him an offer that she hopes he'll refuse. And there is a small and bitter part of him, fuelled by that ever-present exhaustion, that urges him not to care. Let her come to understand how he'd rather she leave him alone; let her realise that there is no future where he gives into the fantasy. There is some logic behind it, though, that he does acknowledge. Maelle does need to learn to leave him alone, for one; even ignoring his own need for space, it's not healthy for her to keep hovering. So, he makes a move to compromise.]
What, and let you get away without giving me a tour? I'll never find anything on my own.
[Because he'll give up looking five seconds in and revert to his forestman tendencies, but not all details need to be shared.]
Then you can go. Gotta get ready for dinner, right?
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Had Maman given that nickname to Alicia, too? Given her memories of those days of childhood when she'd desperately tried to do everything with her siblings?
That isn't the only reason, of course. With her memories returned, it's endlessly complicated to look at him and not think of the brother she'd lost. He isn't Verso, she'd said, but there are still little tics that go beyond his appearance or voice alone.
...None of this is helping, though. He'd asked for a tour, is gently suggesting she give him space, and...it's the right thing to do, but it still doesn't sit well with her. ]
Sure. [ They might as well be putting on a terrible play, for how stilted it all feels. Still, Maelle rises to her feet and gives her lap a quick brush for any errant madeliene crumbs before stepping more toward the center of the room, arms behind her back. ] Well...this is the sitting room. Having just given it a try, I agree it's very good for sitting.
[ She won't mention the piano, feature though it may be.
Maelle moves further in, passing where she'd deposited the wine, and waits for him in the doorway to the hall. ]
Come on, lots to see. And I've got another tour scheduled right after.
[ Merde. Try. It's all she can do, at least at the moment. ]
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Here and now, Verso crosses his over his chest. Not a deliberate rebellion, but perhaps a subconscious one.
He makes his way past the piano himself, almost looking away from it as he does, still unsure how to deal with having his symbol of hope and self and beauty sitting so central to a life that feels like it's denying him all three. None of that shows in his expression, at least, as he meets her in the doorway, peeking down the hall.]
Ah, so the lady is in high demand.
[It's a tease he doesn't think through as well as he should have, perhaps; they've already establish how busy she is, now, how hard she's pushing herself. Of course, she's in high demand. But he sighs the faux pas off, already familiar with committing them against her, and tries to shift gears a bit.]
This is nice. You know, I always wanted a hallway.
[Alas, there wasn't room for one in his forestman shack. ]
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Oh, yes. Completely booked up. [ It's at least half a joke, isn't it? Yes, she's got a lot to do, but she's also been avoiding those responsibilities in favour of hovering around Verso as he...recovers.
The quip that follows does make her smile more deeply in earnest, though she punctuates it with a roll of her eyes. ]
Then: you're welcome. I hope you won't let this life of luxury go straight to your head.
[ Not far is a doorway to a small dining space, then a powder room, and further down the little hall is a galley-style kitchen. At the end is a set of stairs going up and she lingers at the bottom until he's done whatever amount of poking his head into the other spaces he'd like.
Resisting the urge to add the kind of touches like you'd find in the manor had been...harder than expected. Not adding a gallery or studio had been easy, but declining to put in a little library, for example, had taken more willpower.
At least it isn't as if they can't change it, should he want any tweaks. ]
Not sure I've asked: did you cook much?
[ While in his own version of the manor: probably not, if Aline had been keeping the Dessendres as true to their out-of-Canvas counterparts' lived experience. Maybe when he'd been on his own, though? Whether in that first apartment, or some meager meal above a campfire. ]
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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.
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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.
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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.