tlv inbox

[superniceone]

Hey, uh. It's Gustave. I'll get back to you when I can.

[ic inbox for thelastvoyages - happy for comm threads or action spam if you're catching him around the barge.]

Comments

sorry, had an unintended hiatus

[superniceone]

[gustave has not, actually; the communicators are incredible technology, but keeping an eye on a network isn't second nature to him. the incoming message from tendi gets his attention first.]

What do you mean? What happened?

[he's trying not to immediately assume someone catastrophic has happened, but the barge has done very little to soothe any anxiety on that front.]

It's okay!

[notthatkindoforion]

I really think it's best to talk in person. Can I come see you? Are you in your cabin?

[Revealing a close friend's - family member, really - death over the network feels pretty callous, when it's no longer an emergency.]

[superniceone]

[well, that does absolutely nothing to reassure him, but it's not like the ship is so large he can't wait for her to arrive.]

Yeah. Floor five—

[he cuts himself off, remembers abruptly that she's been here before.]

I'll have the door open.

[notthatkindoforion]

[Deep breath.]

Okay. On my way.

[And she doesn't fuck around, either. It's only minutes before she knocks on his doorframe to give him a heads up she's arrived, before poking her worried face inside.]

[superniceone]

[gustave is making coffee, more to have something to do with his hands than because he necessarily needs it at the moment. he gestures for her to come inside, holding up a cup in offer.]

This is a cruel thing to do to an anxious man, you realise.

[there's no malice in his tone, but it's clear a thousand possibilities are already rocketing around in his head.]

[notthatkindoforion]

I know, I'm sorry, I got here as fast as I could.

[She takes the cup, then gestures at the closest chair or couch for them to sit down.]

If it were an emergency I'd have just told you, but it's not... that, anymore.

[superniceone]

[it seems to be a replication of the inside of his family home, 19th century decor inside well-kept but clearly aging. he folds himself into what seems like his usual chair, tipping his head in silent offer of any of the other seats to tendi.

the fact that it's not an active emergency anymore does seem to have helped him breathe through that spike of panic, though.]

What would you call it, then?

[notthatkindoforion]

[No putting it off now. She takes a deep breath.]

Verso... died. Of self-neglect and alcoholism, according to his temp, and I trust their assessment. Sheehan's already talking to Maelle about it, but I... I thought you deserved to hear it somewhere private, instead of being blindsided.