superniceone | tlv inbox

He does not like wardens. He makes this abundantly clear to every warden he gets past surface-level conversation with. Gustave gets a pass in a few ways - the first and most important being that he's already dead, had everything to gain by being here, and... the fact his death was at least 90% Verso's fault.

When the initial upheaval and drama of finding out Maelle had died and then been all but hidden away for three days while nobody told her brother where she was, when she's finally up and moving about and Verso is not feeling like he has to hover over her every moment or vet visitors at the door, he finally takes himself to Gustave's cabin and knocks.

They have some things to talk about. He has some things to talk about.

"Hey." Gustave's face is a little drawn, his hair a little wilder than usual from the way he keeps anxiously dragging his hands through it. Maybe it should have registered as odd, the way that Verso seemed to have been as stressed out about Maelle's death as him — but mostly it just settles as correct. That is exactly the correct amount of upset to have been.

He doesn't step aside immediately, but only because he assumes that Verso isn't here to see him. "She's, uh— she'll be back soon," he says.

It's a reasonable assumption. Having Maelle stay with Gustave once she was well enough to move around made more sense and he was - while not thrilled - not opposed to relinquishing guardianship of her to this man in particular.

"I'm here to talk to you," he replies immediately, sounding just a little terse. "It's better if she's not here."

For... all of them, probably.

Gustave's brow furrows briefly in confusion, or maybe concern, but he waves him in. "Right," he says, and he indicates the same chair Verso had used before. "I'm not sure how long she'll be gone, so sorry for skipping the pleasantries."

He shakes his head, heading in and pausing with brief hesitation before taking the seat.

"I need to--"

A sharp exhale. He waits for Gustave to be seated before clasping his hands together and bracing his forearms on his knees. Verso has never looked particularly well while Gustave has been here - he doesn't eat much and sleeps less - but right now he looks even more ragged than usual.

"You're the only other person here I would completely trust with Maelle's safety," he admits. Sheehan absolutely does not get that honour. "But if I'm going to do that, I--"

And this is difficult, because he's been keeping people away for months now, but here he is doing the exact opposite.

"I need to tell you about me. You need to know who I am."

The kneejerk reaction is to push back, and that surge of displeasure at Verso's phrasing is clear on his face for a split second before he schools his emotions. It rankles him, the way he talks like Verso is the authority on Maelle's safety.

Not the place, and it's definitely not the time. He shakes his head clear of those thoughts. "If this is about you being Renoir's son," he says slowly, "I'm aware. I told you, I've— basically memorized every report left behind about that first Expedition. There's... mention."

There's a grim little smile at that.

"That would have been part of it." It would have, had he not already established that Gustave is a massive Expedition nerd and of course he would know that. He knew about the statues, for heavens sake. No one knew about the statues! If they had, Sciel and Lune would have had him pinned from the moment they laid eyes on him.

"If I wasn't sure you'd already figured that part out."

There's a careful breath in, then out.

"But there's... there's more to it than that, and it's... complicated." Family is complicated. He has to figure out how to say this without breaking it to Gustave that he's not real. That nothing he knows is real. It's too early for that. "Renoir is my father, yes. And my mother... she's the Paintress. Was... the Paintress."

Gustave's expression falls into something a little more serious, his eyes searching Verso's face like he's making absolutely sure this isn't some extremely poorly timed practical joke. His mind is struggling to put together the logistics here. After a moment, he holds up a finger and retrieves what's left of the bottle of white from a few nights before.

He does not offer any to Verso.

"I— how? Elaborate."

He doesn't take offence. Gustave is probably going to need the wine.

"I'm not a real person."

Put quite simply, with a gentle spread of his hands, and it's funny how it feels like something eases in his chest as he says the words out loud to someone who isn't Maelle. Someone who won't immediately retort that he is real to them.

"She Painted me. To replace a son she lost."

That's rough, buddy.

Gustave's brow furrows and he turns that knowledge around in his head, tries to make sense of it in the context of what he knows so far.

"So your mother — the Paintress — can make and unmake life. And just decided one day— what, that she was tired of sharing air with the rest of the world?"

Another of those little smiles.

"In all those reports you read about Expedition Zero, did you ever read anything about what my father and I tried to tell people about the Paintress when we returned?"

Because the suspicion hadn't only been that he and his father seemed to have stopped aging. There had been more than that, grown over time and years as the numbers on the Monolith ticked down and began to take more people away.

"I suppose nobody made official records of that."

It explained why Verso and Renoir seemed immune to the Gommage, at least. But the power to grant immortality, agelessness — that just as staggering as what they knew of her powers already.

"No," he admits. "They'd been 'stripped down to the facts' a few years after they were logged." No doubt a clumsy historian not wanting to 'taint' the legacy of that first Expedition, oblivious to how desperate they'd ultimately be for any information about the Paintress at all.

"Listen, this is— genuinely fascinating. But what does it have to do with keeping Maelle safe?"

That doesn't surprise him. There would be so much Gustave didn't know, then. Names. Pieces of the truth. He could take advantage of that, if he wanted to, but...

"It--"

Maybe he should have brought some liquor along with him.

"Because I need you to be able to trust me. I need to-... to make sure these things don't come out later, when I could have been honest with you and wasn't." He looks up at the other man with a dry smile. "I kept a lot from Sciel, Lune, and Maelle. Almost everything, at first. When it came to light they had to deal with it on the road - I was helping them, they didn't have another option. And I... have learned my lesson there, I suppose."

Not really. It's more that he knows Gustave has the upper hand here. He needs to meet the man where he's at, at least in part.

"I can't afford to be in conflict with you while she's here. While she needs us both. She's too important."

Gustave's expression creases in concern. Yeah, he can understand very easily how that might have soured his relationship with the surviving members of the Expedition, even after Verso had stepped in to save them. His eyes search Verso's face, like he's looking for any hint of ulterior motive here.

Because Verso doesn't need to be honest with him; whatever truth Maelle knows will inevitably come out with her. But he claims he's opening up for her benefit, which means Gustave is willing to grant some tentative grace here.

"Look, I don't disagree. She is too important. And— I'm asking this because I want to understand, not because I'm trying to— cast aspersions or something on you, alright?" His voice is low, measured. Patient. "Are you going to explain why she's so important to you?"

He doesn't say or do anything immediately. Verso recognises the corner he's backed himself into there, and he knew he was doing it.

His expression tightens slightly.

"When Maelle's ready to talk about it, she'll tell you everything." Maybe. Probably. In terms of who Verso is and who he is to her--... He doesn't really want to do that without her knowing. He lets out a soft breath through his nose.

"I'm not keeping it from you. It's just... as much her business as it is mine. Maybe more." Then, after a small shake of his head. "But you're not the only one who sees her as family."

"We've asked the Admiral for my journal. I— the one she wrote in," Gustave says, his face carefully neutral. "She says it'll help explain everything. So if he grants that..."

It's a heads up more than anything else, just indicating that he will indeed soon be staggering out of this darkness he's found himself in. Gustave starts to offer the bottle to Verso, then pauses and sucks his breath in through his teeth. The words that follow are a bit quick.

"I don't want to ask this because it's an incredibly offensive question to ask, and you've given me zero reasons to doubt your intentions so far, but— merde, I'd be a worse guardian than I already am if I didn't. You do mean in a platonic, sisterly way? Please say yes so we can move on."

The question doesn't seem to be entirely understood at first, then Verso looks completely taken aback. He sits up straight, looks very confused for a moment, then... starts to laugh.

It's been a while.

"I-- what?" He rubs his face a little bit. "Is there another way I could see her as family? What kind of person do you think I am?"

Gustave please she is fifteen--

The fact that the question seems to outright startle Verso does a lot to put Gustave at ease. He's clearly embarrassed to have gone there, but he's stubbornly unapologetic, offering what's left of the bottle of wine out to him. He's just been... drinking from the bottle, because it's been a hell of a few days.

"Look," he says with a heavy exhale, dragging his hands through his hair, "I can't say what society was like for someone of your... advanced age when you were in Lumière. It's prudent to check those kinds of things." He is perfectly well aware that it was barely different at all, actually, but his tight little smile indicates he's trying to joke.

"Oh! Now you're calling me old. I see."

Also joking. He takes the wine bottle and seems to have no issue at all with drinking directly from it as well. Once he's had a good mouthful he hands it back, shaking his head.

"I let you know a little about me and you lose all sense of respect."

Verso never demanded respect to begin with. He's not even trying to hide the smirk.

Gustave chuckles quietly at that, rolling the bottle between his hands a little restlessly when it's handed back. "Don't worry. You won my eternal respect the moment I found out that you were there when I couldn't be. Not sure if you realise how much of a debt I still feel like I owe you."

He pulls another long swig, then hands it back. "Finish it. She'll give me hell if she comes back and I smell too much like wine."

There is the smallest twinge of guilt at that. It's not the time or place to tell Gustave that he could have stepped in sooner - he could have stopped Renoir sooner. He could have and chose not to. He's not sure that Maelle would even willingly divulge that. What use would it serve for Gustave to know?

Verso needed him out of the way and he went through with it without even a single conversation with the man. It was easier than it should have been, but still...

He pushes that thought down with another mouthful of wine, and shakes his head.

"You don't owe me anything. I was just there at the right time." His eyes drop. He distracts himself for a moment by reading the label on the bottle. "The wine on this ship is terrible."

He'd protected Maelle, at that moment and beyond that. That had been more important than anything else.

The change in topic gets a laugh out of him, and he leans forward to glimpse the label himself. "I guess since you've been honest with me, I should do the same for you." He gently flicks a metal finger against the bottle in Verso's hands. "I can't tell the difference. All tastes pretty much the exact same to me. I'm a disgrace, I know."

It's in lieu of what he really wants to say: why did your mother become the Paintress, or what's your family's relationship with Maelle, she used to have these nightmares—

In time. One thing at a time.

Groan.

"A complete disgrace. What I wouldn't give for a good Château Haut Brion over this swill."

Terrible. Awful. He drains the rest of the bottle regardless, because he honestly doesn't give a shit about his liver health and has already almost poisoned himself with alcohol once here already.

"If I can get my hands on a decent vintage, I'll share it."

"I believe I just told you it'd be wasted on me," Gustave says with a crooked sort of smile, leaning back in his seat and reaching up to rub at his own temple. "But I'll get another bottle from the Lounge and we can toast to— I don't know. Death not sticking to Maelle here."

He's read your most recent post on the network, Verso, and he's not going to acknowledge it — but he's also careful about stumbling over the landmine that is your obvious suicidal ideation.

Edited 2025-10-15 10:39 (UTC)

"Death doesn't stick to anyone here."

But he's sort of used to that. The whole not being able to die thing. The sting is that he thought he finally had it over with only to be dragged to somewhere where the promise of a second chance at life was being dangled like a reward that he wasn't interested in claiming.

"But I still can't recommend it as a pastime. Being dragged back from the brink does get old after you've done it a few times."

Skirting the suicidal ideation, being immortal does have its... perks(?).

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