Gustave can't really bring himself to disagree with that. He, too, wishes that any of them had the opportunity for something so mundane and normal.
But all of his attention is back on Maelle the moment her arm is in his, and he grins sidelong at her. "Oh, a party, huh? What do you think - three tables or four?"
"Four," is her response. Does she really believe they're going to make it through this, or is she just putting on a brave face? Hard to say. Party-planning is a good distraction either way. "Esquie takes up at least three seats by himself..." She continues yapping about party logistics as they make their way back to camp proper, clearly happy to have a conversation with Gustave where they're both looking forward to the future.
Monoco finds himself mostly unconcerned with the details of what Verso gets up to when he spends time with the other humans, but he's fully aware neither he nor Verso are immune to grief. He's aware that his human companion had been making an effort to keep an emotional barrier up between himself and this latest group of Expeditioners. He's also had front row seats to nearly incidental ways they'd begun to breach it.
"You can do better," he informs Verso matter of factly when Gustave and Maelle return to camp, arm in arm.
Verso watches Gustave and Maelle, arm-in-arm, Maelle chatting animatedly to Gustave about something, and feels another ache of jealousy in his chest. He hadn't wanted to be confronted about Gustave, necessarily, but some part of him wishes he were the one she would have wanted to talk to about it instead.
It's pointless envy. Soon enough there won't be a Gustave or a Verso for her to walk arm-in-arm with. He lets the sight distract him for a moment regardless, before turning to Monoco: "Jealous?" Teasing, of course. Monoco will always be his #1 shawty.
It's not Gustave's fault that Verso had immediately started making excuses to flee!! The most reasonable parts of Gustave know that he should just leave Verso alone, that this thing he's forcing between them isn't good for either of them. He hasn't known Verso long, and it's unfair to make him a victim of Gustave's own baggage - but he likes him. In the end, he hadn't chased Sophie, and his life had been poorer for it.
Monoco knows none of this, of course, and just snorts derisively. "Please. I could take him in a fight any day of the week."
Monoco swats Verso's hand away like he's shooing a fly. "I'll go thrash him right now if it'll cheer you up," he states, as if he has ever once needed a reason to get into a fight.
"It's a talent." Verso doesn't immediately look away, which is an improvement. He smiles faintly back, not nearly as hopeful, but— he's holding Gustave's gaze, which should really count for something. He cants his head toward Maelle, then raises his eyebrow questioningly (and a little smugly, since he so successfully managed to get out of that conversation).
Gustave's little shrug is enough to get Maelle's attention; she glances at him, then tracks his gaze quickly enough back to Verso. "Hey," she calls over, "I said you'd be his date to the victory party. Don't let us down."
She looks a little smug herself when her interjection makes Gustave look like he wants to die. Someday Gustave will be baffled that he never saw the resemblance.
Victory party. Verso's smile falters as he imagines Maelle planning a party she'll never have. It's fine. She can throw one in the real world, with real family and real friends. The smile makes its way firmly back into his face.
"I'm afraid you'll have to fight Monoco for that privilege," he calls back.
Gustave thinks he see that smile falter, his throat a little tight, but he doesn't point it out. Instead, he just gently touches Maelle's back. "Any time," he replies just loud enough to be heard, but he gently redirects her back to her conversation with Esquie then.
That's the last Verso talks to Gustave that night; he retires to his bedroll not long after, although he tosses and turns for a long while after, as expected. It's not only about Gustave, although he features in some of Verso's worries as both a main character and background player; it's about everything. Dread, anticipation. Just a few more days to make it through.
The next day, as they make their way across the water to Sirene, he remains as aggressively normal as the days prior, although there's anxiety in the way he wrings his hands as they step back onto land.
"Does that aim of yours still feel off?" he asks Gustave, eyeing his metal arm.
No, not really. There's a nonzero chance he's going to have to bury the team tonight. What'll be left of them, anyway. That's probably not the right thing to say to motivate Gustave, so he shrugs noncommittally.
"Just looking forward to the sketch you make of this one."
Maybe it's cowardly, but it's easier to face his own potential doom with the knowledge that Verso will protect Maelle when he's gone. "It's alright. You can take it easy. I'll watch your back this time."
He's not trying to flirt - he just wishes he could do something to ease the anxiety in his hands.
"Well, you know me. I'm all about sentiments." Gustave isn't sure there's anyone in the party unaware of their strange recent dynamic, but Gustave maintains a polite distance from him even if he does drop his voice just slightly. "It's going to be alright, Verso. I've got a good feeling about today."
"Well, if you've got a good feeling about it," he teases gently. It doesn't do much to ease his mind, but the sentiment is, again, sweet. He raises his hands, then, placating. "I'm all right. I only wanted to look troubled so you'd comfort me."
Gustave smiles a little crookedly at that, wishing not for the first time that there was something that he could actually do to help. It's something he's felt a lot lately. "It's okay to admit that you're worried, you know," he murmurs. "We won't think any less of you."
He'd like to reach out, to squeeze Verso's raised hand, but he recognizes that's the sort of thing that would bring him comfort - not Verso - and so he doesn't. "Come on, then - we've got a lot of ground to cover."
And they do cover a lot of ground, past the dancers and over the levitating podiums, all the way to the source of the song herself. If seeing Verso's Axon was strange, it's all the more troubling to come face-to-face with Sirene. She isn't Maman, yet she shares her essence; being near her makes Verso desperately miss the real version of her, the version he can't both love and have. Despite it spelling their victory, he hates to see her dissolve into petals.
They return to camp, and Maelle has another one of her waking nightmares; she handles them better these days, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wish he could embrace her and tell her that he won't let anything happen to her. Instead, he just places a hand on her shoulder before letting the others take the lead on her comfort.
The Curator provides Maelle with a weapon to pierce the barrier after that, and it feels— almost solemn. More real than it's ever felt before. He wouldn't know what it feels like to stare mortality in the face, but maybe this is it. He keeps mostly to himself for the rest of the night, ruminating; Maelle is the center of attention for obvious reasons, so his distance isn't particularly notable. As the night comes to a close, though, he settles down by Gustave and his precious journal.
"Hey," he says. No excuse to talk to him this time.
It's a little strange, the way they all act like they don't notice there's something special about Maelle. She'd been the one person actively rescued from the beach, had brought the Curator along with her; had these Visions, now, too, that made it clear there was something going on.
But Gustave has no idea how to go ahead with approaching that topic; it's easier, he thinks, if he just tries to instead focus on the things he can affect.
"Hey," he echoes, finishing his sentence before he snaps the journal shut and looks at Verso. "How are you doing?"
"It's Maelle you should be asking that," he says, glancing back at her. She doesn't seem rattled, at least not the way she had at the beginning, but he knows Alicia. She's just trying to be brave. "But I'm sure you already did multiple times." Gustave is the only person in the world who spends as much time worrying about her as Verso does, after all.
Anyway, he sidesteps the question entirely. You are not welcome to his twisted mind, keep out.
"You really remind me of her sometimes," Gustave says, glancing fondly Maelle's way. "Back when she first came to me and Emma... always pretending to be unrattled. Always evading the question when we tried to get her to open up."
He looks back to Verso after a moment, reaching over to gently grab and squeeze his thigh, just above his knee. It's a gesture of brief affection. "Maybe that's why I like you so much. But I'm good. Thank you for asking."
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But all of his attention is back on Maelle the moment her arm is in his, and he grins sidelong at her. "Oh, a party, huh? What do you think - three tables or four?"
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"You can do better," he informs Verso matter of factly when Gustave and Maelle return to camp, arm in arm.
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It's pointless envy. Soon enough there won't be a Gustave or a Verso for her to walk arm-in-arm with. He lets the sight distract him for a moment regardless, before turning to Monoco: "Jealous?" Teasing, of course. Monoco will always be his #1 shawty.
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Monoco knows none of this, of course, and just snorts derisively. "Please. I could take him in a fight any day of the week."
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It's a real offer, though.
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"And lose my opportunity to brood handsomely? Never."
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Gustave glances back at Verso, and mostly just smiles a little hopefully (and a lot apologetically.)
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She looks a little smug herself when her interjection makes Gustave look like he wants to die. Someday Gustave will be baffled that he never saw the resemblance.
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"I'm afraid you'll have to fight Monoco for that privilege," he calls back.
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The next day, as they make their way across the water to Sirene, he remains as aggressively normal as the days prior, although there's anxiety in the way he wrings his hands as they step back onto land.
"Does that aim of yours still feel off?" he asks Gustave, eyeing his metal arm.
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"No," he answers, flexing his metal arm as if to reassure him. "All good here. Are you alright?"
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"Just looking forward to the sketch you make of this one."
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He's not trying to flirt - he just wishes he could do something to ease the anxiety in his hands.
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No back-watching necessary. Whatever happens, he'll still be here come tomorrow morning, even if he's the only one.
"But I appreciate the heroic sentiment." It's certainly a sweet thought, even if he'd prefer Gustave not watch his back, actually.
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He'd like to reach out, to squeeze Verso's raised hand, but he recognizes that's the sort of thing that would bring him comfort - not Verso - and so he doesn't. "Come on, then - we've got a lot of ground to cover."
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They return to camp, and Maelle has another one of her waking nightmares; she handles them better these days, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wish he could embrace her and tell her that he won't let anything happen to her. Instead, he just places a hand on her shoulder before letting the others take the lead on her comfort.
The Curator provides Maelle with a weapon to pierce the barrier after that, and it feels— almost solemn. More real than it's ever felt before. He wouldn't know what it feels like to stare mortality in the face, but maybe this is it. He keeps mostly to himself for the rest of the night, ruminating; Maelle is the center of attention for obvious reasons, so his distance isn't particularly notable. As the night comes to a close, though, he settles down by Gustave and his precious journal.
"Hey," he says. No excuse to talk to him this time.
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But Gustave has no idea how to go ahead with approaching that topic; it's easier, he thinks, if he just tries to instead focus on the things he can affect.
"Hey," he echoes, finishing his sentence before he snaps the journal shut and looks at Verso. "How are you doing?"
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Anyway, he sidesteps the question entirely. You are not welcome to his twisted mind, keep out.
"What about you?"
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He looks back to Verso after a moment, reaching over to gently grab and squeeze his thigh, just above his knee. It's a gesture of brief affection. "Maybe that's why I like you so much. But I'm good. Thank you for asking."
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