superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

The way Gustave's eyes flick to Verso with immediate and open interest is much more obvious than he intends or even realises. "Expedition sixty," he echoes, brow knit in thought, before he makes a little sound of recognition.

"No weapons, no Pictos. They lasted long enough to meet you?" He is trying to rein his curiosity in and doing a very poor job of it.

Verso has always been good about picking up on what people want from him, and so when Gustave replies with obvious interest in the story, he turns toward him more bodily, leaning in as if he's about to share something conspiratorial. Willing to be whatever his companions want him to be, even if, in this case, that role seems to be 'walking history book'.

"All the way to the Monolith," he says, nodding. "I didn't, uh, partake."

Obviously. They had nothing to lose, but Verso would have had to live the rest of his eternal life remembering how he let it hang in the breeze in front of an entire expedition. Besides, by that point, he'd already grown disillusioned with joining expeditions. He'd frequently sworn it off, and then— he's here now, so obviously he reneged. Multiple times.

"I think the Nevrons died of terror before they ever got to them. It was a..." He trails off for a moment, then finishes with a crooked grin, "Harrowing sight."

It's clearly not the answer Gustave is expecting, and he's caught for a moment between pure fascination and incredulity. Collecting this information, recording it for the generations to come - it's the indulgent sort of thing he daydreams about, in the rare moments there's time to daydream.

He shakes his head after a moment, leaning back. "Not a chance. I don't believe you." But there's a laugh on the edge of his voice. Gustave has never quite been cold to Verso, but he's been plenty wary. This is easily the warmest expression he's worn when speaking directly with him.

This is the most truth Verso's told in a while; funny, that this is the thing Gustave struggles to believe. Making a cross over his chest, Verso says, "Cross my heart and hope to... well."

He's always hoping to die. No such luck yet, though.

"Thinking about giving it a shot? Maybe it'll get us to the Monolith."

Probably not. Even disregarding the humiliation aspect, the 60s were brawly. Their strongest member is probably Monoco, and Verso really doesn't want to see him naked, thanks.

Gustave leans back just enough to look at the women (and teenage girl) chatting companionably in the flickering light of the fire, before he glances at Verso with another quiet laugh. "I see. You're just trying to get me thrown into the middle of the ocean."

It's ridiculous, he knows, but - it's simply been a long time since he's had to get to know someone brand new. Lumiere's population was dwindling, and he'd kept quite an insulated social circle in the years leading up to their expedition. Casual banter is hard, but he's making an effort.

He gestures at Verso after a moment, teasing gently: "But by all means, if you think it might bring us luck. I'm sure Sciel wouldn't mind, at least."

Gustave is dense as a brick at times, but he's pretty he's caught her stealing glances.

"I think Sciel would be the first to shed her clothes if she thought it would help."

She's... bold. Brave. Willing to do what has to be done. A little ridiculous, too, but no one ever turned away comedic relief in dark times. He's sorry that, one way or another, her life will be cut short.

"Better not to, though. I'm over a hundred. All wrinkles under here."

Wrinkles weren't part of the immortality package, actually. He's vain enough that he'd be horrified if they were. But Gustave seems to enjoy self-effacement, and he has the feeling that playing the roguish and dashing stranger won't work with him as well as the others.

It's true; roguish and dashing would have simply convinced Gustave that Verso had more to hide, something to compensate for. Living here, surrounded by death that seemed to touch everything but you - well, it just didn't seem like the sort of environment to nurture cheeky rakishness.

The weak attempt at self-deprecation does win him a lukewarm look of exasperation. (And the way Gustave's eyes flicker down to Verso's chest and stomach for just a split second is part of a very scientific curiosity, thank you very much.) "I wondered as much, as bad as those crow's feet of yours are."

"Merde," Verso laughs. "You only let me bask in the compliments for five seconds before you send me crashing back to Earth."

Mean!!! Gustave is mean, actually. Verso can't imagine where Esquie got the idea that he's nice from. Maybe because being mean to Esquie is the moral equivalent of kicking a puppy, whereas being mean to Verso is more like swatting a particularly persistent fly. One that probably deserves it.

"And here I was trying to be endearingly humble." Which still means he was trying to be endearing in the first place. "I thought you might tell me I don't look a day over 90, at least."

Gustave grins slightly at his reaction, shifting to get a little more comfortable. His legs are bent, arms resting across his knees at chest height. If nothing else, it doesn't seem like he's prepared to flee when things turn awkward.

"It sounds an awful lot like you're fishing for compliments," he says. "But not a day over 90 - I can give you that."

It's only funny because it's so absurd. It doesn't matter how many silly jabs Gustave makes about grey hair or wrinkles; Verso's attractiveness is almost more objective fact than opinion.

Verso is pretty certain that the more Gustave lobs insults at him, the more comfortable he is. Which is a good thing; Gustave, whether he knows it or not, is the heart of this expedition, and Verso will need his trust. Like a sheep trusts the farmhand leading him to the slaughter, he thinks, but quickly pushes it aside. Gustave is dead either way, and at least this way, he'll be a member of the expedition that finally ends the cycle.

He doesn't care if Gustave is comfortable with him because he actually has any intention of being friends, of course. This time, he's really not going to get attached. It'll be a clean break.

"Flatterer," is his dry response. "You know, I was going to tell you about the continent before the Fracture, but if it's going to put me in your crosshairs..."

Gustave is certain that Verso has his own motivations, unshared reasons for making the choices he's made. He's not sure if his suspicion will ever fully abate, in light of those secrets. He is also fairly certain that he'd be twice as suspicious if Verso was pretending to be fully upfront about it all.

(And, ultimately? Gustave doesn't care what Verso's goals are, as long as they point towards safety for Maelle.)

"I can play nice," he says, mock-defensively, and he waves one hand in vague apology. "And I would love to hear anything you're happy to share." There's a moment's hesitation, before he amends: "But don't do it because you think you owe it to us. I'm sure it's tiring, being treated like a museum exhibit."

A museum exhibit. Yes, it is tiring to be poked and prodded at like a novelty, but their whole lives have been in a bubble. There's so much they don't know, and now here Verso is, holding the secrets of the universe in his hands. Anyone would be curious.

He shrugs. "I can't blame you."

There's a reason he turned the topic of conversation away from the expeditions, though, and onto more pleasant things. His life pre-Fracture was simple. No family feuds, no existential crises, no Gommages. He'd rather discuss that, given the option.

"I don't mind. They're good memories." Most of them probably aren't even his. He's jealous of the person who got to live them, rather than just recall them. "We used to travel all the time. Skiing, hiking, swimming. You've probably never been out of Lumière, have you?"

Gustave shrugs lightly at Verso's question, smiling a little crookedly out at the horizon. No, of course he'd never been out of the city in any meaningful way, but that was a question Verso certainly already knew the answer to.

"And what about the day to day? A Saturday afternoon, with no pressing obligations. How did you pass the time?" He can't really fathom it, the concept of a life lived without an expiration date. He'd spent so much of his life nearly deafened by the ticking of the countdown.

A Saturday afternoon, no pressing obligations. It's banal, but the memories feel almost too precious to share. He knows they're Verso's memories, the real one, because when he imagines a lazy day with nothing better to do, Alicia is there laughing. He never had an Alicia who laughed.

"Before I spent my time tortured and brooding, you mean?"

A joke. And also not a joke.

"...I played piano."

And he'd thought himself tortured and brooding about that, too, his love of music his greatest struggle. Some things never change.

"That suits you, I think." Not that Gustave would be able to explain exactly why he thinks that. The remark is earnest, a soft acknowledgement. They were all willing to pick up arms to fight for the future they wanted, but that had been a choice made out of necessity, not desire.

Verso was fierce and dangerous with a weapon, but Gustave can imagine him happier behind a piano.

"Were you any good?"

'Suits him', Gustave says. Interesting. He spent a lifetime being told it didn't suit him, but he supposes Gustave doesn't know the Dessendres. He has no expectations for Verso, which is oddly sort of freeing.

"See, now you've put me in a conundrum. Either I say yes and get branded a narcissist, or I feign modesty, and, well, then I'd be a liar."

"No, you showed some real restraint, waiting until you were asked. It sounds like a nice way to spend an afternoon." He flexes the fingers of his mechanical arm, considering it idly, and decides it was probably for the best that he'd never been overly interested in artistic pursuits of his own.

"Something else for you to chat with Lune about," Gustave says. He's not making an intentional choice offer so little about himself in return. The unconscious idea that he has nothing to offer that Verso hasn't likely already heard before keeps him from really even considering what he might share.

A silence stretches out. Not intentionally. It's just that Verso waits, expecting Gustave to offer up something of his own, and then he doesn't. And then Verso waits some more, and Gustave still doesn't. And then—

Okay, this is getting awkward.

He leans in again, as if to share a secret. "This is the part where you share something, now."

Gustave seems almost baffled when what he believed was a companionable silence is broken by that. He raises both eyebrows, like he's deliberating, before he shakes his head and replies with genuine apology in his voice. "I am - a profoundly uninteresting man," he says like it's a confession, reaching up to rub the back of his own neck. "I finished the Lumina Converter, and I'm proud of that. But otherwise..."

He trails off, shrugging one shoulder. "Sorry. I can make something up, if you'd like."

Profoundly uninteresting, he says, right before dropping the Lumina Converter into conversation. It's impressive enough to warrant 'interesting' status, but admittedly not what Verso is most curious about.

"How did you spend your time with Maelle?" comes out as more pointed than he intends, so he adds, "For example."

A nice save, he thinks (and hopes).

"I bet she wouldn't agree with profoundly uninteresting."

He's not expecting a question about Maelle, but the addendum is plausible enough that it doesn't raise his hackles. It's the same arbitrary Saturday question he'd asked Verso, really, just phrased in a different way.

"I don't know about that," he says, but he's smiling to himself as he reminisces. It's a soft look. Fond. "I helped her with her studies. She helped me with my apprentices. We trained." Gustave's expression crumples with amusement for a moment. "We had an exclusive two-member book club for a few months, but she kept reading too far ahead of me."

As Gustave talks, Verso's expression follows the same trajectory. A small, fond smile, albeit tinged with bittersweetness on his end. It aches a little to know that he might as well be a stranger to Maelle; she only has one brother, and that brother is sitting right in front of him. He only notices he's doing it after a moment, and clears his throat as he rids himself of the look.

Earnestly: "That doesn't sound profoundly uninteresting at all."

It sounds like someone who cared for Maelle when she needed it the most. Someone who made her happy, kept her safe. Verso owes Gustave a debt, really.

He can't read Verso's mind, but he's extremely well practiced with bittersweet wistfulness. Gustave won't point it out as such, but he does make a pointed effort to gentle himself just a bit. That was the singular thing every living person had in common: they all had someone to mourn. Knowing that it was coming had never actually made the grief any less profound.

"It wasn't to me," he admits. "The best days of my life, maybe." He deliberates for a moment, like he's unsure if he wants to continue. "You probably think it's irresponsible of me. To have allowed her to come, I mean."

A beat, then: "Yeah."

Of course he thinks it's irresponsible. Maelle is a child, and expeditions are famously lethal. Even knowing that Maelle would survive any encounter in the Canvas, he can't say he likes the thought of her being trampled by Nevrons or obliterated by the barrier around the Monolith. The Canvas is without death for the Dessendres, but it isn't without pain or suffering.

Another beat passes, though, and then he adds, "But I guess you couldn't exactly have stopped her, could you?"

"Oh, so you've noticed her stubborn side, too?" Gustave chuckles slightly at that, before he allows himself to tip onto his back. He stretches with a groan as he does, settling in to investigate the night sky.

It's easier to be candid when you're looking up into oblivion.

"She made up her mind, and that was that. And so I'm going to keep her safe." He folds his flesh and blood arm behind his head. He knows it isn't that easy, isn't that simple, but he doesn't care. He's not sure he can survive a second time the anguish he'd felt from losing her with everyone else on the beach. So Gustave speaks with conviction, the kind that doesn't invite debate: "It's as simple as that, to be honest."

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gustave: what a nice silence verso: is this guy going to fucking TALK

literally exactly 😭

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