"I think you're a valuable member of this expedition."
Admittedly, he'd done the math and figured that he could cover for Gustave's skillset if he allowed Renoir to get rid of him. In the end, he'd only let Gustave live because he couldn't bear to see Maelle so griefstricken. But he hadn't even spoken to Gustave then, and now that he has, it would be harder to let something happen to him. Something before the simultaneous nonexistence that'll come for them all at the end of this, anyway.
It would be deranged to say something like that, so instead, he says, dryly ribbing, "Big slacker, though. You really should be doing something more productive right now."
Gustave might never know just how close he was to was to a (slightly) premature nonexistence. It certainly doesn't seem to occur to him now, close enough to see the way Verso's smile had gone weak, and he suppresses the urge to talk about it. Maybe they've had enough deep conversation for one night.
"I do owe Sciel a chat before we all turn in," he says, only now seeming to realize how late it is. He pushes himself up, shaking his jacket out. "But I'll have that journal with me the next time I corner you like this. Best prepare yourself."
"Oh," he says, surprised at Gustave's sudden departure but quickly recovering, sitting up himself. "Yeah, I think Esquie was looking for me." He wasn't. But then again, Esquie is always eager to talk to him, so if you squint, it's the truth.
Verso runs a hand through the back of his hair, cleaning away bits of grass and dirt from lying on the ground. Vain. Gustave has a blade of grass sticking out right above his ear, but he doesn't say anything.
"...Make sure you do that editing pass, first. Get rid of anything too withering about me."
Gustave watches the way Verso fusses over the detritus in his hair. His expression is somehow both amused and also likely just a little more intense than he means for it to be.
"Don't worry," he promises, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. "I'll bring a red pen for you."
"Thanks," is Verso's wry response as he stands up, dusting off his clothes.
Maybe he should say 'nice talk' or something. It feels as if they've grown a little closer, perhaps — that Gustave has grown a little fonder of him, that is. He's still determined not to get attached to these expeditioners; 67th time's a charm, so they say. It's all just a means to an end, nothing more. No point in making friends when they have an expiration date, he tells himself.
No reason Gustave can't enjoy himself before that comes, though, so Verso cants his head toward Sciel before leaning in. "Ask her if she'd like to reenact Expedition 60 with you."
Gustave, of course, is far too skittish for that. But it's a suggestion all the same, and he absconds to Esquie's side before Gustave can argue.
Gustave flusters at that, visibly annoyed when Verso flees to the safety of Esquie's company. When he swings round to catch up with Sciel, he does not once suggest frolicking in the nude with her, because he's got decorum, Verso!!
The next night at camp, Gustave parks next to Verso, journal and pen in hand. "Couldn't actually find a red one, sorry," he says by way of greeting. "You'll have to settle with blue."
Does he trust Verso on a personal level? No, of course not, he barely knows the guy. But he's shown up, fights for and with them without complaint, and that by itself is probably enough for a little less suspicion in the evenings.
Gustave sits beside him like they have an appointment. He'd said 'the next time', but Verso hadn't exactly expected that to be the next day. He blinks at Gustave, then down at the journal in his hands, and then back up again.
"If you keep talking to me every night like this," he says, droll, "you're going to make me think you like me."
Gustave stares at him for a moment, confused by his surprise. It's not as if there's a thriving social scene out here in the middle of nowhere - was he meant to be avoiding him? Neither can he quite get a read on Verso's actual mood through those words.
"I can buzz off if you're preoccupied with something," he says, the end curling into a question. He can read most of the Expedition members like a native language, but Verso and Monoco remain opaque.
Verso doesn't look preoccupied. He's not doing anything at all, in fact, and just finished yukking it up with Monoco (who's currently showing Sciel a new fighting technique he claims he invented).
"I was being charmingly irreverent." A beat. "Or, it seems, just... irreverent."
Kind of embarrassing, actually. Eager to move on from that, he holds out a hand. "Let me see your journal."
It is actually, genuinely absurd that he is even capable of feeling self-conscious at this point in his life. Gustave laughs under his breath at himself, passing the journal with pages filled with his neat but cramped print over.
"Sure." The words are written with his target audience in mind. Never embellishments, but certainly flourishes at times, the tone mostly awe-filled and curious.
And much kinder to Verso than his initial borderline frosty reception had been. Gustave has written about his prowess in battle and how much invaluable knowledge he must have, though he keeps personal opinion and speculation off the page. It's meant to be a record of events, not his feelings, and he is quite good at separating the two.
He absolutely can be a hundred and still feel self-conscious, thanks. Don't you ever underestimate him.
The parts on Verso are certainly relevant to his interests—it's nice to read about himself from the perspective of someone who doesn't have any preconceived notions of who Verso is—but he finds himself flipping back to previous pages to view what Gustave said about other things. Nevrons, the Gestral Village, the Grandis. There's little excitement left in these things for him, but Gustave describes this world like it's wonderful. Verso's almost a little jealous of the ability to see it as anything but a gilded cage.
"You wrote that gestrals can't speak human language." A rude thing to point out; at the time Gustave wrote it, he had no evidence to the contrary. "They can. With a good enough teacher."
Rude to some, maybe, but Gustave doesn't take the correction as criticism. His eyes and thoughts are turned often enough to the future and its horizons that his pride isn't at all a factor when it comes to recordkeeping. "Oh- very good shout. I'll revise that tonight." He's choosing not to comment on the good enough teacher for now, but it's definitely tucked somewhere in reserve.
He chews thoughtfully on a bit of that evening's rations. "You're welcome to provide further feedback. If you spot any other mistakes, I mean." Maybe if he plays it cool enough Verso will miss how hopeful Gustave is that he'll agree to be his professional editor, apparently.
"Oh, now I see," he says, doing his best to sound betrayed. "You just want to put me to work." He's not talking to Verso because he likes him, as previously accused, but because he's the perfect fact-checker for Gustave's magnum opus.
He can't blame Gustave, actually. It's a smart move. At least, it is while he doesn't realize that Verso doesn't intend for anyone to ever read this. Gustave could write that the sky is pink and the clouds are made of cotton candy, and it would make no practical difference.
"Well, I'll have you know I won't work for anything less than a red pen."
Equally smart of Verso not to give any sign that he's dismissing the significance of his little project, either. Gustave is stubbornly determined not to give up on the future of this world -- at least not for now, not knowing what he does currently.
The answer gets a beleagured sort of sigh out of Gustave. "You're really wearing me out with all of these demands. I suppose you'll be wanting a living wage next." Idly, he offers out a palmful of the scavenged berries he's snacking on next; they're just flavour more than anything of real substance, tart and a little underripe.
Underripe as they may be, Verso does take one and chew on it while he continues flipping through the journal. The pages are packed, Gustave's handwriting narrow and crowded like he's desperate to get every bit of information that he has in his brain out onto the page. Not uninteresting, exactly—although none of it is news to Verso, he can appreciate the sense of amazement underscoring each word—but definitely dense. Reading it, it's like he can feel Gustave's desperation to pass something on wafting up from the pages themeslves.
"This is... detailed." He's surprised that with all this fervent writing, Gustave's hand hasn't cramped up too much to use his longsword.
The journals may not contain many of his innermost thoughts, but that doesn't mean writing in it hasn't helped arrange them. There is an element of helplessness driving it, too, though he's entirely unconscious of it. He'd been so hopeful, so certain until the moment they'd landed on the beach, and now -
Well. At least it would be something. The Lumina Converter would probably always be his most objective legacy, but it was impersonal, born out of desperation and necessity, not simply a desire to create and share.
Gustave holds his hand out at the remark; not demanding it back, but offering to take it if Verso is finished skimming. "Not much else to do when I'm having trouble sleeping."
There are other things to do when you can't sleep. Brooding, for one. Verso would know. But maybe this is Gustave's form of brooding; maybe instead of melancholic poetry and inconsolable screeds, he channels his feelings of hopelessness into creation instead.
It fits. This is the man who said 'I should be doing something more productive', after all.
"Insomniac, huh?" he asks, casual and congenial as he hands over the journal, like he hasn't noticed when he, too, is awake. That would be a little too 'I saw her at the devil's sacrament'. "I'd ask what ails you, but..." A vague gesture toward the world at large. "I'm guessing the answer is everything."
Edited (maybe giving the journal back wasn't as implied as i thought) 2025-06-27 02:01 (UTC)
Gustave hums, a sound of agreement if only because verbally acknowledging how absolute shit the crumbling world around them is only going to make it even harder to sleep tonight.
"Not like journaling is my first choice of pastime, you know." He drags his fingers though his hair in a restless sort of gesture, leaves it messier than it had been before. "What I'd like to do is get blisteringly drunk and dissociate by the water for a few hours. Unfortunately, alcohol was left off of our ship's manifest."
Verso tilts his head during the pause, as if trying to puzzle Gustave out. He hadn't expected Gustave to jump for joy, exactly, but he had expected something along the lines of a shove and a when were you planning on sharing?
Never, quite frankly. Drinking with someone is terrible for 'not getting attached'. But then Gustave had mentioning drinking himself into oblivion and dissociating by the water, and that same desire in himself had recognized its twin, and he'd felt, perhaps, like he shouldn't deprive a man awaiting execution of momentary relief.
"Right," he says back, expression disbelieving. "Well, if you aren't interested..."
Gustave makes a face, cutting himself off with a little wave of his hand. His kneejerk reaction was that it'd be irresponsible, dangerous - both tonight and for the day to come, if they were stumbling around dangerous nevron territory with a hangover. But that's an extreme conclusion to draw from an offer of wine, and he rubs the side of his neck, cracking it as he deliberates.
"Just make sure Sciel and Lune are aware that the offer's there. They'd throw us both off a cliff if we had a glass without them, and only one of us would bounce back from that."
Verso stands, dusting off his pants before holding out a hand to help Gustave up off the ground. As he does so, his gaze wanders toward the fire, where Esquie and Sciel are animatedly chatting. He's pretty sure he hears the words and then Verso... coming from Esquie, and cringes a little knowing that he's probably recounting an embarrassing story.
"That won't be a problem. It's not exactly in an... inconspicuous place."
Gustave takes the offered hand and pulls himself to his feet with a murmured noise of gratitude. He overhears the same thing, shooting a sidelong look at Verso, mouth crooked into a slight grin. "He's extremely fond of you, isn't he? It's - wholesome."
And he'll continue to believe that until the moment he sees Esquie projectile vomiting wine.
Even if they hadn't, he's not sure Esquie is capable of not being fond of him. He was created to be a friend, someone to cheer Verso up when he felt down. Now this Verso reaps the benefits.
Besides, Esquie is fond of everyone. Verso says as much as he rifles through their belongings and presses a cup into Gustave's hand. Not a fancy glass, unfortunately, but a receptacle is a receptacle. "But he's fond of everyone. I once saw him try to befriend a Bourgeon."
And, yeah, it was cute. Until it tried to eat them, anyway.
Esquie seems to be thinking of the same story, because when he makes his way over, Esquie exclaims, "Verso! I was just telling Sciel about the time you got eaten by a Nevron and came out all gooey and ooey—"
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superniceone) wrote2025-06-23 06:53 pm
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"I think you're a valuable member of this expedition."
Admittedly, he'd done the math and figured that he could cover for Gustave's skillset if he allowed Renoir to get rid of him. In the end, he'd only let Gustave live because he couldn't bear to see Maelle so griefstricken. But he hadn't even spoken to Gustave then, and now that he has, it would be harder to let something happen to him. Something before the simultaneous nonexistence that'll come for them all at the end of this, anyway.
It would be deranged to say something like that, so instead, he says, dryly ribbing, "Big slacker, though. You really should be doing something more productive right now."
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"I do owe Sciel a chat before we all turn in," he says, only now seeming to realize how late it is. He pushes himself up, shaking his jacket out. "But I'll have that journal with me the next time I corner you like this. Best prepare yourself."
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Verso runs a hand through the back of his hair, cleaning away bits of grass and dirt from lying on the ground. Vain. Gustave has a blade of grass sticking out right above his ear, but he doesn't say anything.
"...Make sure you do that editing pass, first. Get rid of anything too withering about me."
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"Don't worry," he promises, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. "I'll bring a red pen for you."
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Maybe he should say 'nice talk' or something. It feels as if they've grown a little closer, perhaps — that Gustave has grown a little fonder of him, that is. He's still determined not to get attached to these expeditioners; 67th time's a charm, so they say. It's all just a means to an end, nothing more. No point in making friends when they have an expiration date, he tells himself.
No reason Gustave can't enjoy himself before that comes, though, so Verso cants his head toward Sciel before leaning in. "Ask her if she'd like to reenact Expedition 60 with you."
Gustave, of course, is far too skittish for that. But it's a suggestion all the same, and he absconds to Esquie's side before Gustave can argue.
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The next night at camp, Gustave parks next to Verso, journal and pen in hand. "Couldn't actually find a red one, sorry," he says by way of greeting. "You'll have to settle with blue."
Does he trust Verso on a personal level? No, of course not, he barely knows the guy. But he's shown up, fights for and with them without complaint, and that by itself is probably enough for a little less suspicion in the evenings.
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"If you keep talking to me every night like this," he says, droll, "you're going to make me think you like me."
Perish the thought, of course.
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"I can buzz off if you're preoccupied with something," he says, the end curling into a question. He can read most of the Expedition members like a native language, but Verso and Monoco remain opaque.
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"I was being charmingly irreverent." A beat. "Or, it seems, just... irreverent."
Kind of embarrassing, actually. Eager to move on from that, he holds out a hand. "Let me see your journal."
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"Sure." The words are written with his target audience in mind. Never embellishments, but certainly flourishes at times, the tone mostly awe-filled and curious.
And much kinder to Verso than his initial borderline frosty reception had been. Gustave has written about his prowess in battle and how much invaluable knowledge he must have, though he keeps personal opinion and speculation off the page. It's meant to be a record of events, not his feelings, and he is quite good at separating the two.
"Are you satisfied now?"
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The parts on Verso are certainly relevant to his interests—it's nice to read about himself from the perspective of someone who doesn't have any preconceived notions of who Verso is—but he finds himself flipping back to previous pages to view what Gustave said about other things. Nevrons, the Gestral Village, the Grandis. There's little excitement left in these things for him, but Gustave describes this world like it's wonderful. Verso's almost a little jealous of the ability to see it as anything but a gilded cage.
"You wrote that gestrals can't speak human language." A rude thing to point out; at the time Gustave wrote it, he had no evidence to the contrary. "They can. With a good enough teacher."
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He chews thoughtfully on a bit of that evening's rations. "You're welcome to provide further feedback. If you spot any other mistakes, I mean." Maybe if he plays it cool enough Verso will miss how hopeful Gustave is that he'll agree to be his professional editor, apparently.
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"Oh, now I see," he says, doing his best to sound betrayed. "You just want to put me to work." He's not talking to Verso because he likes him, as previously accused, but because he's the perfect fact-checker for Gustave's magnum opus.
He can't blame Gustave, actually. It's a smart move. At least, it is while he doesn't realize that Verso doesn't intend for anyone to ever read this. Gustave could write that the sky is pink and the clouds are made of cotton candy, and it would make no practical difference.
"Well, I'll have you know I won't work for anything less than a red pen."
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The answer gets a beleagured sort of sigh out of Gustave. "You're really wearing me out with all of these demands. I suppose you'll be wanting a living wage next." Idly, he offers out a palmful of the scavenged berries he's snacking on next; they're just flavour more than anything of real substance, tart and a little underripe.
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"This is... detailed." He's surprised that with all this fervent writing, Gustave's hand hasn't cramped up too much to use his longsword.
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Well. At least it would be something. The Lumina Converter would probably always be his most objective legacy, but it was impersonal, born out of desperation and necessity, not simply a desire to create and share.
Gustave holds his hand out at the remark; not demanding it back, but offering to take it if Verso is finished skimming. "Not much else to do when I'm having trouble sleeping."
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It fits. This is the man who said 'I should be doing something more productive', after all.
"Insomniac, huh?" he asks, casual and congenial as he hands over the journal, like he hasn't noticed when he, too, is awake. That would be a little too 'I saw her at the devil's sacrament'. "I'd ask what ails you, but..." A vague gesture toward the world at large. "I'm guessing the answer is everything."
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"Not like journaling is my first choice of pastime, you know." He drags his fingers though his hair in a restless sort of gesture, leaves it messier than it had been before. "What I'd like to do is get blisteringly drunk and dissociate by the water for a few hours. Unfortunately, alcohol was left off of our ship's manifest."
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"It's possible that I... might be in possession of some wine."
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He stares at Verso, clearly conflicted. "... you should guard that information with your life if you want to keep it," he manages finally.
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Never, quite frankly. Drinking with someone is terrible for 'not getting attached'. But then Gustave had mentioning drinking himself into oblivion and dissociating by the water, and that same desire in himself had recognized its twin, and he'd felt, perhaps, like he shouldn't deprive a man awaiting execution of momentary relief.
"Right," he says back, expression disbelieving. "Well, if you aren't interested..."
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Gustave makes a face, cutting himself off with a little wave of his hand. His kneejerk reaction was that it'd be irresponsible, dangerous - both tonight and for the day to come, if they were stumbling around dangerous nevron territory with a hangover. But that's an extreme conclusion to draw from an offer of wine, and he rubs the side of his neck, cracking it as he deliberates.
"Just make sure Sciel and Lune are aware that the offer's there. They'd throw us both off a cliff if we had a glass without them, and only one of us would bounce back from that."
A glass. Just one, small, responsible cup full.
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Verso stands, dusting off his pants before holding out a hand to help Gustave up off the ground. As he does so, his gaze wanders toward the fire, where Esquie and Sciel are animatedly chatting. He's pretty sure he hears the words and then Verso... coming from Esquie, and cringes a little knowing that he's probably recounting an embarrassing story.
"That won't be a problem. It's not exactly in an... inconspicuous place."
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And he'll continue to believe that until the moment he sees Esquie projectile vomiting wine.
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Even if they hadn't, he's not sure Esquie is capable of not being fond of him. He was created to be a friend, someone to cheer Verso up when he felt down. Now this Verso reaps the benefits.
Besides, Esquie is fond of everyone. Verso says as much as he rifles through their belongings and presses a cup into Gustave's hand. Not a fancy glass, unfortunately, but a receptacle is a receptacle. "But he's fond of everyone. I once saw him try to befriend a Bourgeon."
And, yeah, it was cute. Until it tried to eat them, anyway.
Esquie seems to be thinking of the same story, because when he makes his way over, Esquie exclaims, "Verso! I was just telling Sciel about the time you got eaten by a Nevron and came out all gooey and ooey—"
Verso cringes again. "I don't remember that."
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oh my god i turned on my phone and immediately the stray z popped out at me. don't look at me
its fine ze are french
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oh my God it's a million degrees here with no ac i shouldn't be allowed to tag
[maelle voice] please survive
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