tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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[recreatable]

Verso could say something incorrigibly irreverent like there, doesn't it feel good to open up? But Gustave's pain is very real, and just another piece of evidence that all this world does is take and take and take. Ending it will be a kindness, even if they might not see it that way.

"You'll always wonder what could have been. If things were different." It's somewhere between commiseration and prophecy spoken by someone who's been there before. This is the way of things. He takes another sip. "I'm sorry for your loss."

[superniceone]

"I didn't even end up having kids," Gustave blurts, and he's scowling a little. "That was the whole reason we didn't- and then I didn't, even." He's embarrassed to be voicing this out loud, but it feels kind of nice to get out there.

He'll be humiliated later, sure. But it feels nice for now.

[recreatable]

Oh. Gustave's grief for a life unlived sits heavy on his shoulders, a visible weight bearing down on him. He'd wanted children. Long ago, Verso had idly imagined his future as including children, but it hadn't been a real desire like Gustave is expressing. A longing, now, for something that will never be.

"I'm sorry," again. A little helpless, knowing that whatever he says won't make a lick of difference. A little miserable, knowing that Gustave's life is this way, in many ways, because of Verso's existence. "Do you still wish you had?" Before the expedition, before the Gommage.

[superniceone]

"I don't know. Maybe." Gustave swallows, looking a little apologetic for what feels like an over the top outburst. "I don't know if I'd be here right now. I'm not sure I could have left them."

He tilts his head back toward the group, though he doesn't look at them.

"I've got my apprentices. And I've got Maelle. So that's good enough."

[recreatable]

Is it? he doesn't ask, because he thinks he knows the answer. Even if he has fulfilled the desire to care for another human being as a father would, Gustave will always feel as if something has been taken from him by the world, because it has. A momentary silence passes, and Verso tosses another stone into the water.

"Still prefer this to skinny-dipping?"

[superniceone]

Gustave snorts a laugh, thinks back to his last conversation with Sophie. Legacy takes many forms.

"If you want to talk about your own her," Gustave says, tossing a clump of grass into the water, "I'm happy to listen." He pauses, before he adds dryly, "But if you're offering to get undressed to cheer me up, please feel free." The flirting is intentional this time, but it's just an unsteady attempt to keep from dragging the mood too far down.

[recreatable]

Verso laughs. "Maybe another night," re: the undressing. He's fairly certain Maelle would squeal in horror and cover her eyes if he started peeling off layers here. As for her: "But there's nothing to talk about." He picks at a blade of grass, too, although instead of tossing it in the water, he just lets it blow away on the wind. "She's dead." Like most people who've had the misfortune to come in contact with Verso.

But it feels wrong to pare her down to dead, like there hadn't been so much life before that. She'd been brave enough to volunteer to go on a search-and-rescue expedition when there'd been no telling what they would run into. She'd been foolish enough to turn on him when it had become obvious that he was more than he seemed. Why couldn't she have just let it go?

"Her name was Julie," he finally says. She deserves to be named, at least.

[superniceone]

She's dead, Verso says, and despite his insistence to the contrary, Gustave figures more must be coming. He waits, patient and thoughtful, and hums a quiet acknowledgement at the name.

"It's easy, sometimes," he says slowly, eyes turned down to the contents of his cup. "To trick yourself into thinking the last memories are more important than the rest of them, for some reason." He's thinking about his own, can't begin to imagine what Verso has lived through - but he'll reach over to clap a companionable hand against his shoulder, squeezing it for just a moment.

[recreatable]

The comfort is unearned. Hard not to feel like the last memories weren't the most important when he laid her down on the ground and watched the life drain out of her eyes because of him.

"Yeah." He smiles as if the sympathy helps, although he doesn't really feel like it. "I guess we all have regrets." It's just that Gustave's are about never having children to love and cherish, and Verso's are about being a toxin that corrodes everyone around him.

He raises his cup. "To no more regrets, huh?"

[superniceone]

Gustave shakes his head no, but he's bumping his cup to Verso's as he does. "To - a million more regrets. To loss and hurt feelings. And all of their much kinder counterparts, because life would be incredibly boring without them."

It's a naive, idealistic thing to say, he knows - look, he knows. But sometimes it's those little platitudes that keep you moving forward.

[recreatable]

It's an incredibly naive, idealistic thing to say, especially from the perspective of someone who longs for the comfort of oblivion so that he never has to have a single regret ever again. But it's so naive and idealistic that it loops back around to being endearing, and Verso lets out a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, like he can't quite decide how to feel about the reckless optimism.

"Careful. Any more of those stars in your eyes and you won't be able to see."

[superniceone]

"You're the one who decided to sit over here," Gustave says, pointed but toothless, but he's relieved that it doesn't seem to have tipped him over to annoying or frustrating. He worries about that more than he likely should.

He pauses, then adds: "But I'm glad you did. For what it's worth."

oh my god i turned on my phone and immediately the stray z popped out at me. don't look at me

[recreatable]

His mood is a little dampened by the conversational turn they just took, but it's not Gustave's fault. Life is depressing, but Gustave's awkward charm mitigates the worst of it, even if he does sort of make Verso want to shove him in a locker.

Predictably, he smiles that smug smile of his. "Not too infuriatingly good-looking for you?"

its fine ze are french

[superniceone]

Gustave looks at Verso then, exaggerated and obvious in a way that he never would if he weren't warm and drunk and for once comfortable in his own skin because of it. He's a little jealous of the other man's irreverent ease, and he'd love to assume some of it for himself.

"The age gap is a bit problematic," he says lightly, "but I can admire respectfully."

[recreatable]

The age gap is a lot problematic, probably, but it's also not even close to the most problematic thing about Verso, so. He still gives Gustave a light shove regardless, setting his empty cup down beside him.

"Good," he snarks. "You should respect your elders." Not that he feels like an elder. One of the quirks of his creation, maybe. Perpetually stuck in young adulthood, never changing, never growing.

"We should probably get back to the others."

He doesn't particularly want to, but. A half an hour, Gustave had said, and he's pretty sure this has already exceeded that.

[superniceone]

Gustave reaches up to shove him back, gentle and the littlest bit clumsy. He'd not had this much on the night before they'd left, and while he's hardly sloppy drunk - he's certainly more loose limbed than he's been in quite some time.

It's impossible that this should feel less somber than an actual festival had been, but there's no denying that it does.

"You're welcome to," he says after chewing on his own thoughts for a moment. Pointedly, he drains the rest of his cup, then scoots forward to recline again in the grass the way he had the evening before. "Tell them I fell asleep."

[recreatable]

Verso looks back at the group. Sciel is currently braiding Monoco's hair, with Maelle offering what appears to be very enthusiastic feedback. He's tipsy enough to feel a bit morose, but not in his cups enough to start sobbing over his circumstances (thank god; if he were embarrassed earlier, he'd be humiliated then). He could go back to the campfire and play up that irreverent ease to entertain, but—

He settles on his back instead, eyes closed. "Guess we both fell asleep."

[superniceone]

Gustave hums in quiet appreciation, wide awake and watching the stars again. At least this silence is unquestioningly companionable; the laughter and the murmur of chatter he can hear from the fire brings its own warm comfort, too.

They were alive. Maybe not for long, but they were right now, and that's enough to feel gratitude for.

On impulse, without looking over, he reaches out to Verso, settles a hand on his wrist. There's no real hold there, doesn't seem to be a request for anything in particular; simply touch, just for the sake of it.

[recreatable]

It's a little awkward as far as touch goes, but that's probably par for the course for Gustave. You really are drunk is his sentiment, but Verso has the feeling that saying anything that could be in any way interpreted as disapproval would send Gustave scurrying away like a skittish deer. He certainly doesn't trust terminally anxious Gustave not to take his flippant comments in a way he doesn't intend, so he says nothing at all, just leaves his hand where it is and cracks open his eyes.

He's smiling smugly, of course.

[superniceone]

Maybe it would send him scrambling - or maybe he's drunk enough to laugh at himself, at the absurdity of his own actions. He still wouldn't say he knows Verso, not really, but - well, he knows him enough to be comfortable right here, and that's not nothing.

"Thought it might rain earlier. Glad it didn't." Soft, utterly banal. No less comfortable.

[recreatable]

Oh, okay. So Gustave's just not going to give Verso an opportunity to be self-satisfied about this. You can never un-drunkenly touch his wrist, you absolute harlot.

"Oh, okay," he actually says, just so Gustave knows that he knows that he's being deprived of proper smug satisfaction. But then, he does add, "Would've been good brooding weather, though."

Their conversation about lost love would have been way more depressing if they both looked like wet cats during it.

[superniceone]

There was zero (0) intent to deny Verso his earned smugness - or anything at all, actually. He was talking just to talk, part of him scrambling to keep hold of the weird and tenuous connection he felt from their shared angsting off on their own.

"Hmm," he answers, just a humming sound of agreement. His thumb will sweep idly against the inside of Verso's wrist, idle and all shallow affection.

[recreatable]

This certainly isn't the first time he's gotten superficial attention from a lonely person who doesn't know or even like him all that much, but who has a vanishingly small amount of time left alive. Maybe it's a desire to experience something new after a lifetime in the same place with the same people, or maybe they just want to know that there's someone out there who'll be doomed to remember them. He wonders if Gustave doesn't think that affection with the others would lead to something more, a betrayal to the woman he'd loved. Obviously, that's not a problem here.

"Hmm," he echoes back, a little annoyingly. A hundred, technically, but twenty-six in most of the ways that count. "Is this going in the journal, too?"

[superniceone]

None of Verso's hypotheses are technically incorrect, but Gustave hasn't quite allowed enough introspection on any of this enough to reach those conclusions. When he drank in Lumière, he tended to do it alone (like a weirdo, Lucien had accused at the festival.)

When he didn't- well. It was a particularly horrifying experience as a man with occasional social anxiety to realise that he's actually quite a touchy drunk.

"Which bit? Answer's 'no,' I mean, but I'm curious if you mean using Esquie as a living wine barrel or my..." He trails off, gives a breathy laugh. "Feeling you up."

[recreatable]

He'd meant Esquie and the wine, but— "Feeling me up," he repeats with that laugh-scoff again, a little incredulous. This is not exactly Verso's definition of 'feeling someone up', and not to brag, but he's done it enough to know. Deadpan, he continues, "Yeah. I feel violated."