Apparently, Gustave does not have the same concerns about encouraging Verso. He waffles for a moment, again knowing that he should pump the brakes and again not really wanting to. If he weren't already a bad person, putting Gustave through this because he doesn't want to give up human affection would make him one.
"Then," he says after a pause, "I'll demand to monopolize all of your attention." He does love attention. "Until you can't stand me. Just absolutely sick of me."
Gustave laughs quietly at that, squeezing Verso's fingers in his; he's apparently pleased by that answer. Maybe it's a good plan— maybe he really will be able to shake loose his strange infatuation with the man beside him.
"Alright, then. I'm at your beck and call." Gustave is soooo just kidding around, except for the part where he isn't.
Honestly, it is a good plan. Surely, without the mysterious distance and constant push-pull, Verso's annoyingness will shine through and give Gustave the ick. "Should I start tomorrow?" Since Gustave has sooo many requests for his attention; he wouldn't want to interrupt anything important.
Gustave just said he didn't want you to be patient, gosh!! "Mmm. No, it's too late for that, anyway. I'm afraid you're the only thing I'm going to be able to think about for the rest of the day, regardless." It is an extremely cheesy line that — and Gustave is delivering with a little sideling grin that seems to acknowledge the fact.
It's no more cheesy than Verso writing a poem, but he laughs anyway. "No wonder you have so many people vying for your attention with lines like that." The delivery is dry, but there's a little kernel of truth to it; why wouldn't Gustave have a whole city of admirers when he can say such corny things and be so endearing doing it?
"I'd invite you over, but I'd have to tell Monoco to get lost." Although he's sure Monoco wouldn't object to aggressively third-wheeling. "And you've got all those tissue samples to get back to."
"Wouldn't dare interfere with your bromance," Gustave says, because Sciel canonically used that word, it is a word actually used by people in weird magic France. His tone is tongue in cheek, but he really doesn't want to drive Verso's closest friend out of his home. Not when it seems to be good for him. "Will he mind my stopping by for a visit tomorrow?"
"He likes you," Verso says by way of answer, grinning. "...Not as much as he likes me"—Verso's still getting Monoco in the inevitable divorce—"but he likes you."
In fairness, Monoco was created to love Verso. Not this version of him, but all the same — loyalty was etched in with every brush stroke. Still, he has to wonder if Monoco wouldn't drop him in a second if the real Verso somehow showed up alive and uncharred. If they all wouldn't.
"I can tell him to go entertain your apprentices," he offers casually, although it's really just a roundabout way of seeing what Gustave's expectations are here, if this is the sort of stopping by where Verso's gestral best friend can sit between them on the divan the entire time or if it's of a more private, romantic nature.
Gustave has forced himself to stop wondering if he, himself, were somehow pre-programmed to love Maelle and her brother. It didn't really make sense, did it? She'd bounced off so many families who couldn't love her the way she'd needed; it was happenstance, not pre-meditated fate.
"No one likes me as much as they like you," Gustave says with gentle mock-exasperation. "And you don't have to send him away on my account, but you're always welcome to sic him on the boys if you need privacy to wallow in peace."
Monoco is the singular being in the entire world that likes Verso more than Gustave now that Verso's family is all gone, but that would be a depressing argument to get into, and the mood is still light enough that he doesn't want to ruin it. Besides, there's more important matters:
"For someone so brilliant, you do struggle to pick up on hints." It doesn't bode well for their relationship, given that Verso has never straightforwardly said something in his life. Far less smooth now that he just has to say it, he fumbles, "I'm— asking. If you wanted... privacy, when you come over."
Is it uncouth to ask if it's going to be the sort of visit where they make out? That feels uncouth.
Gustave is a little surprised to hear it asked so straightforwardly as well, but he seems more confused by it than anything. "Mon beau. I assumed it we wanted privacy, we'd close your bedroom door." He doesn't really feel like Monoco is the type to stick his ear up against the door to eavesdrop.
"And leave Monoco unsupervised in the house?" Kidding. Kind of. It's also sort of Monoco's bedroom, too, given the limited space in there, but— he won't mind, maybe. "Never mind. I'm sure it'll be... fine."
Verso being 'pretty sure' that it'll be 'fine' doesn't do much to inspire confidence in Gustave. He'll pause, pulling Verso slightly off the path near a building showing no signs of life inside.
"Hey, just to be— clear. I'll never be unhappy to spend... private time, with you." He just really doesn't want to be overheard by a stranger because this is embarrassing!! "But I'm not going to be disappointed if we end up with a chaperone sometimes, be it gestral or otherwise."
He's maybe in his head a little about all of this, because it's been seven decades since he's been with anyone in any way that goes beyond a wilderness quickie. It all doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, because he's going to let Gustave down eventually, but Verso finds himself somehow reluctant to let him down now.
"I just..." Want Gustave to have a good time. A perfect time, even. He finishes, offhandedly, "...know how you feel about gestrals." He pokes Gustave in the ribs, lighthearted.
"Hey, he's a valued member of the Expedition before he's a gestral." Gustave pauses, then visibly waffles, even as he grabs the offending hand. He's ticklish 😤!! "Unless that's an offensive thing to say about a gestral?"
He's distracted himself here for a moment, but then he shakes it off. "I'll come make actual dinner." Because haha he's still avoiding Maelle too.
They can't both avoid Maelle forever, but— "Oh, actual dinner. Sounds fancy." Especially considering that he's been subsisting on whatever takes the least amount of kitchen work, considering how minimal his experience in the kitchen has been these last few decades. Maelle would lose her mind if he accidentally started a kitchen fire. "No crepes?"
"They were technically galettes," Gustave says, rolling his eyes as he resumes his little escort mission here. "But I can always pick something up from a cafe on the way if you don't trust me."
It was sort of unsettling, actually, how quickly Lumière had begun to settle back into business as usual.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he quips back, partially because he really shouldn't be making Gustave come over and do things for him at all. A poem does not feel like adequate repayment for what is now going to be two dinners and a breakfast. Teasing: "Your crepes are so adequate."
A pause, and then he adds, more sincere, "I appreciated it." The so-called galettes, he means. "Thanks."
Gustave would be faintly horrified to realize that Verso was treating this like a transactional relationship instead of the much healthier way that Gustave was treating it: as intentional escapism, playacting at domesticity even with the sword of Damocles hanging precariously over the existence of all life in Lumière.
"I like cooking," he says simply. It had been one of the chores he'd assumed primary when he and Emma had been left alone, even though she'd always been much better at it.
Gustave makes smalltalk for the rest of the walk, mostly doing his best to grill Verso on any food preferences, and he seems almost disappointed when they arrive at his door. "A pleasure as always, monsieur." Playacting, still. It feels so silly, but he'd crumble without the respite.
He lingers for a moment, fingers brushing the his doorknob but not yet opening it, reluctant to leave the escapist reality they've carved out and reenter the nightmare reality they actually live in. Even he knows that it's not healthy to have a relationship based solely in shared delusion, but it's difficult to stop now that it's begun. The Dessendres all enjoy living in fantasy, one way or another.
"It's been a while, but to my recollection, there's traditionally a kiss at this part of the evening."
"You're not afraid of scandalizing the neighbors?" Gustave asks, and maintains the facade of concern even as he moves to reel Verso in. Even Gustave knows this is going to come crashing down around them probably sooner rather than later — so if they've got the chance to have a moment of peace, of comfort, there's no reason to deny themselves, right?
Another delusional thought to add to the pile, maybe.
The kiss is gentle and unrushed, the sort of thing people who don't have all their hook-ups in the Nevron-infested wilderness do, and there's a bittersweet tinge in his chest at the thought that he really does like this. Easy affection, plans for Gustave to come over and engage in boring domesticity. Verso is struck simultaneously with the idea that he wants this to be his life, actually, and the thought that it can't ever really be. Even this pretend contentment is on a time limit. Even if they stick their heads in the sand, Maelle will start showing unmistakable signs of degradation eventually.
So he's a little sad when he pulls away, although he tries his best not to show it. "What scandal," he teases. "À bientôt."
The door swings open, and Monoco peeks his head out. "There you are. Were you hiding the knives from me?"
"Yes," Verso says, "because I thought you'd throw them."
"I did throw them," Monoco says sagely. "They're stuck in the ceiling now."
Gustave makes a mental note to bring his own knives the next day, just in case there's any trouble retrieving Verso's from their new home in the plaster of the ceiling. He exchanges pleasantries with Monoco, asks how he's been — and Monoco, whilst blunt as ever, is still very good at keeping Verso's secrets. He manages to complain about Lumière without making it seem like he's actively planning to return to the Continent with Verso in tow.
And the next morning, when he wakes, he's immediately dragged into People Management by Emma. It's exhausting, and he's still slightly alarmed that he's got any authority to speak of, but there's no going back now.
Mostly it means the voice that accompanies the knock on Verso's door late that afternoon belongs to Sciel, not Gustave. "Hello," she calls cheerfully, "courier here with a letter for you."
Verso spends longer than he'd like to admit readying himself for Gustave's arrival. The retrieval of the knives is a laborious task that involves sitting on Monoco's shoulders so that he can reach the handles. Following their removal, he can't help but cringe as he notices that the ceiling has little blade indentations in it. Afterward, he takes his time arranging his hair just so, and artfully rumpling and re-rumpling his collar until it has the perfect I just threw this on level of attractive dishevelment.
Sciel's arrival isn't a disappointment, exactly, but he does stop handsomely leaning against the doorframe when he sees that it's her.
All the same, he's happy to see her. She's glowing, really, the happiness of a woman reunited with her most beloved person practically bursting out of her. "I thought you'd be too busy being a blushing bride to deliver letters," he says, and what he means is that he's surprised she took time away from Pierre to visit him at all. "New career?"
Edited (got myself a thesaurus) 2025-08-26 01:42 (UTC)
"We're not together every waking moment of every day." Just, well, most of them. Sciel had hardly even let him bathe alone for the first three or four days after his return. She continues after a moment: "He's catching up with his brother." And they do deserve a few hours of privacy, at least.
She passes him a tightly neatly folded piece of paper, uncertain of the contents. (It is both stanzas of James Thomson's "The Wine of Love" in Gustave's tidy handwriting, followed by a brief apology for having to borrow someone else's words.) "And Gustave asked me to let you know he'll be a few hours late."
Sciel tilts her head slightly, openly considering Verso. He looks— well. Better than she'd privately anticipated, and she's relieved for that.
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superniceone) wrote2025-06-23 06:53 pm
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"Then," he says after a pause, "I'll demand to monopolize all of your attention." He does love attention. "Until you can't stand me. Just absolutely sick of me."
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"Alright, then. I'm at your beck and call." Gustave is soooo just kidding around, except for the part where he isn't.
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sideling
"I'd invite you over, but I'd have to tell Monoco to get lost." Although he's sure Monoco wouldn't object to aggressively third-wheeling. "And you've got all those tissue samples to get back to."
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In fairness, Monoco was created to love Verso. Not this version of him, but all the same — loyalty was etched in with every brush stroke. Still, he has to wonder if Monoco wouldn't drop him in a second if the real Verso somehow showed up alive and uncharred. If they all wouldn't.
"I can tell him to go entertain your apprentices," he offers casually, although it's really just a roundabout way of seeing what Gustave's expectations are here, if this is the sort of stopping by where Verso's gestral best friend can sit between them on the divan the entire time or if it's of a more private, romantic nature.
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"No one likes me as much as they like you," Gustave says with gentle mock-exasperation. "And you don't have to send him away on my account, but you're always welcome to sic him on the boys if you need privacy to wallow in peace."
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"For someone so brilliant, you do struggle to pick up on hints." It doesn't bode well for their relationship, given that Verso has never straightforwardly said something in his life. Far less smooth now that he just has to say it, he fumbles, "I'm— asking. If you wanted... privacy, when you come over."
Is it uncouth to ask if it's going to be the sort of visit where they make out? That feels uncouth.
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"Hey, just to be— clear. I'll never be unhappy to spend... private time, with you." He just really doesn't want to be overheard by a stranger because this is embarrassing!! "But I'm not going to be disappointed if we end up with a chaperone sometimes, be it gestral or otherwise."
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"I just..." Want Gustave to have a good time. A perfect time, even. He finishes, offhandedly, "...know how you feel about gestrals." He pokes Gustave in the ribs, lighthearted.
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He's distracted himself here for a moment, but then he shakes it off. "I'll come make actual dinner." Because haha he's still avoiding Maelle too.
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It was sort of unsettling, actually, how quickly Lumière had begun to settle back into business as usual.
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A pause, and then he adds, more sincere, "I appreciated it." The so-called galettes, he means. "Thanks."
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"I like cooking," he says simply. It had been one of the chores he'd assumed primary when he and Emma had been left alone, even though she'd always been much better at it.
Gustave makes smalltalk for the rest of the walk, mostly doing his best to grill Verso on any food preferences, and he seems almost disappointed when they arrive at his door. "A pleasure as always, monsieur." Playacting, still. It feels so silly, but he'd crumble without the respite.
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He lingers for a moment, fingers brushing the his doorknob but not yet opening it, reluctant to leave the escapist reality they've carved out and reenter the nightmare reality they actually live in. Even he knows that it's not healthy to have a relationship based solely in shared delusion, but it's difficult to stop now that it's begun. The Dessendres all enjoy living in fantasy, one way or another.
"It's been a while, but to my recollection, there's traditionally a kiss at this part of the evening."
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Another delusional thought to add to the pile, maybe.
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So he's a little sad when he pulls away, although he tries his best not to show it. "What scandal," he teases. "À bientôt."
The door swings open, and Monoco peeks his head out. "There you are. Were you hiding the knives from me?"
"Yes," Verso says, "because I thought you'd throw them."
"I did throw them," Monoco says sagely. "They're stuck in the ceiling now."
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And the next morning, when he wakes, he's immediately dragged into People Management by Emma. It's exhausting, and he's still slightly alarmed that he's got any authority to speak of, but there's no going back now.
Mostly it means the voice that accompanies the knock on Verso's door late that afternoon belongs to Sciel, not Gustave. "Hello," she calls cheerfully, "courier here with a letter for you."
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Sciel's arrival isn't a disappointment, exactly, but he does stop handsomely leaning against the doorframe when he sees that it's her.
All the same, he's happy to see her. She's glowing, really, the happiness of a woman reunited with her most beloved person practically bursting out of her. "I thought you'd be too busy being a blushing bride to deliver letters," he says, and what he means is that he's surprised she took time away from Pierre to visit him at all. "New career?"
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She passes him a tightly neatly folded piece of paper, uncertain of the contents. (It is both stanzas of James Thomson's "The Wine of Love" in Gustave's tidy handwriting, followed by a brief apology for having to borrow someone else's words.) "And Gustave asked me to let you know he'll be a few hours late."
Sciel tilts her head slightly, openly considering Verso. He looks— well. Better than she'd privately anticipated, and she's relieved for that.
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"—Hm?" he says after a moment, glancing up with a blank expression that betrays the fact that he didn't hear a fucking word she said.
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soz.. always boomeranging....
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goes to jail ig...
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