tfln overflow / open post

[superniceone]

(open / overflow)

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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."

[superniceone]

Gustave covers Verso's hand with his; not to hold, just to sort of squeeze it before he pulls back. "Oh, don't laugh at me. You know what I meant."

He's mostly just grateful that his drunken impulses are tempered by how easily visible they are by the rest of the party.

[recreatable]

"Oh, I know. You're accosting me."

Verso must have been mistaken, and Gustave is no older than twelve, because this is the lightest accosting he's ever had. It makes him want to pat Gustave on the head condescendingly. He doesn't, of course; he just links his hands behind his head as a cushion, unbothered. He's a little too old to get precious about a drunken touch of the hand.

Still, Gustave really has set himself up for bullying. "It all makes sense. Now I know why you were begging me to skinny dip."

[superniceone]

To his credit, he seems fully unbothered by the bullying, and he turns his head to face Verso fully with a wrinkle of the nose. Very seriously, he'll ask: "Merde. Have you only just now figured out I was hitting on you? You're a bit thick, huh."

He wasn't, of course, but it's more fun to lean into the banter than it is to run from it.

[recreatable]

Oh, he likes drunk Gustave. He's way more fun than sober Gustave.

But all the same, Verso is actually not thick enough to believe that, so he just snorts. It took Gustave four drinks and the end of the world to conjure up an interest in him. They're not going to be exchanging love letters any time soon.

"Yeah, and you were only brooding so I'd think you were sensitive."

[superniceone]

"And?" He's egging him on slightly here, smiling. "Did it work?"

Stupid, maybe. Juvenile, for sure. But it's sort of a relief, being able to make these kinds of casual jokes without years of shared and storied history hanging threateningly over their heads, ready to complicate what could be simple.

[recreatable]

Gustave should not egg him on, actually, because he's already constantly egging himself on. Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile (or, since they're French, give him a millimeter and he'll take a kilometer?). Verso shifts onto his side so that he can lean in a little, mischievous.

"Oh, yeah. You didn't catch the swooning?"

[superniceone]

"This might come as a surprise to you, but I'm not always great at picking up signals." Gustave whispers this like it's a massive confession, grinning a little crookedly at Verso when he leans in. "But there are moments when you make me wish I was a little more reckless."

[recreatable]

Verso had actually felt sort of awful listening to Gustave brood, but he feels awful most of the time, so it's not like that's anything special. But he's happy to play along, pretend Gustave's story of grief had him mooning over his sensitive and vulnerable nature; Gustave is practically doing the same, anyway. Nothing wrong with a little lying to each other.

"Oh, I wholeheartedly support recklessness." A crooked grin to match Gustave's own. "You should definitely be more reckless."

[superniceone]

Does it really count as lying if they're both so acutely aware of the fact that it's just shared fiction? There had been nothing romantic or tender about their conversation; he imagines they both found it a little uncomfortably raw, even if it did ultimately feel good to speak the words.

Gustave seems to consider the encouragement for a moment, his eyes cut down obviously to Verso's mouth, before he bursts into incredulous laughter again. "Guy talk. I would never live it down."

[recreatable]

Verso takes the brush-off well, in a way that suggests it hasn't bruised his ego in the slightest. He throws a cursory glance back at the campfire. Sciel catches his eye and waves, before he settles down on his back again.

"Ah," he says, in false-regret. "Should've gotten you more blisteringly drunk."

[superniceone]

Gustave snorts quietly at Sciel's wave, as if to indicate how thoroughly his point has been made. He's not quite drunk enough to impulsively do much more than an awkward arm touch, but he can't help his own curiosity.

"I really can't tell if you're- if I'd- hmm." He rolls onto his side as well, as if that might keep the conversation just between them. "If I did- invite you off somewhere, privately. I have no idea how you'd respond."

It's less that he's thinking of doing just that, and more an admission that he still finds Verso's thoughts and motivations extremely opaque.

[recreatable]

Even four drinks in, the cogs of Gustave's mind are still eternally moving, apparently. It's really not a big deal; Gustave wouldn't be the first expeditioner Verso's shallow charm worked on, and unless a Bible-level miracle happens and they succeed here, he won't be the last. Of course, Verso doesn't say any of that aloud. It's probably not very endearing.

Teasing: "Should I invite you, then?" A cant of his head, a quirk of his lip. "Take the pressure off?"

[superniceone]

It's the glimpses of vulnerability, the careful reading of the Expeditioners that feels genuine that have warmed Gustave to Verso more than any of his more overt attempts to be charming. The teasing tone makes him laugh quietly, still just watching him like that might help him crack the code.

"I don't think you've got any interest in doing that," he says, similarly neither offended nor upset. If anything, a little embarrassed when he finishes with: "But if you do ever ask, I don't think I'll say no."