superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

"I was serious. I'd like her to have an impression of me that isn't moping or trying to have my way with you." A beat, considering. "Although I can't promise going without the latter." Just trying to realistically plan ahead.

And as part of that realistic planning ahead, he considers the fact that Maelle will certainly be there. And she should be—she's Gustave's most important person, and it'll be a good opportunity for one last hoorah with her before taking off. He just has to work around it.

"I won't say anything to Maelle about our travel plans until after," he decides, partially because he doesn't want to ruin Gustave's birthday and partially because he dreads being stuck with her after having that uncomfortable conversation. "It won't leave much time for her to adjust before we go, but maybe that's for the best."

Gustave's shoulders shake very subtly with a laugh at that, because he's fairly certain Verso is going to keep an Extremely Respectful Distance between himself and Gustave whenever they're a two building radius of either of their sisters— but pointing that out just seems like tempting fate, so he keeps that to himself.

"If you'd prefer to wait, sure," he says, briefly squeezing Verso's fingers with metal ones, before he pushes the plate with the remains of the sandwich a few inches toward him, a silent request to eat a little more. "It'd be really nice if any of these questions felt like they had easy answers." Should they stay or go, when to tell Maelle, the best way to protect her. Nothing felt good, simply necessary.

It's not exactly that he'd prefer to wait. His preference remains to not tell Maelle at all; if not for Gustave, he might have just left a note. But he doesn't trust that the conversation with Maelle won't turn into a blowout argument, especially once she realizes he's taking Gustave away from her, too. Ugh.

He picks at a bit of crust. "It's okay if you're having second thoughts," he says, even though it's totally not okay and he'd crash out about it. He'd do that privately.

"You're the one I'm worried about having second thoughts," Gustave says, and his expression says he's telling the truth. "I'm not just going to sit around and— let this place eat away at her, but there's no good way to study what I need to study out here." There are so many partially dangling threads he wants to try to pull in the vain hope that they might turn up useful, somehow, starting probably with the way Nevrons are able to lock chroma in place.

He doesn't expect to find an answer; he just really, really hopes he can.

"But— restaurants and night life and— you know, locking doors." Gustave smiles a little lopsidedly at him. "I'd be kind of shocked if you weren't tempted to stick around for a little while longer."

He doesn't really feel like he deserves restaurants and night life and locking doors. This whole Continent trip is like a twisted sort of self-harm, except Gustave will be there now, which throws a wrench in that plan; he definitely doesn't deserve Gustave's company, either, but he's way too selfish to turn it down.

"I do like locking doors," he says, before finally taking another bite.

After a moment of chewing thoughtfully and swallowing, he says, "Say you do get out there and do your research and invent some device that"—a vague wave of his hand, because he's not really sure what the aim here is—"filters the chroma from Maelle's blood." She wouldn't necessarily be psychologically healthy, but at least she'd have time to heal mentally without paying for it physically. "What will you do after that?"

The idea of time as an open-ended concept had once been a pleasant daydream. What would he do with a life unchained from the Gommage? What else was out there to discover? He had felt like a small but important piece in the chain of human history, and the world outside the safety of the dome unimaginable.

The thought now fills him with a heaviness that isn't quite dread, but isn't too far off, either.

"Am I meant to have a plan?" he asks a little wryly, cutting his eyes down. "Realistically, if I had to guess?" He hums quietly. "I'll probably spend the rest of my life working on repairing a functioning train system across the Continent. Be nice if I lived long enough to see it really come together." It's hard to break himself of the habit of thinking of himself in past tense, or of measuring his own value in what he's able to leave behind for the generation to come after his.

Verso's not sure quite what he expected. I don't know would be a fair answer. He'd maybe also sort of expected come back to Lumière and live the exact same life I was living before. He hadn't expected trains, though, and he can't help the twitch of his mouth, the way a grin spreads across his face unbidden.

Gustave really is the perfect man.

"—Yeah, I'd like to ride a train again." Even more so if it's across a railway system that Gustave designed. That's hot as fuck!!! "You'd love them. You feel like you can go anywhere, be anyone." Probably more Verso's interest than Gustave's, but— "Plus, engines are cool."

Just realistically: if Lumière is allowed to have a future, expanding to the Continent is going to be necessary. The fragment of it they were left is home, but it's also extremely claustrophobic. He won't ever see a thriving population live to take advantage of a working rail system, but it's always been about planting the seeds.

Verso's smile catches him off guard, makes something in him unclench. He'd been thinking about it from a purely utilitarian point of view— but it's a nice thought, the idea that his work might bring joy, too.

"I was going to see if I could build a working model of one for you before you left," he admits, a little embarrassed by it as he shakes his head. "But now I'm not certain I'll have the time. For your birthday, maybe."

Internally, he's kicking his feet and giggling.

"I don't really celebrate," he explains. The years sort of blur together after a while, and besides, it's not like they mean anything. Another year alive isn't exactly an achievement when there was never any other option. "I don't need more reminders of how old I am." Ugh. And so much older than Gustave. Deeply problematic.

"...But I could make an exception if monsieur l'ingénieur will be there with his fancy new model train."

"Hey, I can give a little gift without making it a whole celebration, you know. I'm honestly not sure I want to find out what a gestral party looks like." A lot of fighting, he imagines. It's always a lot of fighting.

He's just glad Verso's mood hasn't completely plummeted tbh!!

"And anyway, aren't I the one who should actually be worried about birthdays for now?" At least until he somehow convinces Maelle to let Verso live and age like a normal person. Lol, lmao, etc. "Can't say that I've ever moisturized even once. I do hope you're fond of wrinkles."

"I think you'll look even more handsome with age," he says, just adjacent of shyly, because he's trying to be genuine here. Just as Gustave has been robbed of watching friends and family get older, the people that Verso meets have gotten younger and younger; it'll be nice to watch someone age for once. Teasing: "And if you hate the grey hair, I'm sure the gestrals won't mind dyeing it." He's pretty sure Gustave is going to be all gestral-ed out on the Continent.

He's silent for a few moments, picking at his sandwich again. Then, he says, "I've been thinking about some things I need to take care of before going." Mostly one thing in particular, but he can't decide if it's the right thing to do. Seemingly apropos of nothing: "Have you seen Sciel's husband again?"

The remains of his sandwich are quickly becoming a nervous pile of picked-off crumbs. "Does he seem the same to you? Even though Maelle didn't have his chroma to work with?"

Gustave is stricken abruptly by the notion of how surreal this little lunch date is, actually. He and Verso, sitting out in the open air of a cafe in Lumière, flirting with and teasing each other. It was a type of normal that he was certain he'd never see again after he officially donned his Expedition uniform.

"Je t'aime," he says softly, his only response to the remarks about aging, and he leans back to flag down a server to take the remains of their meal before Verso can pulverize the rest of it. "And he does. He— struggled, a bit, when he first came around—" Many of the people who weren't freshly Gommaged seemed to have trouble reconciling their own existences, somehow, but it eventually passed. "—but he seems like he's doing well now? Sciel certainly doesn't have any complaints."

He tilts his head slightly, searching his expression. "Someone you'd like to bring back?" It seems like a natural extension to that question.

"Some people, yeah," he says vaguely, shrugging noncommittally. Now that he doesn't have a sandwich to mutilate, he stares into his drinking glass like there'll be an answer to his dilemma at the bottom of it. "One, mostly."

Although maybe it's wrong not to try to bring everyone he'd ever met back. Maybe it's wrong to bring any of them back. How can he really know if Maelle is really reviving someone or simply making a close recreation based on someone else's memories? There's already enough people in this Canvas with that baggage. He can't be responsible for making more.

At the same time, there's something obscene about getting a second chance when some people never even got to take advantage of their first. "I told you about Julie."

Gustave is genuinely a little horrified at the rush of jealousy that statement brings. It's hypocritical— childish, even, especially considering that he doesn't even really know what the relationship was like between them. Maybe what makes him stumble is the direct comparison to Pierre, the lost and found love of Sciel's life.

It's a lot of feelings to unpack suddenly, he decides, but now isn't the time. "Uh, yeah," he says, trying to recall. "You said you had an argument at the end. You never really said much more than that."

"Yeah, um." He stumbles over his words a little, hesitant to outright lie to Gustave's face. It feels less awful to prevaricate, so he does. "I can't help but feel responsible for what happened to her."

Very true. Probably because he is responsible, though.

By way of explanation: "We were fighting right before— and she was so young. She had her whole life ahead of her."

"Yeah, of course." Gustave isn't sure he can remember anyone in his adult life who didn't feel much too young to go. Uncharitably, he wonders how much Julie's possible return contributed to the array of Verso's other very, very good reasons for blatantly running away every time Gustave got too close.

He swallows that down, focuses instead on being glad that Verso is opening up to him about this, even if it's just a little.

"I hate to point out the obvious," he says after a moment, "but you should probably ask Maelle before you let her know we're leaving. She might be a little too annoyed with either of us for favors after that." And because, fight or not, she's going to be waking up in a strange new version of the world; it's probably best for all parties involved if Verso doesn't just have her resurrected before abruptly disappearing off into the woods.

Hm. Verso sinks a little lower into his seat. He's not playing footsie now, but his knees do accidentally knock Gustave's underneath the table. "I was going to ask Maelle to wait until after we'd left to do it, actually."

Verso must care about this woman a lot to be so desperate to run away from her, he thinks — but it also does a lot to reassure him that he's not spent the last sixty years just longing nonstop for her.

"Hey," he says, gentling his tone. "I know you were fighting, but— if you're going to bring her back, she deserves to see you."

"She won't want to see me."

That's why he tells himself he'd avoid her—it's selfless, something done for her. Deep down, he knows that the real reason is that he's afraid to deal with the consequences of what he's done. If Maelle can really bring her back, properly and not just as a poor imitation, then she'll probably remember everything. He couldn't possibly look her in the eye after that, nor could he face Maelle or, god forbid, Gustave after they find out. Maelle would find it in herself to forgive him, but Gustave? Surely even he has limits.

"So you think it's a good idea?" he asks, glancing up. "To ask Maelle to bring her back?"

Edited 2025-12-24 21:50 (UTC)

"I think it'd be cruel to do it and then abandon her in a city full of strangers," Gustave says, his brow knitting again. Verso is asking questions that he's not able to answer for him, and Gustave reaches out to try to catch his fingertips.

He clears his throat, hesitating. "You care about her, Verso. She might not want to talk to you, but you need to let her make that decision."

"That's not what I—" Asked. He pulls his hand away from Gustave's to scrub at his face, growing agitated and anxious and wishing that he hadn't said anything at all. There is no way in hell that he can do that; what if Gustave finds out what he did and doesn't want to go to the Continent anymore? This tiny sliver of hope that's keeping him going is very, very dependent on Gustave not finding out that he murdered his last girlfriend.

"Maybe I shouldn't," he says, feeling like the world's biggest piece of shit for being willing to keep Julie dead for his own benefit. No, it's not just for his own benefit, he rationalizes. He needs Gustave to work on keeping Maelle safe and healthy, and he can't do that unless they leave together. "Maybe it's better not to dredge up the past."

He frowns slightly when Verso pulls away, straightening up a little in his own seat. It's obvious he's missing— well, probably several important parts of the story minimum, actually, but he can read the disquiet coming clear off of the other man in waves.

"At least bring a few other people back with her," he says finally. "People she knows, I mean. It'll go a long way if she knows she isn't alone here."

Oh. Gustave means the other people he murdered. Fucking hell.

"Maybe," Verso says noncommittally, because the only thing worse than dealing with the potential fallout from one person he severely wronged coming back is dealing with all the people he severely wronged coming back. Julie will certainly be angry, but he hopes that by the time they finish their business on the Continent, she'll have cooled down enough not to completely ruin Verso's life here. But if there's multiple—

He's already doing quick mental calculations to figure out how he can convince Gustave that they need to stay on the Continent forever instead of ever going back to Lumière.

"They won't want to see me either," he starts. "Coming back here would be..." He presses his mouth into a thin line. "Hard."

Gustave does his best to imagine a scenario where he was given the chance to bring any of his own Expedition back and decided to turn it down. If sixty years from now he was offered to have any of them brought back to life, wouldn't he take it without hesitating? Fuck, even before they'd discovered Maelle's true power, he would daydream about trading his life for one of theirs. He would have been happy to sacrifice his own heartbeat for Lucien's.

Sure, he's never lived sixty years in the first place, so it's hard to take that into real calculation. Maybe his affection for them would fade more than he thought possible. Still: it chafes at him.

"Verso," he says slowly, "if I ask you what you were fighting about, will you tell me?" What could she still be so furious about, this many years later?

He can't exactly say no. That's almost worse than the truth. Verso squirms in his seat like an agitated child, wishing he'd asked to stay in for lunch instead. Wishing he hadn't brought this up at all. He hadn't expected Gustave to have all these opinions and to start asking all of these questions.

"My immortality," he says after a moment of discomfort, trying to prevaricate instead of outright tell Gustave falsehoods to his face. Excuses tumbling out before Gustave even knows what they're excuses for, he blurts, "They thought— and Renoir said they were Clea's creations, so—"

He sounds like Gustave, unable to spit a full sentence out.

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