superniceone | tfln overflow / open post

He's only 'good' at leading expeditioners around because he has decades of experience. Some of those decades spent leading expeditioners to their dooms on purpose, although he prefers not to think about those. Regardless, Gustave would be just as good at it as he is, if not more. Less secrets, definitely; more trustworthy.

"One time I got lost and led everyone in a circle for two days," he admits. "They were... not happy with me."

Verso has a way of putting other people at ease - usually - that Gustave isn't fully convinced he'd ever be able to emulate. It's true that he has no secrets, but at the same time he's not sure that he'll ever really be able to trust himself again. Not after the way he'd frozen on the beach.

Regardless, the admission makes him chuckle. "You were just getting them familiar with the lay of the land, I'm sure," he says. He hesitates, then offers: "Walked right into the wrong house the very first time I got drunk. I thought I was being sly and sneaking in without waking my family. I still maintain they should have locked their doors."

A laugh. As long as they're trading embarrassing stories— "The first time I got drunk, I spent the whole night scribbling sheet music because I thought I'd come up with a masterpiece." A pause. "It was Chopsticks."

Gustave laughs louder than he means to out of sheer surprise; Lune glowers softly at him from another part of the camp and he grimaces.

"Well. It is a classic for a reason," he says, shifting to face toward Verso a little more.

Verso makes a face. "Still plagiarism."

He supposes that hadn't actually been his own memory, just another one he'd stolen. Does feel fitting, though. Even drunk, he's incapable of originality.

"My sister threw it away because she said she'd already paid her dues listening to me play it when I was eight."

"House full of music, though. Must have been nice." He glances toward the monolith, tries hard not to dwell on all of the possibilities that had been stolen from them. Violence felt so at odds with so many of their natures; even Verso, who he'd only met out here in a world mired with violence, seemed better suited to music than combat.

Gustave sighs for the umpteenth time that evening.

"Hey. If we survive this fight against the first Axon..." 'We' meaning the original members of the Expedition, as Verso is obviously a clear bet. But he trails off, like the conclusion is obvious.

It is not an obvious conclusion, actually. "Then you'll have a hell of a story?"

Gustave closes his eyes for a moment. He's still easily embarrassed, but it's so much more muted than it was twenty-four hours ago.

"Then let's celebrate privately," he says finally, bluntly.

Verso doesn't show his emotions on his face the way that Gustave does, but he still can't help but raise an eyebrow. He had expected the deceit—not just about Renoir, but that he'd known another way to pierce the barrier all along and chose not to mention it—to be a turn-off, quite frankly. Then again, none of what they did last night had anything to do with Gustave being fond of his personality, so maybe it shouldn't be surprising.

"Trying to make sure I keep you alive?"

Gustave had been - expecting secrets. That's not to say he was jazzed by the deception, but there were so many worse ways it could have gone. He was there with them still, fighting on their side. He had promised that Maelle wouldn't be alone when the rest of them fell. ("When, not if.")

If he's going to trust him with Maelle, then - well. He's just got to trust him, period.

"That's a bonus. But maybe I'd also just like another go at you." Accepting that he will be dead very, very soon has blunted his affect - at least for this evening. "I told you, I'm allowed to want things."

Verso gives them about a 5% chance of surviving the Axon, and that's being generous. Gustave should probably focus on spending the time he has left with the people that he loves; even having this conversation is a waste.

Sure, though. If they survive the Axon, Verso will be so thrilled that he'd celebrate just about any way.

"Assuming I'm still in one piece by then. Lune might have something to say about that." She's angry. Feels like he betrayed their mission. Understandable. "I'm still working on getting her favor back."

He has, and he will more. But there's something to be said about a conversation with a face you aren't already halfway to grieving. This is a nice reprieve.

"You might need more time than you've got for that. Do your best."

More time than you've got is a sentence probably best left unaddressed. As he glances back toward Lune (who still looks angry) and Sciel (who doesn't), he frowns, considering the fact that, most likely, neither of them will still be around soon. It's hypocritical, given that his end goal is for just that to happen, but it's different. It just is.

"I'll take any tips you have."

It was probably a dark thing to say, but what point is there in mincing words right now? "Well, believe it or not: she doesn't like being deceived." Even less of a point saying that. He sighs, tries to catch Verso's eye. "Talk to her. Own up to your mistake, if you think it's a mistake. She won't tolerate you being a liar and a coward - so prove you aren't."

He hesitates, then adds: "Please. This might actually be more awkward than this morning was."

Verso opens his mouth to argue that it wasn't that awkward, but— yeah, it really was. He's not taking the blame for that one, though.

"I would have been crazy to bring up the Axons," he argues, because he still isn't sure it was so much a 'mistake' as something the Expedition didn't like him doing. "They're death traps." Then again, so is the Gommage. To them, maybe it's six of one and a half-dozen of another. "And my plan at Old Lumiere would have worked."

If not for, you know, everything that went wrong.

Gustave just watches him, expression neutral, letting him finish. "I can talk to her for you if you want," he says finally.

A flash of disappointment that Gustave didn't even dignify his excuses with a response crosses his face, but the expression goes quickly. "If I were going to use someone, I'd have Esquie do it." A pause, and then, a little sheepish: "Do you really think I owe an apology?"

He doesn't acknowledge them because they're good points. It's good points all the way down and across - that's one of the reasons why this is all so wearying. Gustave shrugs slightly, but it's clear that he's gentling himself and his voice, even if it's not intentional. "I think, if you're trying to win her back over? It'd be a good place to start."

"I was asking if you think I owe you an apology, actually." He's not sure, in truth. Technically, he withheld valuable information about what is (ostensibly) Gustave's only chance at survival. It doesn't look good for him, exactly, but Gustave doesn't seem particularly cut up about it, either, not after he'd promised that Maelle was safe.

"I'm not going to lie and say I don't wish you'd told me. Told us." It's a strange and complicated situation, Gustave thinks, and doesn't quite realize yet that the dissociating he'd threatened to do the night before is mostly happening now. He looks over to the horizon, but his eyes are unfocused. "But I understand why you didn't. Do you want me to be more upset with you?"

"Not particularly."

But it feels strange that he isn't. Sciel had been the most understanding of them all, but there hadn't been this strange undercurrent to it all. Death is a friend who will welcome me home, she'd once said, but he doubts Gustave shares the same sentiment.

"—But you can still stab me a few times, if it would make you feel better. On the house."

Gustave is pretty sure the emotion he's feeling is grief, but he's not sure. It's strange to be uncertain after spending so much time intimately familiar with the emotion, but introspection is difficult. He thinks of all the things he could have done differently in his life, but he's not sure any of the deviations would have mattered. All roads led to here.

He'd been so sure that he was going to make a difference. That he would have an impact on preserving this world for future generations. His ears are ringing just slightly.

"Or you could just stab me," he says, uncharacteristically bitter. "Get the waiting over with."

Well, there it is. Verso feels like shit, of course, because Gustave wants so badly to live, and— well, there's a hundred different reasons that fact could make him feel like shit, but mostly because he knows there's only one way this ends, and it isn't Gustave back in his workshop making the world a better place.

He's inclined to place a comforting hand on Gustave's shoulder, but he doesn't know if it would be welcome, so he resists the urge. Instead, gently, he says, "You don't want that."

"I don't think the world has ever cared much about what I want." He can feel his eyes burning, and it's enough to snap him out of it - or, well. To at least let better sense surface for just a moment.

Gustave breathes, holds it.

"Sorry. The atmosphere is gloomy enough without my adding to it."

"It's okay." Nothing about this is probably okay, but he's said it a thousand times to comfort Alicia; it's second nature by now. "Everyone deals with it differently." It's not his first time being surrounded by doom and gloom, and apparently, it won't be his last. Sometimes, he convinces himself that that's all this world is.

"...But you're still here now," he adds, an attempt to soothe. Again, second nature, some sort of intrinsic, burning desire to make a shitty situation feel better. It feels a bit like comforting a wounded animal before putting it down. "You have today."

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