[ Renoir. A name, now, to put to the face he'll never forget, white-haired and scarred almost like Verso himself is, and... immortal, apparently. Unaging, perhaps.
There's not enough information, he needs so much more if they're going to survive, if they're going to make it across this continent and all the way to the Monolith. His glance goes to the lumina converter, considering, thoughtful. Will it be enough? Could they get strong enough to fight this man, the one who murdered so many of their friends, if they had to?
He himself is already so much stronger than he used to be. And yet he still believes what he told Maelle is true: if they see him, they need to run. He's too strong, and if he can't be killed...
No. Stop. Focus.
First things first: Verso, here and leaning into him. Gustave shifts to put his arm more fully around him, coaxing Verso to lean against his chest, to let Gustave surround him. He lets Verso thread their fingers together and lifts their laced hands to brush a kiss over Verso's knuckles, those strong fingers that had so entranced him so long ago in Lumiรจre's opera house. ]
All right.
[ He has so many questions, all of them piling up one on top of the other and threatening to cascade: what was it like, before the Fracture? What did Verso do, who was he? What Expedition is his uniform from, what happened to them all? Who else does the Gommage not touch, what are his theories about why?
It takes some effort to swallow them back, but he does. No part of this makes him comfortable, but he has to admit Verso has a point. Lune, Sciel, Maelle; they all fear and hate the white-haired man โ Renoir โ as much as he does, and if they think Verso is connected, somehow.
He sighs, a long resigned breath lowering his chest, his shoulders. ]
I'll keep your secret for tonight.
[ Implicit in that statement is something else: that there will be a tomorrow, just like Verso promises. He doesn't know how to trust it, completely, is still mostly certain that when he does make his way from the camp he'll simply be alone, but there seems to still be some small part of him that's hopeful enough to give it a shot. ]
But tomorrow... Tomorrow, I'll want more answers. And if any part of this is going to, going to work, I need you to give them to me. This whole thing, all of it, it's about information, and we just don't have enough.
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Date: 2025-06-07 12:47 am (UTC)There's not enough information, he needs so much more if they're going to survive, if they're going to make it across this continent and all the way to the Monolith. His glance goes to the lumina converter, considering, thoughtful. Will it be enough? Could they get strong enough to fight this man, the one who murdered so many of their friends, if they had to?
He himself is already so much stronger than he used to be. And yet he still believes what he told Maelle is true: if they see him, they need to run. He's too strong, and if he can't be killed...
No. Stop. Focus.
First things first: Verso, here and leaning into him. Gustave shifts to put his arm more fully around him, coaxing Verso to lean against his chest, to let Gustave surround him. He lets Verso thread their fingers together and lifts their laced hands to brush a kiss over Verso's knuckles, those strong fingers that had so entranced him so long ago in Lumiรจre's opera house. ]
All right.
[ He has so many questions, all of them piling up one on top of the other and threatening to cascade: what was it like, before the Fracture? What did Verso do, who was he? What Expedition is his uniform from, what happened to them all? Who else does the Gommage not touch, what are his theories about why?
It takes some effort to swallow them back, but he does. No part of this makes him comfortable, but he has to admit Verso has a point. Lune, Sciel, Maelle; they all fear and hate the white-haired man โ Renoir โ as much as he does, and if they think Verso is connected, somehow.
He sighs, a long resigned breath lowering his chest, his shoulders. ]
I'll keep your secret for tonight.
[ Implicit in that statement is something else: that there will be a tomorrow, just like Verso promises. He doesn't know how to trust it, completely, is still mostly certain that when he does make his way from the camp he'll simply be alone, but there seems to still be some small part of him that's hopeful enough to give it a shot. ]
But tomorrow... Tomorrow, I'll want more answers. And if any part of this is going to, going to work, I need you to give them to me. This whole thing, all of it, it's about information, and we just don't have enough.