[ Its maybe not quite a lie, but it is blatant, and Verso sees through it immediately. He isn't sure where the line would be, for Gustave, and he doesn't think it comes from quite the same thing he'd seen in him in that cave ( that smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, the air thick with death and blood -- ), but maybe there's some shades in it. But if Renoir were to come for them, and especially if Maelle were there . . . He isn't running.

He should be running. Maybe teaching him any of this is making things worse. Making them think they have a chance, when they don't. There's a beat too long when that gesture ends, where Verso doesn't quite respond, where it's very, very clear that he doesn't at all believe what Gustave is saying.

But then he smiles, wry. ]

The sound of that damn cane gives me nightmares, too.

[ Let alone Maelle.

He moves his free hand to catch one of Gustave's, callused fingers soothing over the back of his hand, thumb curving against his wrist. ]

Gradient energy. That was what I was using yesterday -- I can teach you, and you might be able to teach your friends.

[ He lifts an eyebrow, a lopsided smirk. ]

We can have a bit of a spar. And I'll teach you.

[ Now, or later, after more questions, or another time -- though Verso is already thinking of the night before. Watching Gustave fight, clean and graceful, a gorgeous vision of lethal precision with that shirt hanging open and his trousers slung too-low around his hips.

He wouldn't mind seeing something like that again. ]