[ Verso hums a little under his breath, just -- comfortable, quietly sated, his eyes lightly lidded both from the stir of heat that still glows in the pit of his stomach and just feeling so content. He traces some faint barely-there old scar across Gustave's chest, fascinated by every little detail of him that he can commit to memory. He shifts closer still, until he can reach out a hand to play with Gustave's hair, out of the way of that flower tucked behind his ear, idly twirling a curl over his finger.
This is nice. Just lingering in this. And the question that comes, Verso can't quite say he was expecting -- not one he hasn't answered before, but not usually very far up the priority list for most Expeditions. But that's probably why Gustave is asking that, isn't it? Pressing questions might come with pressing answers where something needs to be done, and maybe they'd both like to stave that off, just for a little while longer.
There's a clear eagerness in his voice, too, in his eyes -- like he'd maybe tried to restrain it slightly to sound more neutral but it couldn't help but bubble forward. It is, like everything else about Gustave, absolutely adorable. Wanting to know, a chance to learn something that Verso doesn't think modern-day Lumiere has any real knowledge or memories of, anymore. Just stories, warped and faded with time. His hand stills slightly in Gustave's hair. Older memories are difficult, sometimes, just as painful as they are sweet, but the expression on his face is still a small, contented smile. They're fond memories, at the end of the day.
Where does he start? He can picture so much of the old city so clearly. Sometimes when he's in Old Lumiere, he can pull all of it together in his mind. Verso hums softly for a moment again, thoughtful, reaching out to Gustave's hand resting over his belly, sliding his own fingers over his. Just to touch him, just to feel him. ]
It was -- different.
Lumiere was bigger. Brighter. Seemed like the entire world. [ Its a little difficult to think back through the memories, sometimes, some of them fuzzy around the edges: things that in hindsight just must've been outside maman's focus, and at the time none of them would've ever noticed or thought about it. The world was Lumiere, and Lumiere was the world. Verso doesn't know what it's like outside the canvas, but he doesn't think that's the truth of things, out there. But the truth of it here, his truth, was that he loved it. It was home. ] Every building fully lived in, with so many people moving around all the time. A lot harder to find a bit of space to yourself, though it wasn't impossible.
[ That's what strikes him about Lumiere now, whenever he goes back. Emptier and emptier, every single year. ]
Otherwise I don't think it was that different from the Lumiere you know. There was just a lot -- more. [ And something he doesn't quite want to say: there was a pervasive sense of -- permanence. That everyone's lives were happy in some way, and that it'd always stay that way. A world apart from the quiet resignation he feels whenever he's there now. ] Even more districts that would go for miles, pretty different characters to each one. Gestrals had a part of the city practically to themselves, and it was kind of a mess.
[ He says that fondly, and a bit absently, in that he forgets that the gestrals are probably still fantastical to Gustave and the crew, even if they've now met plenty of them. They were just there in the city along with everything else, with Esquie, with the grandis. ]
I passed through often on the train towards the Conservatory from home, and it always looked a bit different out the window each time.
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This is nice. Just lingering in this. And the question that comes, Verso can't quite say he was expecting -- not one he hasn't answered before, but not usually very far up the priority list for most Expeditions. But that's probably why Gustave is asking that, isn't it? Pressing questions might come with pressing answers where something needs to be done, and maybe they'd both like to stave that off, just for a little while longer.
There's a clear eagerness in his voice, too, in his eyes -- like he'd maybe tried to restrain it slightly to sound more neutral but it couldn't help but bubble forward. It is, like everything else about Gustave, absolutely adorable. Wanting to know, a chance to learn something that Verso doesn't think modern-day Lumiere has any real knowledge or memories of, anymore. Just stories, warped and faded with time. His hand stills slightly in Gustave's hair. Older memories are difficult, sometimes, just as painful as they are sweet, but the expression on his face is still a small, contented smile. They're fond memories, at the end of the day.
Where does he start? He can picture so much of the old city so clearly. Sometimes when he's in Old Lumiere, he can pull all of it together in his mind. Verso hums softly for a moment again, thoughtful, reaching out to Gustave's hand resting over his belly, sliding his own fingers over his. Just to touch him, just to feel him. ]
It was -- different.
Lumiere was bigger. Brighter. Seemed like the entire world. [ Its a little difficult to think back through the memories, sometimes, some of them fuzzy around the edges: things that in hindsight just must've been outside maman's focus, and at the time none of them would've ever noticed or thought about it. The world was Lumiere, and Lumiere was the world. Verso doesn't know what it's like outside the canvas, but he doesn't think that's the truth of things, out there. But the truth of it here, his truth, was that he loved it. It was home. ] Every building fully lived in, with so many people moving around all the time. A lot harder to find a bit of space to yourself, though it wasn't impossible.
[ That's what strikes him about Lumiere now, whenever he goes back. Emptier and emptier, every single year. ]
Otherwise I don't think it was that different from the Lumiere you know. There was just a lot -- more. [ And something he doesn't quite want to say: there was a pervasive sense of -- permanence. That everyone's lives were happy in some way, and that it'd always stay that way. A world apart from the quiet resignation he feels whenever he's there now. ] Even more districts that would go for miles, pretty different characters to each one. Gestrals had a part of the city practically to themselves, and it was kind of a mess.
[ He says that fondly, and a bit absently, in that he forgets that the gestrals are probably still fantastical to Gustave and the crew, even if they've now met plenty of them. They were just there in the city along with everything else, with Esquie, with the grandis. ]
I passed through often on the train towards the Conservatory from home, and it always looked a bit different out the window each time.