[ The journey back to the gestral village is markedly easier with Esquie, who has absolutely no trouble whatsoever carrying them rapidly over even the worst terrain, delighting both Maelle and Sciel as they sit on his broad back and look out over the shattered lands around them.
(Gustave can't quite understand why Esquie can fly and carry them over land but can't carry them over the water without Florrie, but as Sciel points out, he is a creature of legend, and legends rarely make sense.)
The gestrals, unsurprisingly, are delighted to see them, Karatom especially. He peers at the mushroom Gustave had procured for him and chatters excitedly, then summons a small army of gestrals to help detach the cannon from the Ultimate Sakapatate and bring it — less carefully than Gustave would prefer — to the ground. It takes a handful of them to bring the cannon in its largest pieces to a workshop they've set aside for his use, and Gustave spends a few moments telling them where to put things as he shucks off his pack and coat and sets them aside, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his elbows.
The workshop is, surprisingly, far more comfortable and usable than he would have expected. The lighting isn't bad, most of it focused on a workbench at the far end, and there's plenty of space to work, along with a board he can use to arrange scribbled notes. The tools are... rudimentary, but he has a small but useful collection of his own. This could work.
It's not until he's setting his coat and pack down by the workbench and table that his eye is caught by a more subtle splash of color than the gestrals prefer: two flowers, gently intertwined, pale purple and butter yellow petals soft to when he reaches to gently touch them with a fingertip. His Monsieur le pianiste has been busy, it seems.
And he's busy too, already focused on taking apart the cannon's firing mechanism when the girls leave, Maelle talking loudly about how boring it would be to stay. He's still fiddling with the guts of the mechanism some time later — it could be minutes, it could be hours — when some unconscious part of his brain hears the opening door, someone coming through.
He waves a hand to the side without looking, fingers already stained with oil and paint and tarnish, his voice absent-minded, the way it always was when Maelle or Emma came in to bring him food or water or coffee. ]
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Date: 2025-06-17 01:05 am (UTC)(Gustave can't quite understand why Esquie can fly and carry them over land but can't carry them over the water without Florrie, but as Sciel points out, he is a creature of legend, and legends rarely make sense.)
The gestrals, unsurprisingly, are delighted to see them, Karatom especially. He peers at the mushroom Gustave had procured for him and chatters excitedly, then summons a small army of gestrals to help detach the cannon from the Ultimate Sakapatate and bring it — less carefully than Gustave would prefer — to the ground. It takes a handful of them to bring the cannon in its largest pieces to a workshop they've set aside for his use, and Gustave spends a few moments telling them where to put things as he shucks off his pack and coat and sets them aside, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his elbows.
The workshop is, surprisingly, far more comfortable and usable than he would have expected. The lighting isn't bad, most of it focused on a workbench at the far end, and there's plenty of space to work, along with a board he can use to arrange scribbled notes. The tools are... rudimentary, but he has a small but useful collection of his own. This could work.
It's not until he's setting his coat and pack down by the workbench and table that his eye is caught by a more subtle splash of color than the gestrals prefer: two flowers, gently intertwined, pale purple and butter yellow petals soft to when he reaches to gently touch them with a fingertip. His Monsieur le pianiste has been busy, it seems.
And he's busy too, already focused on taking apart the cannon's firing mechanism when the girls leave, Maelle talking loudly about how boring it would be to stay. He's still fiddling with the guts of the mechanism some time later — it could be minutes, it could be hours — when some unconscious part of his brain hears the opening door, someone coming through.
He waves a hand to the side without looking, fingers already stained with oil and paint and tarnish, his voice absent-minded, the way it always was when Maelle or Emma came in to bring him food or water or coffee. ]
Just leave it there, thanks...