[ He returns the kiss, amused and smiling, and lingers a moment to enjoy the feeling of Verso's fingers toying with his hair before he puts his hands on Verso's shoulders and pushes him gently back. ]
Then I guess I'd better pack up.
[ Not that he has much in the way to pack up aside from his tools, but he turns away from Verso to collect those with the efficiency of someone who's done this same thing a thousand times before: set everything out, maybe trying to keep it neat and in one place, only to have to go hunting around once they're finished to make sure they haven't forgotten anything. He's left this workspace a good deal neater than he found it, but he still finds an errant screwdriver that had accidentally rolled off the bench and onto the floor.
They all go into their respective slots in the long piece of leather where he keeps them, before he rolls it up and tucks it into his pack before looking for the little yellow and purple flowers he'd set carefully aside early on. He considers them for a minute, then reaches into his pack for his journal, opening it to an early page that has no writing, but which hosts a variety of small objects: a different yellow flower, pressed carefully into the paper; a note, now almost three years old and slightly faded; a small, grayscale photograph created with a collodion process of a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties in the image. Her dark hair is cut into a jaunty bob that curls at her cheeks, her eyes are big and laughing, faint freckles scatter across the bridge of her pert, retroussรฉ nose.
Gustave sets the new flowers carefully among this small collection of memorabilia, then closes the journal back up and slides it into his pack, which he slings over his right shoulder without bothering to strap it across his chest like usual. He's not sure how far Verso's promised place is, but unless they'll be doing a lot of walking, this should be fine. ]
Okay.
[ He reaches for his coat and slings it over his left arm, then turns to lift his eyebrows and hands both at Verso in a show me what you've got gesture. ]
no subject
Then I guess I'd better pack up.
[ Not that he has much in the way to pack up aside from his tools, but he turns away from Verso to collect those with the efficiency of someone who's done this same thing a thousand times before: set everything out, maybe trying to keep it neat and in one place, only to have to go hunting around once they're finished to make sure they haven't forgotten anything. He's left this workspace a good deal neater than he found it, but he still finds an errant screwdriver that had accidentally rolled off the bench and onto the floor.
They all go into their respective slots in the long piece of leather where he keeps them, before he rolls it up and tucks it into his pack before looking for the little yellow and purple flowers he'd set carefully aside early on. He considers them for a minute, then reaches into his pack for his journal, opening it to an early page that has no writing, but which hosts a variety of small objects: a different yellow flower, pressed carefully into the paper; a note, now almost three years old and slightly faded; a small, grayscale photograph created with a collodion process of a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties in the image. Her dark hair is cut into a jaunty bob that curls at her cheeks, her eyes are big and laughing, faint freckles scatter across the bridge of her pert, retroussรฉ nose.
Gustave sets the new flowers carefully among this small collection of memorabilia, then closes the journal back up and slides it into his pack, which he slings over his right shoulder without bothering to strap it across his chest like usual. He's not sure how far Verso's promised place is, but unless they'll be doing a lot of walking, this should be fine. ]
Okay.
[ He reaches for his coat and slings it over his left arm, then turns to lift his eyebrows and hands both at Verso in a show me what you've got gesture. ]
Lead the way.