[ These are all good questions, and Verso does want to answer what he can, but it's a lot all at once. He tries, though, still tense and unsure, guiding Gustave with him further through the kitchen. He stops at some point, letting go, breaking eye contact with him like he can't quite bear up under the weight of his gaze and all those questions at once, glancing through the nearby shelves.
Water. Right? Gustave seems thirsty. In those long hours watching him work, Verso had considered slipping away a few times just to bring him food or water. He reaches for a glass, strangely nervous. Is it just all the questions? Is it because they're more than he bargained for? Is it just because it really does feel a bit like bringing Gustave home, and that's just a little nerve-wracking? ]
I don't know what Renoir knows. but he's never been here. [ And he won't be, Verso is quite sure. It's mostly the Curator's influence that would've kept Renoir at bay, and there is a greater risk now that the Curator isn't simply here. This place seems to be more of the canvas itself than something maman has painted, as far as Verso understands. Why else would she and the rest of his family have a manor of their own, instead of using this? ] Something about this place keeps him away, and the nevrons, too.
[ An oversimplification, more than a lie, but. He goes to a nearby sink, reaching for the tap, turning it, testing the water with his hands. Gently cool to the touch. He doesn't know what keeps everything in the manor working, knows only that it does, and he rinses out the glass he's picked out, eyes still away from Gustave. ]
I've stayed here myself sometimes over the years, even for days at a time. [ Also not untrue. The Curator was always the main force that kept him uneasy, but sometimes the Curator wasn't here, and other times over the years he'd just been desperate for something that resembled an actual bed. But the memories that linger here are strange and disjointed, and whatever comfort he got from a physical bed would often be outweighed by the strange discomfort after too long. ] I've never been in any danger, and no one else has come here.
But there are quite a few doors spread throughout the Continent. You can't just leave from the Manor to any of those doors, and leaving the Manor always puts you back where you entered it from.
[ So it might, technically, open them up to more vectors of attack, but Verso isn't sure if the space could even be accessed from more than one door at a time. It's never really been an issue to find out, before now. He fills the glass with some water, turns and hesitantly offers it to Gustave, his expression a little cowed but with something genuinely gentle and affectionate in it. ]
Here. Please, mon chou, you've been working for hours and hours. I feared you'd forget to eat or drink if I let you kept going.
no subject
Water. Right? Gustave seems thirsty. In those long hours watching him work, Verso had considered slipping away a few times just to bring him food or water. He reaches for a glass, strangely nervous. Is it just all the questions? Is it because they're more than he bargained for? Is it just because it really does feel a bit like bringing Gustave home, and that's just a little nerve-wracking? ]
I don't know what Renoir knows. but he's never been here. [ And he won't be, Verso is quite sure. It's mostly the Curator's influence that would've kept Renoir at bay, and there is a greater risk now that the Curator isn't simply here. This place seems to be more of the canvas itself than something maman has painted, as far as Verso understands. Why else would she and the rest of his family have a manor of their own, instead of using this? ] Something about this place keeps him away, and the nevrons, too.
[ An oversimplification, more than a lie, but. He goes to a nearby sink, reaching for the tap, turning it, testing the water with his hands. Gently cool to the touch. He doesn't know what keeps everything in the manor working, knows only that it does, and he rinses out the glass he's picked out, eyes still away from Gustave. ]
I've stayed here myself sometimes over the years, even for days at a time. [ Also not untrue. The Curator was always the main force that kept him uneasy, but sometimes the Curator wasn't here, and other times over the years he'd just been desperate for something that resembled an actual bed. But the memories that linger here are strange and disjointed, and whatever comfort he got from a physical bed would often be outweighed by the strange discomfort after too long. ] I've never been in any danger, and no one else has come here.
But there are quite a few doors spread throughout the Continent. You can't just leave from the Manor to any of those doors, and leaving the Manor always puts you back where you entered it from.
[ So it might, technically, open them up to more vectors of attack, but Verso isn't sure if the space could even be accessed from more than one door at a time. It's never really been an issue to find out, before now. He fills the glass with some water, turns and hesitantly offers it to Gustave, his expression a little cowed but with something genuinely gentle and affectionate in it. ]
Here. Please, mon chou, you've been working for hours and hours. I feared you'd forget to eat or drink if I let you kept going.