[ His boots feel strange and awkward on the polished wood, the fine carpet runner that pads the stairs, and he nods as Verso goes on. It is strange, and Gustave certainly doesn't have any idea what to make of the Curator, other than that he had protected Maelle (and for that he owes the strange creature everything), nor does he know what to think of this weird, empty space. It must be safe enough if Verso has spent time here in the past, but... ]

Yeah.

[ I just thought, Verso starts, and trails off, and Gustave tears his focus from the manor itself to look over at Verso, taking him in. He looks... anxious, a little, or maybe just nervous, and Gustave presses his hand, his smile crooking. He's done so much, his monsieur le pianiste, who can be so sweet and so generous that it makes Gustave's heart stumble all over itself in his chest, threatening to crack.

Probably they could have found a private enough space in the village, or camped just outside it, but Verso had remembered this space and thought it was better, more comfortable, and Gustave does remember the luxuriously appointed room they'd found Maelle in. The bathroom. The closet full of clothes. The bed.

And, well, if no one else is making use of it...

He pushes his eyebrows up, an expression that on his face tends to skew more mischievous than sly, but there's clear interest in his eyes. ]

If the water was running down in the kitchen, do you think it's possible to draw a bath?

[ A real bath, hot water and soap and a smooth tub to soak in, would be nothing short of sinful right now. They've all largely been bathing in cold rivers and lakes, unless they come across a small enough spring that Lune can warm the water with her pictos, and he doesn't mind it, exactly, but merde, he's missed real baths. ]

The last chance I had for a good wash was that river, the first night we met. Remember?