[ The nevron worries him. It's only one, shouldn't be too much of a challenge, but in Gustave's current state -- Verso's ready to step in if he needs to, watching closely, a quiet tension wound through his body as he readies himself to take action.
But he sees something cross Gustave's eyes, and -- that readiness falls way. He knows he doesn't need to. He knows that look. Has felt it, once, twice, too many times in his long lives, and once that stands out above all. When everything's too much, when the horrors are too heavy to bear, sometimes what takes over is just instinct. And when someone has trained enough, knows what they're doing, that instinct is honed to a fine, fine weapon.
It's like watching a switch flip. Gustave's staggered, halting movements where Verso had been ready to catch him if he fell suddenly give way to something not just grounded and powerful but graceful. Verso can tell that Gustave is barely thinking, just reacting, and yet its enough, his sword moving in long smooth arcs that strike for the nevron's core, his body knowing how to dance himself out of the way of the enemy's blows and level a pistol shot straight at them in the same movement. Being in shock and a step away from death doesn't keep Gustave from falling into the rhythm of a fight like its home, and Verso finds himself -- entranced.
Especially with that. He'd seen the pictos engraved onto his metallic arm ( remembers the feel of them under his fingers, even ), registered that they channeled something electric but hadn't thought much of it other than some additional function the arm might serve. And apparently what it serves as is a weapon, a massive conductor, calling down what feels like the the rush of a thunderstorm from the skies themselves. Lightning crackles in the air, and there's a moment where Verso can just see his frame caught in a flash of white and red light, his arm raised aloft, chroma-fused thunder gathering straight to Gustave. It's beautiful, it's terrible, and --
The nevron collapses, dead. Verso watches, breathless, as that arm falls back to Gustave's side.
Beautiful. Even like this. He's well trained, and it shows, and Verso has always wondered in the years since they last met what the man must've been like to see actually wield his sword. If in this state he's still that, a picture of lethal grace and a surge of chroma-infused power, then -- Verso would love to see him when he's not like this.
When he's better. When he's recovered. First step is to make sure he gets there. That other Expeditioner he's tracking must be somewhere up ahead. ]
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Date: 2025-05-30 05:55 pm (UTC)But he sees something cross Gustave's eyes, and -- that readiness falls way. He knows he doesn't need to. He knows that look. Has felt it, once, twice, too many times in his long lives, and once that stands out above all. When everything's too much, when the horrors are too heavy to bear, sometimes what takes over is just instinct. And when someone has trained enough, knows what they're doing, that instinct is honed to a fine, fine weapon.
It's like watching a switch flip. Gustave's staggered, halting movements where Verso had been ready to catch him if he fell suddenly give way to something not just grounded and powerful but graceful. Verso can tell that Gustave is barely thinking, just reacting, and yet its enough, his sword moving in long smooth arcs that strike for the nevron's core, his body knowing how to dance himself out of the way of the enemy's blows and level a pistol shot straight at them in the same movement. Being in shock and a step away from death doesn't keep Gustave from falling into the rhythm of a fight like its home, and Verso finds himself -- entranced.
Especially with that. He'd seen the pictos engraved onto his metallic arm ( remembers the feel of them under his fingers, even ), registered that they channeled something electric but hadn't thought much of it other than some additional function the arm might serve. And apparently what it serves as is a weapon, a massive conductor, calling down what feels like the the rush of a thunderstorm from the skies themselves. Lightning crackles in the air, and there's a moment where Verso can just see his frame caught in a flash of white and red light, his arm raised aloft, chroma-fused thunder gathering straight to Gustave. It's beautiful, it's terrible, and --
The nevron collapses, dead. Verso watches, breathless, as that arm falls back to Gustave's side.
Beautiful. Even like this. He's well trained, and it shows, and Verso has always wondered in the years since they last met what the man must've been like to see actually wield his sword. If in this state he's still that, a picture of lethal grace and a surge of chroma-infused power, then -- Verso would love to see him when he's not like this.
When he's better. When he's recovered. First step is to make sure he gets there. That other Expeditioner he's tracking must be somewhere up ahead. ]