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demainvient) wrote2025-05-30 11:00 am
demainvient) wrote2025-05-30 11:00 am
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ โ๐ฃ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐
๐๐ง ๐ฃ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฃ๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ซ๐๐ข ๐๐ ๐ซ๐๐ญ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ฬ๐ฌ ๐๐ ๐ญ๐จ๐ข
๐๐ ๐๐๐ข๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐๐ข๐ก, ๐๐๐ข๐ ๐ฬ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐ก๐๐
no subject
Yet as distracting as Verso is, it's only moments before Gustave is deeply absorbed back into his work. He sketches out a design, murmuring to himself, and works sums to find the right dimensions, then takes the pieces of the ignition chamber back into his hand and bends over them, working carefully with a rasp and other tools to improve the size and shape of it.
His fabricated left hand comes in handy a few times; he uses it as a clamp more than once, holding down a large piece of metal or wood so he can work on it without it moving, the light from the lamps around the workbench chasing gleaming patterns in the pictos engraved there in the metal. Thanks to the nature of gestral design, there's quite a lot of blunt force he needs to apply to the various pieces before he can persuade them into his improved versions, and it's not long before the white shirt is sticking slightly to his shoulders with a light sheen of sweat beneath, the waistcoat still snug at his back and ribs.
But there's a good deal of detail work, too, once he's cracked open or bent or widened the pieces he needs to adjust, and in this he really does very nearly forget that someone else is here. He bends close, tools in both hands, tightening hinges and joints and loosening others, carefully building the cannon back up nearly from scratch.
He does, though, occasionally blink out of his workflow, and when that happens he turns almost too quickly, eyes glancing around the workshop until he finds Verso, perched on some stack of cracked and useless furniture or leaning languidly against a wall. Only then do his shoulders relax, only then does he smile and offer some amused comment or question before he turns back to the task at hand.
It's a lot of work, and it takes a long while, but finally he's screwing the pieces carefully back together, the newly rifled cannon barrels waiting patiently to the side. His hair is a little damp with sweat and his head is aching from how intently he'd been peering at the pieces, but there's satisfaction in the set of his shoulders. ]
There. Nearly.
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Sometimes he can almost follow what he's doing, especially catching the occasional almost-audible words that he mutters to himself. Occasionally when Gustave is especially focused and when he thinks he can get away with it, he even drifts closer, peering over his shoulder or coming around to the other side of the workbench, careful not to block out any of the light. He can follow the logic of it if not quite know all the details, see what each component is meant to do and what he needs to make, and it's fascinating, because he can see Gustave in all of it. It's like seeing someone think through their hands, and Verso thinks that, yes, this must be how Gustave felt when he'd watched him play the piano. This isn't his world, not a thing he can really hope to comprehend on the same level that Gustave does, but he can feel it, somehow, the rhythms and careful thought of his work, can see the skill and precision with which his fingers move.
Other times, he's just watching him. Watching the sweat bead on his brow, resisting the urge to slip closer and gently dab at it before Gustave finally swipes it away himself with the back of his hand, watching the way his lips press together in thought and concentration, how something flickers in those eyes whenever he realizes something, notices it, or has an idea. It does get genuinely difficult to hold himself back, especially as that shirt starts to cling to his body, when he can see more of the lean muscle of him that he's already learned and memorized with his fingers and with his tongue. He just wants to trace those familiar paths, again, wants to press close just to feel him, wants to touch Gustave's arm while he works just to feel how those muscles and tendons shift. He wants to treasure and guard and protect this utter focus he sees on him just as much as he wants to jar him out of it, reach out and pull him close with a kiss just to see him jump and then melt into his arms.
And the rest, he loses in moments of quiet fantasy. Less now. Gustave has a way of -- grounding him, even in the short time they've known each other, noticing somehow whenever he gets too far away in his own head, when he's a little too adrift in fantasies of what might have been, when those walls he's built around himself get in the way of something raw and real. But he still can't help but slip into a daydream. Imagining that when he looks outside, it isn't the charming strange scenery of the village, but from some apartment in Lumiere, well into the night with the city's gentle lights outside. He imagines that this is something they do often, no, something even more precise -- maybe every Wednesday, every week when Verso schedules in a rest from his practice, when he comes to visit with Gustave at work, fond and maybe just a bit distracting -- Gustave's apprentices know by now that while they can visit him any other time, Wednesdays are off limits, for reasons their mentor will not specify. He imagines spending hours watching him work, or maybe missing him so much from a few days of being busy that he just comes in and kisses him and they're immediately lost in a tangle on the floor or up on the workbench itself. He imagines sinking to his knees while Gustave works, kissing his way along his thighs, taking him his mouth, either working to distract him until he can't help himself or just -- tasting him, being there, making him feel good and just as normal as any other part of his work.
Those thoughts are usually in mind whenever Gustave breaks from his work to look his way, and Verso's heart aches when he sees him relax and smile before he returns to his work.
Eventually, though, enough hours pass ( they go quicker than Verso thought they would -- ), and Verso can see something different in the way he's holding himself even before he says anything. He smiles, slowly peeling himself from the corner he'd been tucked in, stepping up behind him, one hand reaching out to settle against Gustave's hip -- and again, waiting until he actually notices before he sidles up closer, pressing himself against his back. He peers over his shoulder down at the workbench, humming curiously. ]
-- Nearly?
[ Does that mean nearly nearly or does this mean nearly as in three hours, he can't tell and somehow has a feeling that's something that might happen, with you. ]
no subject
Nearly.
[ Which could mean... well, a lot of things other than I'm almost done. Gustave nods toward the workbench, wishing fervently that he'd thought to bring a cup of water. ]
Yeah. Lookโ
[ The bench itself has been transformed from earlier. No longer the confusing mess of designs and cannon pieces, now everything Gustave had worked on and built is set neatly in a row in precisely the order he needs to assemble it. The designs and notes are stacked nearby, set aside once he no longer had any use for them, and the cannon pieces all gleam, newly polished. There are significantly fewer of them, but when Gustave picks up the first two to fit them together, they click easily into place. ]
See, I took out most of the redundancies, lightened the whole thing. It's much simpler now, but it didn't need all those other parts, they were just dead weight. I improved the ignition mechanism โ here โ and the valve here to control oxygen flow.
[ He tugs lightly on a cord and the mechanism swings easily into motion: a spark flaring into life as the valve above it opens and allows a flood of oxygen into the chamber, turning the spark into a tiny controlled fireball. ]
All that's left to do is assemble it and mix up the powder. Shouldn't take long.
no subject
Some of that pride might come through in as he presses another kiss to his shoulder, as he hums softly, rumbling a bit in his chest where he's pressed against Gustave's back. And when he explains -- here, the ignition mechanism, here, the valve -- Verso nods, and it isn't just for show. He's watched the entire time, actually paid attention, he does have a good idea of what each thing is meant to be. Then he's demonstrating, a sudden tiny little fireball right here in the workbench, and Verso can't help but just beam with pride and delight, pressing another kiss to his neck. ]
-- Looks like it works beautifully.
[ His very multitalented Monsieur le fleuriste is so good at what he does. ]
Could the gestrals maybe -- assemble it themselves? I'm sure they'd want to learn to mix the powder, too.
[ And they'll probably identify the dangerous component in the mixture that Gustave wants to limit and add far too much of it, but gestrals are as gestrals will always be, and he's been very, very patient. He'll pull back if Gustave insists, but.
His self control is really straining, here. He's doing his best. ]
no subject
Yeah. It should get the job done.
[ He's pleased, too. He hadn't really expected to be able to design or build anything here, or do much tinkering at all unless it was to fix the music player at the camp or his own arm if it started to malfunction, and it feels... good to do something with his hands that isn't destructive. To create something... even if that something is only going to be used to blow up other things down the line. Well, there's only so much you can do with gestrals.
Maybe that's why it takes him a moment to recognize the particular innocent tone to Verso's voice, as he presses a kiss to Gustave's neck that makes him shiver, realizing his skin is warm and flushed and a little damp with sweat from his work. He'd undone the top few buttons on his shirt ages ago, and now his collar hangs loose and slightly limp from the humidity of his own body, easily pushed out of the way in favor of Verso's lips against his skin. ]
Well...
[ He's not wrong. The gestrals have proven themselves to be remarkably adept at construction, all things considered, and it really would be better for them to mix the powder themselves so they can learn the ratios โ and probably immediately abandon them, but that's hardly his problem โ
So there's no real reason for him to feel reluctant, except that as he looks over his work his fingers almost itch to finish it completely, to search out any last needed tweaks and test out the various mechanisms to be sure they work as intended. And there's Verso, of course, with his plans, and it's already been hours...
His lips press together, expression scrunching for a moment, but even he knows saying anything but yes is just him looking for excuses to keep going. And he will, would, right into the early morning hours if no one stopped him. ]
...Probably...
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( He imagines Gustave spending long nights in his workshop in Lumiere, and in his mind, Verso already knows him well enough, even talks to him about his projects over dinner, that he knows which ones are more critical and which ones can be left for another time. He visits with wine, with coffee, with food, because Gustave just forgets if he isn't reminded. Sometimes he has to be convinced, other times he'd happily take a break with him for a somehow-still romantic meal shared under the workshop's flickering lamplights, and sometimes he might even persuade him up to the rooftop for fresh air as they eat. Sometimes Gustave would have to go back to work, and other times he'd simply want. to, and it'd be up to Verso with a smile and a kiss and probably more to gently coax him away. And sometimes, more forcibly coax him away. ) ]
Mon Monsieur le fleuriste. [ Muttered soft and low against his neck, one hand sliding up to his shoulder to just lightly tug on the material of his shirt -- with some buttons undone and the collar hanging loose, it slides easily to expose more skin, baring a shoulder. Verso's lips chase the material with kisses and nips, fond, adoring -- and absolutely hungry for a little more. His other arm snakes around his waist, again, fingers settling just over the front of his trousers, not starting to work to undo them, but certainly hinting at it. ] You've been working so hard, and you've done well.
[ And your Monsieur le pianiste has been waiting, so very, very patient. ]
I think, especially on a night that we might finally be able to share together -- [ a warm purr in his voice, lingering on the thought of it, of just being able to share a night like they've been yearning to since they found each other again ] -- you deserve some, ah. Time to yourself.
[ And by time to yourself, Verso does mean time with him, but he thinks Gustave would agree to that. ]
no subject
And Gustave is far from immune to a sweet nickname murmured warmly into his skin, to a hand sliding low over his belly and leaving a tight, sweet ache in its wake. He makes a small, soft sound, eyes closing as he leans back into Verso's chest, as his hand comes up to rest on the wrist of the one now toying with the waist of his trousers. ]
Verso...
[ All of it compelling enough, almost enough for him to give in and agree, but then Verso keeps muddling words along with kisses into his skin and Gustave can feel his heart give a hard, confused leap in his chest. ]
You'll... you'll stay the night?
[ His surprise is genuine, though in retrospect maybe he shouldn't feel surprised at all. Verso told him earlier, didn't he? That he knew the girls were leaving him alone for the night. At the time his head had been full of the task at hand, he hadn't really considered what Verso might be saying, but...
A night. A night together, like he's dreamed of for so long, like he's longed for ever since he realized Verso was here, alive, on the continent with them and nearby, within reach.
He half-turns, wanting to see Verso's face, some small part of him still wary that Verso will shake his head, say no and I'm sorry and vanish again until tomorrow. Hope leaps in his throat, his chest, lights up his tired face and soothes a little of the ache in his temples. A night together, to hold each other close and fall asleep in each other's arms. Will it be anything like what he'd imagined? Could it be? ]
Is that your plan?
no subject
He can feel the other man steadily melt in his arms, sinking back against him, giving in -- and then the way his words jar him so suddenly that he's starting up again, half-turning in his arms. Verso is a bit surprised, mostly because he thought he'd been fairly clear earlier, but Gustave had been busy, he supposes, his mind already fixated on the project ahead. Verso only doesn't immediately answer him because he's so caught off guard by the look in his face, in his eyes, all bright and hopeful like nothing else he's ever seen, like a simple offer of spending a night together is everything he's ever wanted and everything he's ever dared to dream of, like Verso's just casually offered him a gift so perfect that it could only be an answer to all of his hidden prayers.
A beat, and a smile, turning Gustave more in his so he can lean down and press their foreheads together, one hand lifting to his cheek. He makes some sound, soft and amused, his other hand settled at his hip, the look in his eyes nothing short of affectionate and adoring for all the hope and light in Gustave's. ]
Yeah.
[ Of course it is. He's also had a few dozen different dreams about what they could do during this night together, but in all honesty, it isn't too important. The moment he realized that the Expedition was actively considering giving Gustave a night to himself to work, the moment he realized that that was actually what they were going to do, there was a never a question about what he should do with it. All the previous days before, when Gustave would all but beg him to come back to camp, and Verso would all but beg him to stay. For a night, at least, they can put that aside.
He tips his head to the side slightly, indicating some direction, still with their foreheads pressed together. ]
I know a place.
[ It might be a lot. But he hopes you'll like it, and -- who knows what chances he'll get, with this? Verso wouldn't have minded at all a night together under the stars, in a makeshift tent, even in one of the gestral houses, just wants to spend a night with him -- but, since he has tne option, here. He does know somewhere special. ]
no subject
But now... and it isn't even that late, the girls had left him here in the evening, well before true nightfall, which gives them so much time it makes Gustave almost giddy to think about. Hours and hours, enough time to sleep, even, though he'd be just as tempted to stay awake the whole night through to be able to give his monsieur le pianiste all his focus, now that the project is (nearly) complete.
He lets Verso turn him again until they're standing like they had been before: Gustave leaning slightly back against the workbench, his hands coming to find the gentle dip at Verso's waist, over that purple sash that looks so dashing. Verso leans their foreheads together and he can feel the way it melts down his neck, into his shoulders and back, the muscles relaxing and softening just to be this close to him. ]
You know a place?
[ Amused and a little skeptical, but maybe he can be forgiven, considering their current location. ]
Does this village have some private hotel I missed seeing on the way in? They could probably repurpose a Sakapatate for one, honestly, they're big enough.
[ But those Verso's smiling and fond, he looks serious, and maybe it really isn't a joke. Gustave gives him a bemused look, thumbs running idly along the curve of his ribs, over the material of that Expedition uniform he still needs to ask about. ]
Alright, I'll bite. Where?
no subject
But the curator for now has moved on to stay with the Expedition. Verso's already made use of the manor a bit more because of that, a convenient transportation in some places, and. One chance he and Gustave have of using an actual bed. ]
You know how you imagined taking me to an old abandoned hotel? It's a bit like that.
[ Verso laughs a little, a sheepish half-shrug, he knows it sounds a bit ridiculous, given where they are. But also not too unthinkable: even if Gustave has yet to see Old Lumiere, all across the Continent there are sometimes just... entire buildings scattered out from the Fracture, remnants of city blocks, a piece of a town square. The idea that he's maybe found an old hotel of some kind that might be accessible, if maybe tilted at an uncomfortable angle, isn't too unthinkable. ]
It's best to just show you, I think.
[ And Verso does think you'd like it, if maybe be confused by it, but ultimately it'd be a warm bed, and -- there's part of him, wistful and sentimental, that would just like to pretend at being able to bring Gustave home. A different world, a different life. If he'd made some different decisions, if the world wasn't what it was, if Verso wasn't who he was.
He lingers there, just enjoying Gustave's presence, his touch, comfortable and familiar like they've done this so many times before as he sways closer to steal a quick kiss, his fingers playing lightly with his hair. ]
-- I promise its not a Sakapatate.
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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.
no subject
And especially when he circles back to those flowers. Verso can feel a bit of pink rising in his cheeks, and thankfully Gustave's not looking at him right now. The flowers were a bit -- impulsive, sentimental. He'd done what he could to get the gestrals to prepare for Gustave's arrival, and then he'd had time to kill as the Expedition made their way to the village. He knows of a few clearings in the Crimson Forest where those purple flowers bloomed, and he'd found himself wandering there, finding a delicate butter-yellow flower, staring at them together as he held them in his hands, freshly plucked.
Gustave takes them, clearly careful, and when he flips open what Verso guesses must be his journal ( he's seen him writing in it from time to time in the past weeks ), Verso does think to himself he should look away, but -- can't help but be curious. And he leans in just enough to catch a few glimpses of things that have his heart skipping in his beat, leaping into his throat: he sees the other yellow flower first, and that gives him context for what a small faded note might be, even if he can't quite catch the writing from here. And a photograph, old but well-kept, a woman that Verso isn't sure he recognizes. Someone from Lumiere whose face Verso probably never knew to remember, someone dear to him, clearly, and absurdly Verso feels a pang of something in his chest, something that feels like jealousy.
Stupid. He -- shouldn't ask about it. But when Gustave tucks his things away and looks back up at Verso, he might still be able to see the remnants of color dusting on his cheeks, even as he tries to play it off. He smiles, a little lopsided and sly, reaching out to take Gustave's right hand in his own, threading their fingers together and lifting it to his lips to brush a kiss against his knuckles. ]
It's not far.
[ But it's a bit of a walk. And as he gently tugs Gustave by the hand outside, into the night air of the gestral village, where there are definitely still gestrals running around -- Verso doesn't seem as fussed about not being seen. The gestrals already know he's here, and he's tried to tell them to be secretive, but he already knows the risks with that. He does seem to try to urge them towards a quieter path, apparently knowing the village very well, but -- he'd thought about this beforehand, too.
It's not Lumiere. But for a few moments they could almost pretend it is, maybe. Walking hand-in-hand along an old cobblestone street, the gentle glow of lights around them, the cool night air and the buzzing anticipation of an evening together as they walk close enough their shoulders brush, as Verso squeezes Gustave's hand in his own, thumb stroking against his hand like he's reminding himself that he's really, really here. ]
-- I really do like watching you work, you know. [ A soft murmur, a small smile. ] I know you won't believe me, but I could've stayed there all day.
[ It wasn't boring at all! ]
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But they haven't, and he doesn't know if they'll ever be able to walk hand in hand along a town street again, let alone along Lumiere's. For a moment he can almost smell the salt breeze from the harbor, the flowers from the rooftop gardens, the warm scent of butter wafting from a nearby patisserie... but the stars were never so bright in Lumiere. ]
I believe you.
[ Spoken with a chuckle, as he turns his attention away from the stars and back toward Verso, ignoring the two gestrals squaring up to each other at a nearby hut. ]
I don't know why you might like watching me fiddle with cannon components so much, but I do actually believe you. Even if I don't believe you could have managed to refrain from distracting me for much longer.
[ He squeezes Verso's hand back, marveling that he can, that they're out here together where the gestrals and indeed anyone could see them, if there were anyone to see. ]
Aren't you worried we might run into one of the girls and you'll be forced to finally explain yourself?
no subject
It's less about enjoying cannon components and ignition mechanisms and more about watching mon ingรฉnieur do something he loves, Gustave. [ Something he loves, thrives in, and clearly feels at home doing, something that has defined most of his life in Lumiere in a way that Verso can never hope to know or be a part of, something that seems so natural to his hands as breathing is to his lungs. It'd only been a few hours but he feels like he's seen so much more of Gustave than he'd ever seen before, like he could see him in every single little mechanical piece he'd so delicately fashioned. ] I imagine it's -- not unlike you watching me play music.
[ Not quite the same, he knows. One is more distinctly a performance, and he's sure to Gustave that the comparison might seem absurd. But they're both expressions of themselves, ways in which they've found to pour their souls out into world. In that, Verso thinks, when he's sitting there watching him and leaning in to peer curiously over the shoulder, the look in his eyes probably isn't too different from what he remembers of Gustave, sitting next to him on the piano bench, eyes wide and swept away.
As for the girls, well. Verso could easily make up something here: He's prepared, he's not that afraid, no one will see them. But instead he just squeezes Gustave's hand in answer, even as he guides them down a slightly quieter path. ]
I am worried, yeah. Just --
[ He glances at him, a bit sheepish, a one-shouldered shrug, giving Gustave's hand another gentle squeeze, thumb brushing over a knuckle. He is worried about it. He is aware there's a non-zero chance. He's been careful, knows where the girls have said they'd be, has even asked some favors from gestrals to make sure they're occupied, and the moment he does see them he is prepared to let go of Gustave's hand and slip away.
But it's a risk. Just one he decided he's willing to take, to hold Gustave's hand and walk quietly beside him for this short walk -- but its a much too short one. They're already winding their way somewhere a little outside of the village, past a gestral standing guard that Verso doesn't even bother acknowledging as they move past, towards a strange, ornate door. It looks entirely unlike any of the gestral architecture, though that in itself isn't unusual, with how many things are scattered across the fractured Continent. It looks almost built into the rocky cliff, a stone carved archway, an ornate wooden door within it -- and if Gustave thinks far enough back, it might look distinctly familiar, a door in a hut with weird corals. ]
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So perhaps he can see how Verso would be interested, especially if Gustave weren't so determined to focus. He can imagine Verso coming into the workshop — and in his mind, it's his workshop, the one he spent so much time in back in Lumiere, and this wasn't the first visit but one of many — and sliding his arms around him just like he had before, asking questions and making small suggestions, offering his perspective. It's a sweet enough image to make him ache, even walking here with Verso, hand in hand under the open sky and through the gestrals' strange little village.
He looks over at Verso, amused, as they pass a series of increasingly threatening sign. This one says TURN BACK!!! in large, jagged letters that he's not sure a gestral would even be able to paint. ]
Your work?
[ But his amusement fades as they make their way fully out of the village, past a gestral guard (no password needed, thank goodness) and along a winding little path that leads to a strangely familiar looking door. ]
Is that...
[ The last time he saw a door like this, it was tucked into Noco's hut, hidden amongst the weird corals the note at the Indigo Tree had mentioned. He shoots a bemused glance at Verso, sidelong, before frowning at the door itself. ]
How did you find this?
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But there's a lot he also he knows that he can't tell him, or would really rather not have to. Briefly he considers playing at surprise that Gustave might recognize the door, but -- no. It's probably okay. And sometimes, especially with Gustave, he just wants to let go of some of the damn lies. He's so tired. He just wants to be with him.
He shoots him a smile. ]
I've been around the Continent for a long time, Gustave.
[ Sixty-seven years. He's scoured just about every corner of the place just in time. ]
What's past here is a little weird, but . . . [ He turns to face Gustave fully, lifting their hands, pressing a kiss to the back of Gustave's, brushing over his knuckles. ] I don't know if we're gonna get another chance.
So just -- trust me?
[ His lips curve into a slightly more lopsided smile where they're still pressed against the back of Gustave's hand. Verso glances a bit at the gestral guard nearby, still staring off towards the village -- the gestrals are used to him, at least, know generally to leave him alone. And then he takes a step back, backing himself into the door, reaching for the handle. He pushes it open, stepping back into it, pulling Gustave with him --
-- Into a kitchen. A large one, of the size that it could almost be the kitchen of a sizable restaurant, rows of counters and sinks. There's pots and pans scattered everywhere, tableware and cutlery, and it would seem lived in and well-used if it wasn't also distinctly empty. Yet there's no real settling of dust. It's a little like this was a busy kitchen, bustling with staff, and everyone in it simply suddenly Gommaged, leaving their work behind, frozen in time.
And while this is all clearly incredibly strange, Verso seems utterly unfazed, more focused on their clasped hands, his gaze trained on Gustave's. ]
no subject
It's not that I don't trust you, I just...
[ He frowns again at the door, bewildered. If Verso knows about this door โ if it should be obvious that Verso knows about it, the way he implies, because he's been here for so long โ then he must know about the door in Flying Waters too, surely?
(And something else, a little niggling thought worming its way into the back of his mind: a note left on the Indigo Tree. Verso telling him by the time I reached the beach, there was no one to save. A mysterious door in the middle of nowhere, behind which he'd finally found Maelle safe and whole and alive.)
But this door doesn't open into the wide empty hall he remembers. Instead, Verso backs up and Gustave follows him, steps slow and uncertain, into a polished, empty kitchen. Just like the room they'd found Maelle in, it looks perfectly kept up, as clean as if it had just been wiped down for the night. But there are no pots or pans out, no stocks simmering on the stove. The air is scented with bunches of dried herbs, but there's no... life to the place at all.
The door swings quietly shut behind him as he lets Verso coax him further into the strange room, his steps sounding strangely against the clean, polished floor. ]
...We found Maelle in a place like this.
[ Or is it the same place, and just a different room? They hadn't been able to open any of the other doors, before. The manor, enormous, empty, had seemed to simply be... waiting for something. Or someone. ]
With the Curator. Is it the same place? That strange, empty manor?
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There's a quiet tension in Verso's body, noticeable now. It does lessen when the door falls shut behind Gustave with a quiet thud, and Verso knows now they can't be easily followed, but some of that tension just remains. It's subtle, but present, and Gustave has gotten a real knack for noticing whenever he's holding something of himself back, and Verso works his jaw slightly, a nervous gesture, as he continues stepping back through the kitchen, gently pulling Gustave with him. ]
This connects to a manor, yeah.
[ Still not willing to fully engage with acknowledging why he knows that Gustave might recognize the place. ]
I really can't tell you -- what the place is, or why it's here. I've been finding doors to it since the Fracture happened.
[ A definite truth. ]
But it's safe here. [ Maelle would've been safe here, under the Curator's care. He doesn't want to acknowledge that directly, doesn't want to give Gustave enough to pin him down, but he can acknowledge some of the facts around it, maybe. ] We can even have something to drink, some of the food. I've done that before.
[ Do you want some water, Gustave. ]
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It could be that Verso is simply nervous about bringing him here, about staying the night together. It could be something else, though, and he doesn't like not knowing. ]
You're sure it's safe?
[ Maelle had been safe enough here โ from Nevrons, at least โ but as Gustave looks around, as Verso tells him a little about this strange place, his stomach clenches with misgiving. ]
The man from the beach โ Renoir โ does he know about it? About the doors?
Can you get into this same place from any of those doors?
[ And what does that mean for safety, if someone wandering in those strange corals might find that door in the hut could come in and find them here?
Verso's coaxing him further into the kitchen, and he goes, but he only barely hears what Verso's saying about food and drink, even with his throat so dry. ]
Can anyone get in?
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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.
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Almost as intriguing, though, is the fact that Verso turns the faucet on at the sink and water comes out, readily and without any of the spurting and recalcitrance he'd have expected from a pipe that hasn't been used lately. It's clear, too, and apparently temperature-controlled, considering the way Verso runs his hand under it to test the coolness, and Gustave is in motion before he can stop himself, crouching down to open the cabinet doors beneath the sink and reaching to touch the pipes there. They're cool to the touch, water flowing easily, and โ ]
How is it doing that?
[ For a moment, this new mystery โ one he could solve easily if this were a normal house, he's not a plumber but he understands the basic ideas of how systems like this work โ takes precedence over the other, and he's still puzzling over it when Verso turns to offer him a glass of the mysteriously available water. Gustave straightens to take it, almost reflexive, and peers at both glass and water for a moment with undisguised curiosity. ]
There's no system out here for it to hook up to, and it's not like the gestrals have indoor plumbing...
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It's warm and achingly fond, his sweet ingรฉnieur, inquisitive and bright and relentless in chasing down answers -- at least until he's distracted by other questions. Just like that he finds that tension he's carrying with him melting out of his shoulders, and he moves closer to settle his hand against Gustave's side, leaning in to brush a kiss to his cheek. ]
-- You're really cute.
[ The softest murmur, gentle against his skin, and he lingers there for a few moments before he pulls away. ]
I'm gonna be honest, it's never occurred to me to find out. A lot of things on the Continent don't seem to operate by any real logic, and I've gotten used to it. [ Maman's chroma, what's left of the canvas' original painter, all of it seems to blend into something chaotic and dreamlike in so many places. Lumiere itself made more sense. The further they get from it, the less things hold. Verso's been out here so long that he's used to it, by now, especially when he understands the truth of what the world really is. ] We can investigate it together, if you'd like, but it's not really what I had in mind for the evening.
[ But maybe his imagined romantic evening being derailed into a detailed investigation of the Manor's systems would really only be fitting, for someone like Gustave. Verso honestly wouldn't even entirely mind, if only he still succeeds at pulling him into bed later, gets to lay him out and show him just how much he appreciates his adorable little engineer and all of his bright-eyed curiosity.
He nods at the glass of water. ]
-- But I kind of have to insist that you drink at least something.
[ please gustave ]
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You've never been curious about it?
[ But why would he be? So much about the Continent is utterly bewildering, for so many reasons, and the manor itself has many more mysteries than simply where the water comes from and yet...
But Verso reminds him, delicately, that he had in fact had plans for this evening that don't include searching out the source of the working plumbing, and for a moment Gustave is wholly aware of how close he is, how cool the glass feels against his palm, how alone they are in this enormous, empty place. We have a chance, Verso seems to be trying to tell him. A chance to finally realize some of the many dreams they'd both indulged in over the last two years. They're alone, and they have the whole night.
His smile softens, and he dutifully lifts the glass of water to his lips, only to realize mid-sip how thirsty he really is. A moment later, he's drunk the whole thing, the water sloshing strange and cool as it slides into his stomach, and giving Verso a slightly abashed look. ]
Step one, complete.
[ He sets the glass down on the counter and glances around the kitchen again, then reaches for Verso's hand once more to thread their fingers together, pressing palm to palm, warm and affectionate. ]
I'm sorry, mon cher. Go on, show me what you had in mind.
[ He's smiling, eyes crinkled, curiosity and uncertainty still alight in his eyes but tempered now with sweet, steady fondness, and โ underneath that โ just a little bit of heat, like the first instant of a match striking and flaring into life. ]
I'm sure it wasn't just staying in the kitchen, was it?
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He can see a quiet realization shifting across Gustave's expression. Something soft and affectionate, not quite enough to ease all of the uncertainty from him, but enough to put it aside. This time Gustave's the one to reach for his hand, and Verso feels a little flutter in his stomach and a quiet thrill, just to feel him close, just to have him reach out for him, his heart skipping a beat as their hands easily together. The touch doesn't feel quite mundane, yet, but it's starting to feel -- a little familiar, the slide of the calluses of Gustave's palms against his own, where his thumb settles just over his knuckle. Gustave's voice calling him mon cher just rolls over him like a warm blanket, and the sound of his voice, that sweet fondness and that first lights of a spark of heat, just draws him deeper into that warmth.
Maybe there'll be more questions to field. And really, Gustave probably does deserve more answers -- but it seems they're on the same page, with this, with what it could mean for them and the daydreams and fantasies they've shared with each other over the past days, with their desperate yearning in the past years of something they thought they'd never have. Verso feels something start to swell in his chest, some emotion he doesn't quite know how to give name to, and he smiles, warm, lifting their entangled hands, this time stepping back and dipping into a bit of a half-bow to lean down and kiss at the back of Gustave's hand. ]
Definitely not.
[ His fantasies had them going all around the house in all manner of ways, and certainly the kitchen wasn't left out, whether it was sharing a meal or some wine or him pushing Gustave down over the counter and pushing some of the tableware haphazardly to the floor. But most of it had involved other places, and so again he starts stepping backwards as he straightens, leading Gustave towards the door. ]
I'd just like to imagine -- [ a small smile, his shoulder catching the door behind him ] -- That after a long, hard day of watching you work, I could take you by the hand . . . And take you home.
[ He pushes the door open, pulling them both through it, and there's the Manor in all its splendor, high ceilings, polished floors, ornate and beautiful. It's always been a little uncanny, an empty echo of the home he knows, but this is also a whole lot closer to taking him home than Gustave could ever possibly know. Verso can almost imagine it, in the echoes of his older memories when his family still hadn't been quite literally fractured apart, memories that aren't quite actually his own. Clea moving past them, rolling her eyes but still giving Gustave a curious glance. Maman and papa, somewhere on the upper floor, calling out their welcome to their son's guest. Alicia, curious but shy, her scarred face just barely peeking through a gap in the library door.
So for this once, as eerie as the Manor is. He can imagine it warm and welcoming. A home enough for him to bring a sweetheart to, a home enough for them to share for one night they can have together. ]
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He curls his fingers a little more securely into Verso's and lets him lead the way, backing into the door and holding it open as Gustave comes through, as the strange manor opens around them. He looks up, around, feeling again that faint, wary tingling at the back of his neck, like this space somehow doesn't want him in it. It's not malice, exactly, it's...
Well, it's like going into someone's home when they aren't there. It feels like trespassing.
His laugh is little more than a chuckle, but he squeezes Verso's hand in his, looking over with faint bewildered amusement. ]
In this dream, we're rich, are we?
[ Or Verso is, anyway. He reaches out to run the fingers of his metal hand lightly over the banister of the stair, looking around at the silent luxury surrounding them. ]
There's nothing like this in Lumiรจre anymore. Everything in the city is smaller, shabbier. This place is...
[ Wholly unfamiliar to him, mysteries within mysteries. He studies the art hung on the walls, the depictions of the Crooked Tower, of Lumiรจre, of places he's never seen and can only imagine were a part of the world one time long ago, before the Fracture. ]
I wonder who lived here. Maybe this house shattered in the Fracture, and that's why all the doors are so scattered...
[ Which still wouldn't explain many other aspects of it, but it could be a start. After all, there are chunks of land, entire ships, and other strange things floating in the air above Lumiรจre itself, all at one time part of a whole. Physics ceased having any kind of real meaning when the Fracture tore their world apart. ]
You said no one else ever comes here?
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