𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆 —𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑜

[demainvient]

 
𝐔𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐢 𝐝𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞̀𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐢
𝑈𝑛 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑗𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑖 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒̂𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑐 𝑡𝑜𝑖
 

Comments

spring fields;

[versorecto]

[ Verso hasn't been back to Lumiere in two years.

The memory of the last time is still fresh in his mind, even the source of an occasional dream. He remembers the scent of flowers and crushed grass and sun-warmed earth, laying back against a flowerbed and looking up to see a man so lovely the sight of him made him ache. He remembers the sunlight caught in his mussed-up hair, spilling out over his shoulders and over his bare chest, shirt hanging open, skin marked with kissed and bruises. He remembers watching him lose control as he sank to his knees in front of him and took him in his mouth, remembers his voice in his ear urging him to be with him, the taste of him under his tongue as they'd kissed again and again and again and again. He remembers how his smile always reached his eyes, bright and shining -- and how dull and bitter he'd seemed when Verso took his heart and shattered it against the ground.

Its fine, of course. Just a mistake, one of many that Verso has made in his too-long life. And it was so completely fine that two whole Gommages and Expeditions have come and dashed themselves against the rocks of their ambitions, and Verso still can't quite bring himself to go back to see what had become of Gustave, if anything.

But he still watches the Expeditions. Still does what he can. He's with Esquie, hovering in the clouds -- he remembers when he would watch a whole fleet pour in over the horizon, and now, its dwindled down to one ship. But they continue, as all Expeditions do, and as he watches from his perch, he feels his heart lurch and twist in a dozen different directions when he realizes he sees a familiar figure on board. Dark curls, eyes that light up with determination as he looks out from the ship, a warm smile for his fellow Expeditioners on board.

Merde. He doesn't know if he's glad or not. No -- he's glad. Glad to know he's still alive, that he has a chance to see him again. But this must be his last year, and on an Expedition so small, and -- wait. He sees him laugh, turn to regard someone beside him. She's grown quite a bit just in two years, but she's unmistakable, his heart aching to see her too. Alicia. Maelle. This is -- too early. Too soon. Why?

He doesn't have too much time to ruminate, at least, because the ship is already approaching the shallows of the Continent, and he realizes where they must be planning to make their landing. There are no real safe places to arrive on the Continent, but the Dark Shore is among the worst.

And sure enough, back on the Continent, hours later after the freshly minted Expedition 33 makes their drops their anchor -- it's a slaughter. Verso has long had his heart hardened to the sight of nevrons and the man he once called his father cutting Expeditions down like nothing. It doesn't always happen on their arrival like this, but Renoir was ready, and Verso had thrown himself into the fray as soon as he could. Moving through the fog, quickly cutting down a nevron if he can manage it, but mostly staying low, staying hidden, trying desperately, frantically to find --

Maelle. Collapsed on the ground. He sees Gustave nearby. His heart leaps into his throat, but he already knows what he has to do, there's not even enough time for him to feel in pain about the choice. There's still screaming around him, nevrons circling and talking more fresh prey than they've had in a year, but Verso goes straight for her. Assessing her quickly, hurt but not too badly, scooping her up into his arms. The entire way to the manor, those screams are still echoing in his mind, and he keeps seeing Gustave, lying in the sand, his eyes wide with a horror that he thought he'd been trained for but could never fully comprehend.

. . . He entrusts Esquie with the last leg of the journey, with ensuring she gets into the Curator's waiting care ( too many years early, but what else does that man have to do? ), and he heads back for the shore.

Gustave isn't where he left him, but Verso works through the awful sick feeling it causes in his chest, picks through the collapsed Expeditioners, one at a time. Dead. Dying. Dying. Dead. Not Gustave. Not Gustave. Not Gustave. Renoir is gone, but the nevrons are still circling, and putain de merde when he finally finds a Gustave's collapsed form, when he realizes he's still alive, pulse beating in his chest and throat, the dread that edges immediate into dizzying relief makes his head spin. But again, no time. He has to move before the nevrons return, before Renoir decides he might have time to check for stragglers, and he just does what he can, hauls the man into his arms and cradles him close.

Verso is exhausted, but takes him where he can, follows the trail of an Expeditioner he tracks from the sore that had managed to make it further inland. They chose a good heading, the fields here are one of the safer places to be. Its only when he finally finds somewhere to set Gustave's unconscious form down when he feels like he can breathe again, a small tucked away clearing of flowers and a worn path through the grass, a waterfall roaring nearby, kicking up a fine, cool mist. Verso is breathing heavily, his hands shaking, has barely had enough time to even think about how fucking stupid he's being as he shakily checks over Gustave's body. Bleeding in places, hurt and injured, covered in splattered blood that isn't his own, but. He's alive, and he will wake, again. Unlike so many of his friends.

And later, as some of that mist settles onto Gustave's skin, as he starts to stir back into the waking world -- Verso is already gone. Vanished back into the trees once Gustave had begun to stir, watching with his heart caught in his throat. Good. Good. He's alive. He's alive, and --

-- Everything else can follow from there. Everything else will have to wait. Right now, all that matters is that Maelle is safe, and Gustave is alive. ]

esquie's nest the fuckin snitch

[versorecto]

[ Verso's learned a lot about Expedition 33, in the past days.

He tries not to watch them all the time, just to keep quiet tabs on where they are, on their progress, helping a little from afar if he sees the opportunity to do so. Ever since they'd landed on the shore, ever since Verso had managed to sweep in to stop Gustave from doing the worst in the depths of loss of despair, they've mostly started to come into their own. Verso's watched as Gustave and Lune worked together, as they managed to follow his instructions to the manor, his heart singing with a quiet joy that also feels a little like being stabbed in the chest when he'd seen how Maelle had all but leapt into Gustave's arms. Finding Sciel, an Expeditioner who had somehow made it all the way to the gestrals, has seemed to tie off their strange little crew. They're small, but effective, and Verso realizes quickly that this lumina converter of theirs seems to change everything, and that the converter, alongside Maelle, would give him the best chance he's ever had to finally end all this.

What felt like all-encompassing dread in the early days of their doomed Expedition has given way to -- maybe not quite hope, but finding some quiet sense of belonging among themselves, some real joy. He's watched them at their campsite from afar, heard them talk and laugh together, seen the way Maelle looks at Gustave and how he looks back at her. It's lovely, it's awful, it lifts him up as much as it hurts him to see ( and at least once, Alicia was there and hidden from him, he hadn't been able to do anything to talk to her, to stop her ). And even worse, those quiet moments that Gustave finds for himself, when he's keeping watch for the night or just stolen away to be on his own. Verso's tried, to not stay too close there, too, but he sees the way he stares out across the horizon with his journal in hand -- has seen him, once or twice, with a freshly-plucked flower in hand, with delicate violet petals.

And Verso wonders if he's thinking of him. Because Verso himself has never forgotten him these past two years, but everything that he told him in those awful moments in the cave have only cemented him even more firmly to the forefront of his thoughts. Once, twice, more than that, he's almost reached out to him, almost wondered if he could get away with a murmur against his ear, something left somewhere as a gift for him to find -- but thankfully, so far, he's been able to keep himself from doing anything fucking stupid.

He just follows. Watches. Waits.

Esquie's nest is a place Verso hasn't been in a while -- and the Expeditioners that find their way there are often a highlight in Verso's decades of watching Expedition after Expedition pave the way forward for who comes after. They never quite know what to make of Esquie, even less of François. Verso knows these caves like the back of his hand even if he's not often here, tucking himself into the shadows and in lonely ledges high up where he's almost impossible to see, watching as they react to their "legendary Esquie" with amazement and delight, watching as François curses at them for even daring to come close.

Its a lighthearted interlude to their usual adventures. Nothing Verso was even paying too much attention to. Then, somewhere in there, as Esquie talks -- he mentions how he can fly, just with one of his rocks, of course. But with the rock he used to fly all the time, with his best friend, Verso.

Verso doesn't even entirely register the Esquie's talking as any kind of a problem until he casts his eyes down from the massive form of his familiar friend and looks at Gustave. Whose entire body has suddenly gone rigid, pulled taut to attention like someone had reached in and seized hold of his chest and lungs, and -- oh. Oh. Putain, putain de merde, of all things, Esquie --

Verso is already gone, after that. Or at least, hidden even further into a corner in the cavern. The next stop is the stone wall cliffs, and Esquie is eager to get one of his rocks back so he can be friends with these new Expeditioners and help them along. It's been a while since he's gotten to help, even though he always has lots of friends, like Verso. They haven't quite decided to move out from the cave yet, and taking a moment to rest or explore or even enjoy the strange lights that hang throughout the caves, and Esquie is reclined back in his favorite sitting spot, half-sunken into the waters, arms propped up behind him. ]

-- Oh?

[ Slowly, he leans forward through the water, his massive form causing a ripple that splashes up onto the floor. Someone is standing there at the edge of his favorite sitting spot, unbothered by the water splashing at his boots, but his whole body is stiff, and his hands are clenched into fists at his side. Esquie leans closer, the white painted mask hovering near this new not-quite-yet-friend. Friend in the making. ]

Mon ami. [ The masked head turns to the side, a curious, friendly motion. ] Are you mad?

Florrie will not be hard to find.

[ He knows Florrie really well! And maybe its annoying that Florrie is in the Stone Wall Cliffs rather than with François, but François clearly had so much fun playing with these new nice human friends. Seems worth it.

( Somewhere on a high up ledge, shrouded by shadow, someone torn between watching intently and getting out of this place as soon as they can. ]

outside camp, get your shit together gustave

[versorecto]

[ When they finally untangle themselves from each other and Gustave makes his way back to the camp, Verso just sits there for a while. Alone with the stars and the moonlight and the cool breeze, the monolith and its massive warning ever-looming overhead. There are still a thousand different emotions pulling through him, filling his heart and making it feel like it could burst through his ribs, making him feel so light like he could soar through the sky -- and then seizing his throat, dragging him down, pulling him into the depths of the ocean to sink and drown.

It's real. And it's happening. Two years of yearning and weeks of waiting, and this wasn't the moment he would've chosen, but Verso has Gustave back again and it seems Gustave has only been pining for him in much the same way. There's so many things that are happening at once, this man on the Continent and with Alicia ( Maelle ) in tow. She shouldn't be here, it's too soon, it's too risky, but -- she is here. And that represents an opportunity he cannot afford to waste.

( Just as much as it represents some of the worst lies he's already told and must continue to tell. Sitting there, reveling in the afterglow of everything that's happened, remembering the warmth of Gustave's skin against his own, he'd savored the lingering taste of him on his tongue -- until it bloomed into something else, into paint and guilt and bitter ink. )

Eventually he follows the trail that Gustave had left back to the camp -- it must've been Lune who found him, it still is terribly annoying to track a woman who can float when she pleases. He stays a safe distance away and can't hear all of theri conversations, but there's some muttered words and accusations of needing to be more careful, and some pointed glances from Sciel about what he may have been up to. He's stops himself from staying there just to watch Gustave sleep, but he'd lingered a while, watched him settle into place. Wondered if he, too, thinks he's about to just wake up from a dream.

The next day, Verso stays with the Expedition. He doesn't venture anywhere else, but doesn't keep too close. Gustave seems anxious, preoccupied, and its notable enough that his teammates seem annoyed by it, he asks questions of Esquie and during a battle with a nevron had gotten too distracted by something and taken a few hits that Lune heals off of him with annoyance after the fight. A few times Gustave slips away from the group, searching around the grasses and -- for flowers, Verso realizes -- and other times he just seems to be distracted. At least once, Verso gets close enough to see the bruises still blooming dark across his neck and throat. Far too many to be anything else. Sciel and Lune must have thoughts.

Gustave needs to be more careful, to avoid drawing suspicion, but -- Verso can't help but enjoy it. It's sweet, in a way, and mostly, after being a living ghost on the Continent for all these decades -- its always nice to have a real effect on someone, on something. And he knows that when Gustave looks out through the trees or takes a moment to peer through the shadows, he's trying to see if he can find him. His Monsieur le pianiste.

The evening finally comes, the Expedition settles in for rest. Esquie encourages them about their progress so far, and Verso hears someone ask Gustave about why he's been so distracted. However he's able to excuse himself, eventually as the watch gets broken up and the day turns darker, Gustave steals away.

He's anxious. Afraid that it was all still a dream, maybe. But Verso follows him from a distance from the shadows, his heart full, waiting for the moment when he can show him that he'd kept his promise, for once, that he won't be alone, that he isn't leaving him again. Eventually they're reasonably out of sight and out of earshot from camp, Gustave The forest opens into a small clearing by a quiet river, some of those trees with their strangely stained chroma gleaming blue in the night, their light caught by the gently flowing water.

And as Gustave steps out towards the river's edge, to peer over it-- ]

-- Hey.

[ There's Verso. Behind him. A gentle touch against his shoulder at first, just to make sure he doesn't startle him too badly, and them there two leanly muscled arms are winding around Gustave's waist. He presses himself against his back, tucking his face against his hair, breathing in the scent of him with his lips brushing against his ear. ]

I'm here.

[ As promised. And even to Verso, it feels like some kind of absurd luxury that he never though he'd really have, to have Gustave here in his arms again, and so quickly. ]

gestral village & the manor

[versorecto]

[ Verso doesn't like coming back to the gestral village unless he has a specific reason to do so: He loves the gestrals but they are simply a lot to deal with, and so many of them in one place significantly exacerbates the problem. But this, this is definitely an occasion worth making use of. Before the Expeditioners make their way over, he's already in the village, dealing with dozens of squeaky voices excited to see him again and raring to challenge him to a fight, which, hey, he'll get into some quick duels, if some of them can just help him with a favor if he wins.

A few hours later he has some preparations that the gestrals will most likely remember well enough to see through: a workshop space suitable for actual humans to work in, left a little abandoned from the lack of recent Expeditioner visitors but still more than functional ( they might've tried to bring Gustave to one of their own workspaces otherwise, and gestrals work with . . . unique philosophies ). It's private, tucked down a corridor winding off near the other gestrals' work spaces, not the quietest place in the world, but nowhere in the village would be. Verso makes sure to get the gestrals to understand that their visiting human engineer ( apparently, Mr. Brushface, which he's delighted by ) will need to be left alone while he works. No, barging in and forcing him to fight to test anything he's already made will not help. No, by any circumstances, they are not allowed to take his arm to study while he works. No, not even if they win it from him on a fight.

Hours of irritating negotiations and bargains, hours more tucked away somewhere high up in the village, waiting and watching. There's a bit of a fanfare when the Expedition arrives, and his heart leaps into his throat just to see his Monsieur le fleuriste again even from afar. Among some of the gestrals that hassle him about his arm, there's little mentions: nono, he told us not to, Verso will be angry and yes he told us to prepare a good place for you, so you can build us the best cannon!, passing mentions among all their excited little voices. At least that's less of a risk now, but the gestrals are worse than Esquie.

The Expedition enters the workshop together, and hopefully Gustave might not have too noticeable of a response to something Verso left on the main workbench, enough tools pushed aside to make space: two flowers, freshly plucked but a little wilted from the hours they've waited there, a pale purple and golden yellow, their stems gently twined together. The girls eventually say their goodbyes for the day and excuse themselves. Verso gives him a bit of time to settle into his new space, doubtless a bit of a mess -- and his heart is in his throat, when he gently raps on the door ( and asks a gestral to keep watch outside, for however much good that might do ) and pushes his way inside. ]