[ It would be better, maybe, to make an excuse to leave. Not maybe, but definitely -- a stranger who lingered to play the piano, just has something else to attend to, its fine. People are busy all the time. But --

-- But a few things. Its been a long, long while since he's had an honest to god conversation with someone that wasn't already weighted down by a burden too heavy for any one man to bear. Its been a while since he's talked to anyone, too. And all these years, watching Maelle, trying to look out for her. It's this man who's really been looking out for her. Who's seemed nothing but kind and selfless with her, in the brief glimpses he's always seen, and surely it would do no harm to talk with him a while. Maybe it would even be a benefit, to learn more about this man who's clearly become important to her.

Gustave has a kindness to his eyes. A genuine curiosity to his expression, and his voice, it rings true, earnest. He means that when he says it, Verso thinks to himself. That he feels a bit sadly for the hall, empty and waiting to be filled with music again. Verso realizes he's just been staring back at him for maybe a second too long, forces his gaze to break, looking back to the keyboard, one hand still positioned delicately over the keys. ]

It does seem lonely, doesn't it?

[ the opera house. the hall. the piano. he's thought about trying to sneak back into the back when some opera was playing before, but it always seemed a bit too -- ]

But no, I've not. [ Anyone who'd have ever remembered him performing here is already long gone, washed away in dust and flower petals. ] Just a personal hobby, one I don't get to indulge in very often.

[ He can't let Gustave lead in asking too many questions. ]

Are you much of an opera lover?