[ Verso's already starting to regret this, should have regretted this more before doing anything, enough to have taken it all back. Merde he knows better than this, and usually when he makes these mistakes at least its with Expeditioners on the Continent, never right here in Lumiere. Too dangerous, too risky, he shouldn't take chances, he was just here to continue keeping an eye on Maelle, for a time in the future, when the moment is right. His thoughts go in spirals sometimes, and he can feel himself tumbling down one now even as none of it reaches his eyes or his expression, even as he just seem sto quietly listen as Gustave talks.
Fascinating stranger? He liked just being monsieur le pianiste, but that's an additional role he's played before -- and admittedly, likes playing, even if it's usually in different circumstances. Gustave was always watching him closely, but he can see the slight shift in his eyes, uncertain but definitely interested, and Verso wonders just how the hell he can live with himself ( because he has to, because he has no choice ). What is he going to do? He should just leave. Make an excuse. He knows the opera house's backstage area, the back door, Gustave probably wouldn't, he could slip away before the other man has a chance to follow him.
But then Gustave keeps talking, asks about maybe tomorrow. His face scrunches up, that metal hand grasping at the air as if trying to find something for his words to hold purchase to, but it clearly doesn't work, because the man just keeps talking. And trailing off. And talking. And trailing off. And ... Suddenly that spiral is torn from him before Verso even realizes it, because he's laughing, again. Quiet, not mocking, just amused and almost fond. He looks like a puppy, it's adorable, it's disarming, it's --
Dangerous, his mind supplies. Absolutely dangerous.
He nods. His voice soft, except for that gravelly rumble in his chest. ]
I'll be here.
[ Putain de merde, if he's going to do this, he has to make sure the man doesn't at least accidentally invite him to a cafe in the middle of the city. ]
dork
Fascinating stranger? He liked just being monsieur le pianiste, but that's an additional role he's played before -- and admittedly, likes playing, even if it's usually in different circumstances. Gustave was always watching him closely, but he can see the slight shift in his eyes, uncertain but definitely interested, and Verso wonders just how the hell he can live with himself ( because he has to, because he has no choice ). What is he going to do? He should just leave. Make an excuse. He knows the opera house's backstage area, the back door, Gustave probably wouldn't, he could slip away before the other man has a chance to follow him.
But then Gustave keeps talking, asks about maybe tomorrow. His face scrunches up, that metal hand grasping at the air as if trying to find something for his words to hold purchase to, but it clearly doesn't work, because the man just keeps talking. And trailing off. And talking. And trailing off. And ... Suddenly that spiral is torn from him before Verso even realizes it, because he's laughing, again. Quiet, not mocking, just amused and almost fond. He looks like a puppy, it's adorable, it's disarming, it's --
Dangerous, his mind supplies. Absolutely dangerous.
He nods. His voice soft, except for that gravelly rumble in his chest. ]
I'll be here.
[ Putain de merde, if he's going to do this, he has to make sure the man doesn't at least accidentally invite him to a cafe in the middle of the city. ]