[ Verso has only been in Lumiere for the Gommage once or twice, in all these years, out of some strange sense of feeling like he at least -- owes that much, to them. But somehow, even after the countless friends he's buried, the Expeditioners he's seen throw themselves to their deaths over and over again -- the Gommage is still worse. The waiting. The anticipation. The flowers. The way everyone knows, and waits. How the Expeditions dwindle, year by year.
This time, he's here after, when the city is still in a mix of quiet mourning and vain hope for the Expedition just gone. Most of the petals have been swept from the streets, but they still linger in the corners, on less-walked paths. He needs to be careful, he always does, but its the awful, sentimental man in him that can't help but want to spend a passing moment at some of the lonelier looking makeshift memorials, scattered around street corners still stacked with unclaimed furniture, across the rooftops. Like he hasn't seen so many deaths, like he hasn't just stood by and watched so many die, and die, and die.
He means this to be a quick visit. He'd told Esquie to hold him to it, after the -- unexpected detour, last time. Maelle is getting harder for him to find each time, moves quick and fleet-footed through the city she knows so well, but when he catches sight of her moving past, this time, she's alone. He doesn't know how old the man was -- is. Is he -- gone? Has he left with the new Expedition? Is he just now arriving on whatever shores this crew had chosen to land on? Dead, gone, or about to die, and for the instinctive twisting feeling that moves through his gut, Verso just shoves it down. What right does he to feel that way? Besides, Maelle seems fine, so maybe, maybe. He's just elsewhere.
Verso doesn't mean to go looking for him. But he often likes to take a look at what the locals are doing to the dome that he and Renoir helped build with their own hands, and keeping to the rooftops seems a good way to keep a lower profile, for this visit. And somehow it doesn't take long at all for him to see a figure climbing across the rooftops, to notice the gleam of light coming off a metallic arm.
Alive after all. He -- does his best to ignore the rush of relief, but he does let himself pick his way closer across some of the various rooftop gardens. Is he working on something for the dome? An engineer, he should've guessed, from the arm. It's fine. He can just get a look at what he's working on, satisfy some curiosity, watch him for a while, perhaps, and move on. Gustave grapples across the rooftops with obvious skill, and Verso watches, quiet, until --
Verso is moving before he even realizes it, sprinting across the rooftops, chroma surging through him. There's another grapple point nearby, and he hurtles through the air, reaching out, just barely makes it in time to catch Gustave by his outstretched metal arm, cursing under his breath as he hauls them both through the air. The landing isn't the most graceful with how he's had to interrupt the trajectory (it was messy, the leap of a man who knows he doesn't have anything to fear but pain if he did fall), but it's a landing. He almost throws himself across floor of the rooftop garden he's managed to swing them into, managing to pull Gustave with him until they've both spilled messily across the dirty and concrete.
Fuck. Merde. Is Gustave okay? He's fine, he can pick himself up from a spill like that. He should leave. No, what's wrong with him, he needs to at least check on the man, no, this is stupid, he knows better than this. He scrambles to gathers himself, pushes himself upright, head snapping around. Where can he go? Staying hidden on the rooftops only works from people down below, and as his gaze settles on Gustave as he realizes its too damn late. ]
You. [ Catch your breath. Breathe. ] -- You okay?
[ He's glad. He's glad, really. Don't mind how his eyes are still darting around slightly, still looking for a way out. ]
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Date: 2025-05-23 04:49 pm (UTC)This time, he's here after, when the city is still in a mix of quiet mourning and vain hope for the Expedition just gone. Most of the petals have been swept from the streets, but they still linger in the corners, on less-walked paths. He needs to be careful, he always does, but its the awful, sentimental man in him that can't help but want to spend a passing moment at some of the lonelier looking makeshift memorials, scattered around street corners still stacked with unclaimed furniture, across the rooftops. Like he hasn't seen so many deaths, like he hasn't just stood by and watched so many die, and die, and die.
He means this to be a quick visit. He'd told Esquie to hold him to it, after the -- unexpected detour, last time. Maelle is getting harder for him to find each time, moves quick and fleet-footed through the city she knows so well, but when he catches sight of her moving past, this time, she's alone. He doesn't know how old the man was -- is. Is he -- gone? Has he left with the new Expedition? Is he just now arriving on whatever shores this crew had chosen to land on? Dead, gone, or about to die, and for the instinctive twisting feeling that moves through his gut, Verso just shoves it down. What right does he to feel that way? Besides, Maelle seems fine, so maybe, maybe. He's just elsewhere.
Verso doesn't mean to go looking for him. But he often likes to take a look at what the locals are doing to the dome that he and Renoir helped build with their own hands, and keeping to the rooftops seems a good way to keep a lower profile, for this visit. And somehow it doesn't take long at all for him to see a figure climbing across the rooftops, to notice the gleam of light coming off a metallic arm.
Alive after all. He -- does his best to ignore the rush of relief, but he does let himself pick his way closer across some of the various rooftop gardens. Is he working on something for the dome? An engineer, he should've guessed, from the arm. It's fine. He can just get a look at what he's working on, satisfy some curiosity, watch him for a while, perhaps, and move on. Gustave grapples across the rooftops with obvious skill, and Verso watches, quiet, until --
Verso is moving before he even realizes it, sprinting across the rooftops, chroma surging through him. There's another grapple point nearby, and he hurtles through the air, reaching out, just barely makes it in time to catch Gustave by his outstretched metal arm, cursing under his breath as he hauls them both through the air. The landing isn't the most graceful with how he's had to interrupt the trajectory (it was messy, the leap of a man who knows he doesn't have anything to fear but pain if he did fall), but it's a landing. He almost throws himself across floor of the rooftop garden he's managed to swing them into, managing to pull Gustave with him until they've both spilled messily across the dirty and concrete.
Fuck. Merde. Is Gustave okay? He's fine, he can pick himself up from a spill like that. He should leave. No, what's wrong with him, he needs to at least check on the man, no, this is stupid, he knows better than this. He scrambles to gathers himself, pushes himself upright, head snapping around. Where can he go? Staying hidden on the rooftops only works from people down below, and as his gaze settles on Gustave as he realizes its too damn late. ]
You. [ Catch your breath. Breathe. ] -- You okay?
[ He's glad. He's glad, really. Don't mind how his eyes are still darting around slightly, still looking for a way out. ]