[ I'm sorry. Another apology to match the one he'd left before. Now, when he looks at that note, he'll be able to hear Verso saying the words; he'll know exactly what tone he uses, how they rumble in his chest with the gravel in his voice. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Said low and almost only to himself as Verso brushes past him. He sees that flower, pale purple and still fresh, tucked into dark waves of hair, and sees the man silhouetted for a moment against the glowing evening sky, the setting sun, and then Verso lifts his hand and is gone in a flicker of chroma and a brief breeze that stirs the broken plants at his feet. Gustave watches for a moment, eyes following the figure as he grapples rapidly away, but he loses sight after only a few seconds, and then he really is alone again, here in this garden they'd ruined.
He looks around, taking in the broken flowerpots and crushed plants, goes to the trellis to examine the spot where he'd gripped the metal grid too hard and bent it. The place is a mess, and he's a mess, but he can at least start fixing one of those things, even if the other will... well. Be harder.
He spends some time working the bent metal back into shape, collecting shattered pieces of pottery and depositing them into a mostly-intact pot he can carry back with him for disposal, then sweeps up the scattered dirt and pebbles and tips it back into the raised beds. The grass they'd landed on is more difficult, smashed flat in places and ripped in others, and the flowers have taken a beating.
He does what he can to clean them up and promises himself he'll do more, making it up to whichever poor citizen of Lumiere had their garden destroyed by a man who simply... should have known better. By the time he finishes, evening has settled in, blue and clear violet, the same colors as the petals of the flower he'd tucked into Verso's lapel, into his hair, and the man is surely long gone. Gustave won't need to worry about accidentally catching up with him, seeing him, trying not to see him.
His own walk to the roof's edge is slower, less intent, and he lingers there for a long moment before finally lifting his arm and letting the chroma carry him through the air to the next building down and over.
no subject
Yeah. Me too.
[ Said low and almost only to himself as Verso brushes past him. He sees that flower, pale purple and still fresh, tucked into dark waves of hair, and sees the man silhouetted for a moment against the glowing evening sky, the setting sun, and then Verso lifts his hand and is gone in a flicker of chroma and a brief breeze that stirs the broken plants at his feet. Gustave watches for a moment, eyes following the figure as he grapples rapidly away, but he loses sight after only a few seconds, and then he really is alone again, here in this garden they'd ruined.
He looks around, taking in the broken flowerpots and crushed plants, goes to the trellis to examine the spot where he'd gripped the metal grid too hard and bent it. The place is a mess, and he's a mess, but he can at least start fixing one of those things, even if the other will... well. Be harder.
He spends some time working the bent metal back into shape, collecting shattered pieces of pottery and depositing them into a mostly-intact pot he can carry back with him for disposal, then sweeps up the scattered dirt and pebbles and tips it back into the raised beds. The grass they'd landed on is more difficult, smashed flat in places and ripped in others, and the flowers have taken a beating.
He does what he can to clean them up and promises himself he'll do more, making it up to whichever poor citizen of Lumiere had their garden destroyed by a man who simply... should have known better. By the time he finishes, evening has settled in, blue and clear violet, the same colors as the petals of the flower he'd tucked into Verso's lapel, into his hair, and the man is surely long gone. Gustave won't need to worry about accidentally catching up with him, seeing him, trying not to see him.
His own walk to the roof's edge is slower, less intent, and he lingers there for a long moment before finally lifting his arm and letting the chroma carry him through the air to the next building down and over.
Time to let it go. Time to go home. ]