𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏.

[demainvient]

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ⊹ 𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒚 ⊹ 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍
 

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[betenoir]

The Fracture tore everyone apart. Families were shattered. Husbands lost their wives. Mothers their sons. Children were stranded without their parents and everybody lost their homes.

[He lines his words with enough truth they become real. But not enough truth they become personal. Perhaps he cannot blame his son for being who he is beneath it all.]

People were dying from starvation. We were surrounded by saltwater. [An engineer will understand the importance of needing to remove salt from water.] The one spark keeping us all together was the thought of finding our families.

[He pauses to look at the campfire. There had been enough flames during those years.]

We knew barely anything except they were not here. The Paintress was the last thing on our minds.

[demainvient]

[ The first expeditions were doing what he's doing right now: trying to find their families. They must have felt just as lost and shocked; they, too had lost everything and everyone, just like he and Lune had on the beach.

And there's another thing. That we, there, shifting Renoir from observer in Gustave's mind to ancestor.

The older man gazes into the fire, seeing who knows what memories, and Gustave leaves him to them for a long moment before he speaks again. When he does, his voice is gentle. ]

Who did you lose?

[ Who had been ripped away from him, that he was desperate to find? Is that why he's willing to help them find Maelle, to reunite Gustave with the only family member here on this continent with him?

And had he ever managed to find the ones he'd sought so many years ago? ]

[betenoir]

[For Renoir, this is not a matter of what he sees in the fire but what he hears. Alicia screaming in the inferno engulfing their home. Being the saviour. Being the observor. Being the protector. One of them leaves him silent for a long moment and he indeed takes his time before choosing to speak again.]

Aline.

[He refers to her by name. Because she is more than his wife. She is graceful, loving, his mentor, his protector.

His saviour.]

I thought myself grateful for being fortunate I was still survived by my children.

[Except the Gommage now looms across everyone. One would think that is the reason he returns to being silent.]

[demainvient]

Aline.

[ The name drifts quietly, respectfully, from his lips. He's well-versed in the tone and timbre of grief; he knows long sorrow, still as sore as the day the cut was first received. It's as familiar a sound as the report of his own pistol, the way the air moves around the blade of his sword.

And—

His own gaze lifts from the fire, following the trails of sparks up into the sky where they disappear among the stars that are laid so thickly here. ]

How many children did you have?

[ However many it was, they too must have been lost long ago, and yet there's a layer beneath the understanding in his voice that even now he can't quite entirely cut out of himself: longing.

Another life, another future. It's a dream he had to let go of long ago. That he still cherishes part of it, held close to his heart like a secret, is his own fault and no one else's. ]

[betenoir]

[The crackling of the fire draws a long and tired expression; his mind losing itself inside the illusion of embers and ash. It is true he cannot afford to trust them with information about his family. It is possible he has abandoned trust to survive in a world sundered and ripped apart. It is likely both are true for different reasons, but what those reasons are for both might be complete anathema.

Or too similar for comfort.]

Two daughters and a son.

[Three children and their mother. Four experinces of loss. One is enough for several lifetimes, four is unbearable. He looks at Gustave from the corner of his eye]

Do you want children?

[demainvient]

[ The breath pushes out of him, an almost full-body motion, at that question. ]

I...

[ He'd spent years trying to reconcile with the loss of what never was. There was never going to be a soft-haired, blue-eyed baby for Maelle to coo over; he was never going to look into a brand-new face and try to find the ways his features and Sophie's blended together. He lifts his hand to rub his temple for a moment, head shaking slightly to the side, submitting to the truth. ]

...Yes. Very much.

[ Two daughters and a son; treasures beyond his wildest imagining. And lost, all lost. He wonders if any of them are still here, tucked gently into the landscape, their bodies smooth stone. ]

But my... the woman I was with...

Sophie.

[ Still said softly. The bruise of this grief is still blooming. ]

She... disagreed on the... morality of bringing a child into this world.

[betenoir]

[The issue is complex, an exchange of conflicting ideals, and through his own love for his wife, he finds himself wondering whether their relationship survived. Considering the importance of children in creating a family, he cannot picture their path leading forward - towards the future - and returns his gaze to the fire.

Perhaps the most respectful path to choose now is to listen. His gaze hardens for a moment. Does he want to listen when his children are alive and suffering? His next question is aimed less at learning about mortality and more about motivation.]

You would prefer children yourself?

[demainvient]

[ He's nodding as he looks back over, tired but sincere. ]

Yes. I did. I... would, yes.

[ Though how it could happen now, he doesn't know. The very thought of finding someone now that Sophie's gone, of creating a life and a family with them feels so alien, strange. And that's assuming he manages to make it back home after all of this, that they win through, that the Gommage never comes again. ]

My family is very small.

[ It has the feeling of an explanation to it, more so as he goes on. ]

Just me and my two sisters, for a long time. I always wanted to see it grow. And I had apprentices but... I still wanted children of my own.

[betenoir]

You want somebody to inherit your legacy.

[Your family. This man clearly wants the memories and experience of being a father. But the word apprentice rouses his interest. Children working on themselves. Building the future. He remembers doing the same before the frature shattered that dream.]

What do they study?

[Your apprentices.]

[demainvient]

Maybe a little. Yes. If my legacy is anything worth preserving.

And if they wanted to follow in my footsteps.

[ Not every child does, he knows, and the ones who follow that path against their own wishes, well...

He knows it weighs on Lune. The pressure.

But he brightens visibly at the change of topic, at the mention of his apprentices. ]

Engineering. Mechanical, largely, though I've taught them a few disciplines. They'll be looking after the Shield Dome while I'm away, making sure it continues to run smoothly.

[betenoir]

[The Shield Dome. Renoir maintains a natural and steady gaze. The Dome is one of his finiest pieces of work. Incomparable to his children but of tremendous importance, protecting families from the dangerous of the world]

I remember building it with my son.

[Just slide in a nugget of information, a treat for someone with an engineer's mind.]

I am relieved to hear it has been maintained so diligently.

[Nailed it. Verso would be proud.]

[demainvient]

You... you built it?

[ It's a shock, but only for a moment: the Shield Dome, its maintenance and upkeep and the way it keeps all of Lumière safe, has been such a large part of his life that he can hardly remember a time when its inner workings weren't as familiar to him as the abilities of his own hands. Most of the information about the men and women who designed and built it was lost long ago, he'd never in a thousand lifetimes have dreamed he'd one day sit next to the man who had dreamed it into reality.

There's a flash of brightness in Gustave's eyes, his face, that has been missing since the beach: the light of academic fascination. ]

That's... it's incredible. Your work is... is... it's extraordinary. Studying it helped me reverse-engineer some of the elements I needed for the Lumina Converter.

look at that goddamn NERD

[betenoir]

[Every word is absorbed. Each compliment is analysed. Both are prized apart and picked into pieces, then rebuilt to ensure truth and veracity. Distrust of strangers darkens his face, etched into tired and wrinkled lines.

Then he stops studying Gustave. He looks into the fire and begins studying something that happened decades ago.]

It's been a while since I heard anyone say something positive.

[People complained about not seeing the skies above. People complained about living behind a wall. People complained about being alive. He is more than a little jaded. That might be why he finds the other man's enthusiasm rather offputting.]

Renoir out here making his day!!!

[demainvient]

Well, you will hear nothing but praise from me for that.

[ He's animated in his excitement, hands up and skating through the air, flesh and blood and metal alike as he sketches out the arc of the dome, recalls all the fiddliest bits of its design. ]

How you even managed to get it up and running — and so soon after the Fracture — has always been incredible to me. If I can create one thing that's even the slightest bit as effective and innovative and useful as the Shield Dome, that could help Lumière just a fragment as much as your invention did, I could call my work good.

[betenoir]

[Renoir is entirely the opposite of Gustave, hands grasped as one, brought together in a vigorous grip as he stifles the urge for movement or expression. You haven't been in the position to hear people call it stifling, have you? He wants to ask. But he cannot find the energy. It would be pointless.]

Perhaps you might. Necessity is the mother of invention. [He doesn't have it inside himself to be too critical, but with the Gommage ticking down...] But anybody's work is a waste of time so close to the end. I would think yours is best spent finding some kind of peace.

[Go home. Don't waste your lives. Appreciate what time you have.]

[demainvient]

[ He shakes his head: no. ]

I will find no peace until we find Maelle.

[ She's his focus now; finding her, keeping her safe. Part of him still wants to try to bring her back to Lumière, where she can be safe behind Renoir's Shield Dome. He could... come back after that. Finish the mission once he knows she'll be all right. ]

But the Lumina Converter... that, that really might be my legacy, in the end. I spent so many hours... days, really, weeks... working out every detail of its design, and it works, Renoir.

[ There's a flash of pleasure, of satisfaction; the almost disbelieving joy of an inventor who has flicked a switch and brought his creation to life. ]

It'll give us the edge we need.

[betenoir]

[Part of him, the husband and inventor who had existed before the Fracture, is aroused by the possibilities. But even then his invention had been a necessity, not a labour of love.

But it had become one. The same barrier protecting his wife from those who would deliver harm. And now he finds his interest piqued but for reasons other than what this man might assume.]

Really? Would you offer a demonstration?

[He has been avoiding Luminare these past years. It does sound like something new and dangeorus. But dangerous for the wrong people.]

[demainvient]

The next Nevron we kill, [ he promises.

He can feel the slight weight of the Lumina Converter where it hangs from his backpack, swinging gently with his every movement. He hadn't known, not really, not until he and Lune were crouched beside that Nevron and he pulled the converter out for its first ever run in real conditions. ]

But the basic idea is that it draws the chroma from the Nevrons and converts it into usable lumina for us. With every fight and every Nevron we kill, we'll get stronger.

[betenoir]

[Interesting.

The promise of a new solution to an old problem. He could never exist every place all at once, not even with his gifts, especially now he must endure this alone. His posture suggests a heightened interest.]

It takes intelligence to construct a device like this.

[Did he just offer fatherly praise to this man to get his trust? Like father, like son.] Innovation.

[demainvient]

It takes a lot of experimentation.

[ He's not being falsely modest, and he's not immune to the thrill of Renoir's compliment. It nestles deep in his chest, a warm coal of approval. ]

But considering the direction we were moving with our Pictos and the sheer amount of chroma locked up in the Nevs, I thought it could work. And it does. Already we're getting stronger, more able to do things we never could before.

[betenoir]

[Experimentation. Renoir considers all their conversations up to this point; realising this man enjoys the process as much as the discovery. It might make one believe he is easily led by the nose. But he has a sharp intelligence that deserves to be respected.

Which he does. Father to father.

Except each must put his own family first. So he reads between the lines, about what happens to all that chroma that should be redirected towards his wife.]

And this strength can only improve the further you push on. [Making it a problem best handled swiftly.] You should be proud of such an achievement.

[Should. His emphasis just isn't there.]

[demainvient]

I am. And I'll be even happier with it if it helps the rest of—

[ Quick, thoughtless words that stumble to a halt. The rest of the expedition doesn't exist anymore. There is him, and Lune, and — please, please — Maelle, and...

And that may be all. The 33rd expedition over before it starts.

He swallows, shakes his head like he's shaking away a buzzing insect, and takes a quick, steadying breath. ]

If it helps us stay alive.

[betenoir]

[Renoir directs his gaze towards Gustave for a moment.

He thinks of Expedition Zero and how their journey had come to an untimely end. Killed by the truth much as by a stranger who resembled his daughter. It had been a peculiar situation, and the thought redirects his focus back towards the fire. The embers and sparks are both a grounding and disturbing sight.

For a moment, he looks empathatic.

Keeping people alive. Keeping his family alive. He is willing to be scorned and hated, so long as his children are alive to hate him.]

You truly love that girl, don't you?

[Maelle.]

[demainvient]

Yes.

[ It doesn't feel like enough. Maelle is the flickering candle flame that's lit his life and Emma's ever since she came to them. She was his little shadow, following him to the Hanging Gardens, around the house, around Lumiere, always happy to chatter about her day or his, always willing to tease him out of any blue moods gathering like storm clouds about his head. He'd lost Sophie and the life they might have had, but he still had Maelle.

Still has Maelle. He has to believe she's somewhere out there, safe and alive, that his failure to protect her hadn't cost her the rest of her already too-short life. ]

She's my sister. [ His expression flickers, scrunches: that's not quite right. ] My daughter.

...Both, sort of. I can't...

[ His head tilts to the side, glance sliding away. It's always been difficult for him to find the words he needs when he's trying to talk about someone, something, that really matters. His hands lift, moving back and forth through the air, as if he could more accurately illustrate the words that are escaping him. ]

She's— well, my sister and I, we, uh—

[ He grimaces at himself and lets his hands drop to hand loosely over his knees. ]

Yes, I do. I have to find her.

[betenoir]

Tomorrow.

[His voice has an authorative tone, pushing the limits until he discovers when this man will cede his authority. Because he needs to get ahead of this small team, ensure he can lead them down the right path, if not the correct one.

He frowns at the fire and remembers the team he had before. The other teams he had guided before. All towards that same fatal end. It always happened that they would be lost.

Always]

You should focus on your rest.

[He doesn't explain why he is willing to stay away overnight to mind the camp. His immortality is a... rather sore point.]