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demainvient) wrote2025-04-30 11:56 am
demainvient) wrote2025-04-30 11:56 am
๐๐๐๐.
๐๐๐๐๐๐ โน ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ โน ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐ โน ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ โน ๐๐๐๐๐๐
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[ 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.
Andโ
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. ]
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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?
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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.
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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?
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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.
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[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.]
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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.
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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.]
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[ It's a shock, but only for a moment: the Shield Dome, its maintenance and upkeep and the way it keeps all of Lumiรจre 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
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!!!
[ 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 โ and so soon after the Fracture โ 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 Lumiรจre just a fragment as much as your invention did, I could call my work good.
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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.]
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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 Lumiรจre, 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.
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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.]
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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.
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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.
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[ 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.
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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.]
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[ Quick, thoughtless words that stumble to a halt. The rest of the expedition doesn't exist anymore. There is him, and Lune, and โ please, please โ 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.
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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.]
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[ 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'sโ well, my sister and I, we, uhโ
[ He grimaces at himself and lets his hands drop to hand loosely over his knees. ]
Yes, I do. I have to find her.
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[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.]
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Tomorrow. You're sure?
[ He's like a hunting dog that's caught a scent, tense even in this outwardly relaxed position. It's in the line of his shoulders, the way he twitches his thumb, anxious. Maelle's been on her own now for days. Has she had food? Water? Shelter? What if she's been threatened by Nevrons? She's wickedly skilled with her blade, but she's still used to training against other expeditioners, not the things themselves. ]
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He continues staring into the fire. All the fires he has set over the years, all the journals he had destroyed, all the evidence he has dismantled and picked apart until everything was hidden and nothing was recognisable.]
You might not find her tomorrow. But you will if she knows how to stay out of danger.
[Or how to stay put.]
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Maelle? Not much chance of that.
[ His fearless sister? The one who ran over rooftops as lightly as a bird in flight? Who took to the rapier like she was born to it? Who would rather duel for dominance than settle an argument with words? ]
...I should never have agreed to let her come. I should have tried harder to get her to stay in Lumiere.
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