Gustave's brows hitch up at Sciel's question before he turns to Verso, arms still folded across his chest, his expression one of patient curiosity. It's clear to him Verso knows at least something about Renoir, though they hadn't discussed him much that day at the waterpark. Another immortal, one he's apparently at odds with, but what their history might be, he doesn't know.
...He doesn't expect that.
He doesn't move, but every part of him freezes up at once, turning from a body at rest to one as unnaturally stiff as the petrified Expeditioners, their corrupted chroma still locked deep inside. He can't take his eyes off Verso. Vaguely, he recalls deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt only moments ago. This surely must be some kind of record when it comes to regrets on that count.
"'He's just an old man now,'" he quotes, quiet but harsh. He can be cutting, when he's angry, upset, afraid, and right now he's all of those things, each of them rolling into each other until it feels like his chest is filled with barbed wire.
Maelle and Sciel knew. He doesn't know how long they've known, but they know — so Gustave is on the same page, Sciel had said, so they all knew but him — and some distant part of him understands, intellectually, that however they'd found out, they'd found or heard or come to some kind of argument or understanding that lets them be fine with this. They aren't processing it right now, out of nowhere, the way he is. And maybe he should simply take their reaction as his guide, assume the best instead of the worst, and shove all the rest of it away, but —
Renoir hadn't taken their lives with his own hands, murdered them in cold blood. Maybe they can forgive the son for the sins of the father, but all Gustave can think of as he looks at Verso is the way the man apologized for not getting there soon enough. For not being able to save him.
Is that true? Or is it just that he weighed his father against the life of a man he doesn't even know and found that one was far easier to sacrifice than the other? "Your father?"
He's looking only at Verso, as if Sciel and Maelle aren't even here. "So when we talked about him, when I told you what I remembered, when you sympathized, you just didn't think that would be useful information for me to know?"
His voice had started out quiet, but it gets louder now, the words coming faster as he finally unfolds his arms, right hand lifting, fingers outspread. "Would you ever have told me? Or do you always need to be backed into a corner before you'll tell the truth?"
no subject
...He doesn't expect that.
He doesn't move, but every part of him freezes up at once, turning from a body at rest to one as unnaturally stiff as the petrified Expeditioners, their corrupted chroma still locked deep inside. He can't take his eyes off Verso. Vaguely, he recalls deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt only moments ago. This surely must be some kind of record when it comes to regrets on that count.
"'He's just an old man now,'" he quotes, quiet but harsh. He can be cutting, when he's angry, upset, afraid, and right now he's all of those things, each of them rolling into each other until it feels like his chest is filled with barbed wire.
Maelle and Sciel knew. He doesn't know how long they've known, but they know — so Gustave is on the same page, Sciel had said, so they all knew but him — and some distant part of him understands, intellectually, that however they'd found out, they'd found or heard or come to some kind of argument or understanding that lets them be fine with this. They aren't processing it right now, out of nowhere, the way he is. And maybe he should simply take their reaction as his guide, assume the best instead of the worst, and shove all the rest of it away, but —
Renoir hadn't taken their lives with his own hands, murdered them in cold blood. Maybe they can forgive the son for the sins of the father, but all Gustave can think of as he looks at Verso is the way the man apologized for not getting there soon enough. For not being able to save him.
Is that true? Or is it just that he weighed his father against the life of a man he doesn't even know and found that one was far easier to sacrifice than the other? "Your father?"
He's looking only at Verso, as if Sciel and Maelle aren't even here. "So when we talked about him, when I told you what I remembered, when you sympathized, you just didn't think that would be useful information for me to know?"
His voice had started out quiet, but it gets louder now, the words coming faster as he finally unfolds his arms, right hand lifting, fingers outspread. "Would you ever have told me? Or do you always need to be backed into a corner before you'll tell the truth?"