WHO: Expedition 33 (Gustave, Maelle, Sciel, and Verso) WHEN: post-mingle, pre-mission WHERE: the apartments WHAT: the remaining members of Expedition 33 NOTES\WARNINGS: spoilers for Acts 1&2 of Clair Obscur: Expedition 33
Maelle offers small, tentative smiles to Sciel and Gustave. She'll listen.
(As long as they keep their word, she will keep hers.)
"I don't trust anything that Renoir says. Most of it makes no sense, anyway," Maelle says, and she looks to Verso, then. Some of what Renoir has said makes sense in retrospect, in regards to him, but that's not her business to share. She's worried about him. She's been worried since she first ran into Verso here.
Now, he's setting himself apart. He is apart, different from them, and Maelle knows all too well how it feels to be the odd one out. That's always been her spot for one reason or another. The orphan that can't find a home. The teenager unable to make friends her age. No apprenticeship. An Expedition volunteer, throwing away nearly a decade of life.
"A man I spoke to said he'd been here a year already. So, we have time to... figure everything out, I guess." Maelle is in no hurry. She has Gustave. She could stay here forever, with him, and be content. Home can sort itself out. But she knows better than to say that aloud. Instead, she carefully ducks out from under Sciel's hands to approach Verso.
"You're not gonna turn in your armband, are you?" She asks, voice a touch lighter for Verso's sake, teasing despite the worry in her eyes. You're still with us, aren't you?
She lets Maelle go. All eyes are turning to Verso, and Sciel's are now amongst them. For a moment, while Maelle corners him, she searches his face. She's no stranger to his scarcity, the way he bends himself to the edge of the conversation whenever he can get away with it. A question sits on the tip of her tongue, and her lips part to make space for it, but it suddenly doesn't feel like the right place to ask.
All eyes on him hadn't been what he intended. His chin lifts as he acknowledges the attention that he is getting. He frowns slightly; he barely keeps himself from biting his bottom lip. But thankfully, he decides that he doesn't have to comment on what Gustave said.
Verso decides to side-step answering those questions by answering Maelle's question instead. "I didn't turn it in, but I did use it to help patch up our dashing gentleman friend." His chin drops as he gestures towards Gustave. He tilts his head to the side; feels more words want to come out but stops.
He pauses in what he could say to look to Sciel. It lasts longer than a second.
His eyes drift back down and away. "I told you that I'd look out for you." This is directed to everyone else in the room. A brief sweeping look as he's already decided what he would do. "Even if we were the only ones here, I'd do what I could to make sure you're safe."
A beat. "But we aren't the only ones." He tosses out an easy smile, reassuring Maelle as he hesitates then takes a step closer to them all. "Still, what I said doesn't change."
He watches as Maelle moves away from him and Sciel, towards Verso; hears that particular tone in her voice. She cares about him, that's clear, and it's — it's nice, he's always wanted Maelle to connect more with people, but it's strange, too, makes the floor feel oddly angled beneath his feet. He's never really heard her use that tone with anyone but himself and Emma, with Lune and Sciel a little once they'd come to the continent and all found one another again.
How long had they all traveled together? How well do they all know each other? "It's true," he confirms. "I didn't realize it was one of our armbands at the time, but in my defense, I wasn't feeling my best."
No, he'd been bleeding out there on the ground of that strange obstacle course, barely able to walk.
Verso's been kind to him, for the most part. He probably deserves the benefit of the doubt, at least when it comes to this. "But I'm sure we can get you a new one. Since you are, after all, part of the team now."
Some of the color drains from Maelle's face at Verso's little revelation about the fate of his armband. Gustave really doesn't help. No, he wouldn't be feeling his best if he were bleeding out from Renoir's attack. She can still feel the ghost of Sciel's hands on her shoulders, and she reminds herself to breathe, because every reminder of that terrible loss can't knock her off kilter this much.
Gustave himself is a reminder, and it's proving harder than Maelle thought to not think of him covered in his own blood, the life draining from him. His body, left abandoned on the wet stones. As if he wasn't the most vivid and lively and important person in her life. There's a strange void in her chest that alarms her--with no particular inclination to return to Lumiere, what now?
All she can do is focus on what's before her. Or try to, at least.
"We can get you a new one," Maelle echoes after Gustave, blinking, and forcing herself to lift a hand to pat the spot on Verso's arm where it should be. "You need it. You're one of us."
Sciel watches, lips closed. There are plenty of ways every soul in this room could choose to be their worst selves, and plenty reasons more for Gustave to harshly judge the merits of his replacement. (No one here is unkind enough to call Verso that, of course, but it’s a thought anyone could be drawn to at least once.) She is, herself, relieved that he doesn’t. There could be peace here. Some sort of friendship between men she trusts.
But there’s a little bit of wariness in her, too.
She just smiles, serene, expectant of Verso’s answer.
Yet again he thinks this isn't what he wanted. He recalls telling Renoir to tell them all the truth; he would have no place in this life. His eyes flicker back to Gustave. The empty place has been filled with who needs to be there.
But he pauses when Maelle lifts her hand to touch where the sash once was. Both of them saying that he's one of them; part of the team. He remembers saying that he should give it back to her because he felt a fraud. She told him then to wear it anyway, because he's chosen his side.
Again he looks to Sciel; she hasn't said anything yet it's her smile and her waiting for his answer that compels him to answer. It's simply something in how she's waiting that makes him not want to disappoint her, or them.
"I'll happily take a new one." Verso says like he didn't take those few seconds to think about his answer. He blinks and the hesitation seems to completely fade away; his eyes instead sparkle easily with amusement and warmth.
"And," he tips his head in appreciation, "very happy to be part of the team."
He and Verso had started to come to a kind of tentative understanding, he'd thought. Yes, Verso is still evasive when it comes to giving any real answers, and Gustave is certain he's omitting more truths he simply doesn't want to tell, but he had helped him back there at the casino. He'd given at least a few answers when Gustave pressed for them, though not as many as Gustave would have liked. He's charming and easy to talk to, and he'd been the only ally Gustave could expect to have. For a while it had seemed like the two of them would be working together, the threat of Renoir and of their world's destruction hanging over them.
But now it feels... awkward, at best. He'd only just started getting to know Verso, and now Maelle and Sciel are here with weeks or maybe months of time with him. Verso had maybe even had more time as a member of Expedition 33 than Gustave himself, and it's a strange feeling. It's not conscious, but he can feel the walls going up between them. Verso had won some smiles from him, gotten him to loosen up a little, but that was then. He almost feels like an intruder in this, his own team, watching the way Verso interacts with his friend and sister.
It's not a reaction he likes; he's not generally a jealous man. And this isn't jealousy, he thinks, not exactly, just...
He's not sure what it is, only that it's leaving him feeling just slightly off-balance. "Like I said before, you're a handy guy to have around."
Which is true, and he can just set the rest of it aside somewhere and not look at it. There's no reason for any of it, anyway. He likes Verso, and it's clear Maelle and Sciel do, too, and it's better to have more members of the team than fewer. They can figure out the rest as they go.
Maelle smiles up at Verso. There’s still something not quite at ease within him, but she has to take what he says at face value. Even if she has her concerns, she won't bring them up here before Sciel and Gustave. Maybe later she and Verso can talk. And maybe by then she'll have a new armband for him.
She just doesn't want him to go too far.
"We have two very handy guys," Maelle points out, and while she wants to stay near Verso, the pull to be right beside Gustave is too strong to ignore.
(Perhaps that's part of her worry, that Verso will want to be with his father, regardless of their past. If it feels instinctual to Maelle, it must be so much worse with blood involved.)
She returns to Gustave, close enough for her shoulder to touch his arm and looks to Sciel with a lifted brow. What next?
But there’s tension where there should be some sort of camaraderie and group huddle. She feels it travel across the room, slinking to hide behind Gustave’s graciousness, its footsteps drowned out by Verso’s showmanship. She looks to Gustave, and then to Verso, smile still on her face. She takes a half-step forward, a hand up.
“Just… one thing. Before we get too far from the subject…”
Sciel laces her fingers together in front of her, as if being pacifying upfront could grease the way. Not for the first time, she wishes Lune was here.
“Verso,” she says. “I think you should explain who Renoir is, since you’ve known him the longest. So Gustave is on the same page, yeah?”
"I'll continue to try to be as handy as you." A bright little smile to Gustave.
Verso starts out smiling at the little hand that is raised. He breathes out something like a laugh as he wonders what it is that she is going to say, but he somehow didn't expect that to be what she says.
His eyes widen for a brief second; he supposes he should have mentioned it as they were talking about it yet -- he doesn't have much of an excuse.
He flexes his fingers, feeling the anxiety run through his body. However, he relents because he can only keep it secret for so long. He hates the fact that may be the only reason he is saying anything at all, but he'll shove that thought (and the others that follow) somewhere in the back of his mind.
They're not useful at present.
"No, you're right." He tips his chin down, trying not to cross his arms, to curl in on himself. "We should be on the same page and I should've said something sooner, but there are a lot of reasons I didn't. It wasn't meant to hurt you."
Inhaling slowly, he looks briefly to Gustave. However, he decides to maintain eye contact with him instead of looking away this time around. "Renoir... he is my father." He can no longer say that he doesn't view him as that anymore since the two of them last spoke.
He thinks of saying more but decides to leave that be all he says.
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?"
The moment Sciel speaks up, Maelle's heart sinks. Oh, she's not wrong to bring up that fact, that the son of the man that killed Gustave is here in what should be their safe home. A part of her is surprised Verso confesses, but really, he has no choice.
"Gustave..." Maelle says quietly as the emotions build within him. It's so much more complicated than simply being Renoir's son, but one thing at a time. Then, a little louder: "Gustave, it's... it's not easy to just say it."
It's personal. Private. Weak excuses from Verso, then, but Maelle understands. It would always be a bad conversation and it's bad now and maybe worse because Verso wasn't forthcoming with it but...
Maelle steps in front of Gustave, blue eyes wide with concern. For him, for Verso. For this little family she so desperately wants to keep together.
Sciel wasn't wrong to bring this up, but Maelle feels sick to her stomach seeing Gustave upset.
It brings her no pleasure to see Gustave upset, nor put Verso in a situation he will surely feel pain from, but she knows every moment with Verso under this roof is another moment prolonging the inevitable. She doesn’t have the heart to carry guilt about where a fully-grown sense of betrayal might leave them. It is easier, ultimately, for either of them to be cross with her now, when they still have a chance with each other.
She watches Verso’s face when he confesses. She wonders: what’s happened to change the story?
She waits before responding. It’d be cold comfort to assure Gustave of anything right now, of anything they’d been through or whatever Verso had done after to earn their trust. Her friend needs to feel the situation first, and there’s no avoiding that. Maelle has him in her sights, and Sciel feels no need to comfort Verso. Sneaky as he can be, he has never fled the scene of a disagreement.
Verso doesn't shrink away this time but stays where he is. It's odd to hear almost the same tone from Gustave as he heard from Lune. His father. Like it's a curse. He supposes for them it is.
He isn't certain what expression that he has. His chin only lifts as he hears the questions that are almost accusations. No, they may very well be. His eyes dart to Maelle when she attempts to defend him. His shoulders drop as he hears the quiet, weak protests.
Family is complicated. He almost smiles at how she said that, as if it absolved his omissions.
However, he does step forward when she steps in front of Gustave. His chest feels heavy when she says that he chose them. It takes him a moment to be able to swallow, to be able to remember to breathe. But this time he doesn't look to Sciel; he feels her eyes on him. He imagines her gaze to be expectant rather than sympathetic.
Somehow, it would kill something in him if she sympathized with him at this moment. He isn't sure what it would be, but it would hurt.
Maybe that is why he can't look at her.
"It's not that I didn't think it was useful information. It's that it wasn't information that I felt you needed to hear then, Gustave." His arms remain at his sides, fingers flexing involuntarily. He just keeps looking at him, taking in all his outrage, hurt, fear, and everything.
"There wasn't a good time even now to say it." But he shouldn't turn it on them; he shouldn't make them ashamed of what is natural and understanding. Especially from what they know of Renoir. "I'm glad Sciel gave me the chance to, but I would've told you."
He holds onto that belief; he doesn't chase his other thoughts. The thoughts that agree with Gustave. The thoughts that say that he would've left the man oblivious forever. If Renoir wasn't here, if it was just them, would he have said anything? Is it better to say: "there's no way to know because that didn't happen?" Probably not. Definitely not.
His eyes are hard, watching Verso, and they only soften a little when his glance flickers down to meet Maelle's. She's defending him, this man she's come to care for and who Gustave hardly knows, but even her excuses sound weak. Of course they do: what excuse would do?
His head moves, turning just a little like an abortive shake, tipping just slightly, and he lifts his eyebrows at her as she goes on: Verso chose us. His voice, when it comes, could almost seem to be just for her: quiet, almost gentle, but there's a hard edge to it. "Are you sure?"
It's not really a question, is it? The truth is he isn't sure. He doesn't have all the context, the information, but how would any of it help? If Verso had good intentions, is he supposed to forgive the lie that came out of them?
But the man himself is moving now, taking a step forward, and here they come: the excuses, offered in a reasonable, apologetic tone that might soften a harder heart than Gustave's, if he weren't already so wounded and furious. It wasn't information I felt you needed to hear, Verso says, and now Gustave looks right at him, over Maelle's head, leaning forward like a dog straining on a leash. His right hand comes up, stabbing at him in a gesture. His voice is no longer raised, but that edge is still there, razor-sharp. "You don't get to to decide that for me."
And if he's decided that, what else has he decided is for the good of this person he barely knows, and coincidentally also beneficial to him? He goes on, more excuses — there wasn't a good time, I would have told you eventually — and Gustave snorts, straightening. His hand drops to his side, and he shakes his head, very slightly, eyes still fixed on Verso.
His voice, still quiet, is no longer edged. Instead, the words, almost gently placed into the air between them, have the simple finality of a closing door. "I don't believe you."
And isn't that the crux of all this? Who believes Verso. Who doesn't. Gustave steps back, lifting his hands, shaking his head again, more fervently this time. "One window's not enough. I need some air. You guys... I'll be back. Later."
Which is all he'll say before he's turning, heading to the door and— through it, steps fading along the hall.
For all the times Maelle let herself imagine how Gustave and Verso would get along, it wasn't like this. Gustave got along with everyone. He accepted people, strange ones like her, and gave them the benefit of the doubt. He doesn't trust Verso, and it hurts in a strange way because Maelle does, but there's an understanding there, too. He doesn't know how Verso saved her. He doesn't know how Verso let her put him to rest in a beautiful place, out of sight of the Paintress.
He doesn't know how Verso has been there for her because he was dead and she was so heartbroken and his poetry is awful and makes her laugh but his piano is the most beautiful thing Maelle has ever heard. All Gustave sees is a man that is the son of his murderer, the murderer of most of their expedition, and he didn't say as much because it's Verso. Nothing about him is simple, Maelle's learned. But maybe she can help explain.
She exhales, frowning. No use in telling Gustave to wait or stop. He's stubborn. He needs space, but surely she's the exception. He makes it to the door before Maelle follows without a glance back at Sciel or Verso, lighter, quicker steps chasing after his.
She’s not concerned they’ll come to blows, even as the standoff crowds around Maelle. Neither would, and she feels quite confident of that. Gustave won’t do anything rash after walking out that door, either, and Maelle, upset as she is, will be safe on his heels.
They just need time.
She looks at the door as it swings closed, and follows behind when it doesn’t quite catch. She could walk out, too, but this is home base now. She closes the door properly and leaves it unlocked.
She glances back at Verso –– great, overgrown dog that he is, looming in their new living room. She does not smile. There’s the urge to say I’m sorry but she doesn’t exactly feel sorry in that moment. She’ll feel embarrassed about that later, but for now she drifts out of sight, into the kitchen.
To do what, she’s not sure. It’s just to take a minute.
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(As long as they keep their word, she will keep hers.)
"I don't trust anything that Renoir says. Most of it makes no sense, anyway," Maelle says, and she looks to Verso, then. Some of what Renoir has said makes sense in retrospect, in regards to him, but that's not her business to share. She's worried about him. She's been worried since she first ran into Verso here.
Now, he's setting himself apart. He is apart, different from them, and Maelle knows all too well how it feels to be the odd one out. That's always been her spot for one reason or another. The orphan that can't find a home. The teenager unable to make friends her age. No apprenticeship. An Expedition volunteer, throwing away nearly a decade of life.
"A man I spoke to said he'd been here a year already. So, we have time to... figure everything out, I guess." Maelle is in no hurry. She has Gustave. She could stay here forever, with him, and be content. Home can sort itself out. But she knows better than to say that aloud. Instead, she carefully ducks out from under Sciel's hands to approach Verso.
"You're not gonna turn in your armband, are you?" She asks, voice a touch lighter for Verso's sake, teasing despite the worry in her eyes. You're still with us, aren't you?
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She says nothing, just watching.
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Verso decides to side-step answering those questions by answering Maelle's question instead. "I didn't turn it in, but I did use it to help patch up our dashing gentleman friend." His chin drops as he gestures towards Gustave. He tilts his head to the side; feels more words want to come out but stops.
He pauses in what he could say to look to Sciel. It lasts longer than a second.
His eyes drift back down and away. "I told you that I'd look out for you." This is directed to everyone else in the room. A brief sweeping look as he's already decided what he would do. "Even if we were the only ones here, I'd do what I could to make sure you're safe."
A beat. "But we aren't the only ones." He tosses out an easy smile, reassuring Maelle as he hesitates then takes a step closer to them all. "Still, what I said doesn't change."
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How long had they all traveled together? How well do they all know each other? "It's true," he confirms. "I didn't realize it was one of our armbands at the time, but in my defense, I wasn't feeling my best."
No, he'd been bleeding out there on the ground of that strange obstacle course, barely able to walk.
Verso's been kind to him, for the most part. He probably deserves the benefit of the doubt, at least when it comes to this. "But I'm sure we can get you a new one. Since you are, after all, part of the team now."
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Gustave himself is a reminder, and it's proving harder than Maelle thought to not think of him covered in his own blood, the life draining from him. His body, left abandoned on the wet stones. As if he wasn't the most vivid and lively and important person in her life. There's a strange void in her chest that alarms her--with no particular inclination to return to Lumiere, what now?
All she can do is focus on what's before her. Or try to, at least.
"We can get you a new one," Maelle echoes after Gustave, blinking, and forcing herself to lift a hand to pat the spot on Verso's arm where it should be. "You need it. You're one of us."
She doesn't want him to go anywhere.
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But there’s a little bit of wariness in her, too.
She just smiles, serene, expectant of Verso’s answer.
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But he pauses when Maelle lifts her hand to touch where the sash once was. Both of them saying that he's one of them; part of the team. He remembers saying that he should give it back to her because he felt a fraud. She told him then to wear it anyway, because he's chosen his side.
Again he looks to Sciel; she hasn't said anything yet it's her smile and her waiting for his answer that compels him to answer. It's simply something in how she's waiting that makes him not want to disappoint her, or them.
"I'll happily take a new one." Verso says like he didn't take those few seconds to think about his answer. He blinks and the hesitation seems to completely fade away; his eyes instead sparkle easily with amusement and warmth.
"And," he tips his head in appreciation, "very happy to be part of the team."
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But now it feels... awkward, at best. He'd only just started getting to know Verso, and now Maelle and Sciel are here with weeks or maybe months of time with him. Verso had maybe even had more time as a member of Expedition 33 than Gustave himself, and it's a strange feeling. It's not conscious, but he can feel the walls going up between them. Verso had won some smiles from him, gotten him to loosen up a little, but that was then. He almost feels like an intruder in this, his own team, watching the way Verso interacts with his friend and sister.
It's not a reaction he likes; he's not generally a jealous man. And this isn't jealousy, he thinks, not exactly, just...
He's not sure what it is, only that it's leaving him feeling just slightly off-balance. "Like I said before, you're a handy guy to have around."
Which is true, and he can just set the rest of it aside somewhere and not look at it. There's no reason for any of it, anyway. He likes Verso, and it's clear Maelle and Sciel do, too, and it's better to have more members of the team than fewer. They can figure out the rest as they go.
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She just doesn't want him to go too far.
"We have two very handy guys," Maelle points out, and while she wants to stay near Verso, the pull to be right beside Gustave is too strong to ignore.
(Perhaps that's part of her worry, that Verso will want to be with his father, regardless of their past. If it feels instinctual to Maelle, it must be so much worse with blood involved.)
She returns to Gustave, close enough for her shoulder to touch his arm and looks to Sciel with a lifted brow. What next?
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But there’s tension where there should be some sort of camaraderie and group huddle. She feels it travel across the room, slinking to hide behind Gustave’s graciousness, its footsteps drowned out by Verso’s showmanship. She looks to Gustave, and then to Verso, smile still on her face. She takes a half-step forward, a hand up.
“Just… one thing. Before we get too far from the subject…”
Sciel laces her fingers together in front of her, as if being pacifying upfront could grease the way. Not for the first time, she wishes Lune was here.
“Verso,” she says. “I think you should explain who Renoir is, since you’ve known him the longest. So Gustave is on the same page, yeah?”
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Verso starts out smiling at the little hand that is raised. He breathes out something like a laugh as he wonders what it is that she is going to say, but he somehow didn't expect that to be what she says.
His eyes widen for a brief second; he supposes he should have mentioned it as they were talking about it yet -- he doesn't have much of an excuse.
He flexes his fingers, feeling the anxiety run through his body. However, he relents because he can only keep it secret for so long. He hates the fact that may be the only reason he is saying anything at all, but he'll shove that thought (and the others that follow) somewhere in the back of his mind.
They're not useful at present.
"No, you're right." He tips his chin down, trying not to cross his arms, to curl in on himself. "We should be on the same page and I should've said something sooner, but there are a lot of reasons I didn't. It wasn't meant to hurt you."
Inhaling slowly, he looks briefly to Gustave. However, he decides to maintain eye contact with him instead of looking away this time around. "Renoir... he is my father." He can no longer say that he doesn't view him as that anymore since the two of them last spoke.
He thinks of saying more but decides to leave that be all he says.
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...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?"
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"Gustave..." Maelle says quietly as the emotions build within him. It's so much more complicated than simply being Renoir's son, but one thing at a time. Then, a little louder: "Gustave, it's... it's not easy to just say it."
It's personal. Private. Weak excuses from Verso, then, but Maelle understands. It would always be a bad conversation and it's bad now and maybe worse because Verso wasn't forthcoming with it but...
Maelle steps in front of Gustave, blue eyes wide with concern. For him, for Verso. For this little family she so desperately wants to keep together.
Sciel wasn't wrong to bring this up, but Maelle feels sick to her stomach seeing Gustave upset.
"Verso chose us."
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It brings her no pleasure to see Gustave upset, nor put Verso in a situation he will surely feel pain from, but she knows every moment with Verso under this roof is another moment prolonging the inevitable. She doesn’t have the heart to carry guilt about where a fully-grown sense of betrayal might leave them. It is easier, ultimately, for either of them to be cross with her now, when they still have a chance with each other.
She watches Verso’s face when he confesses. She wonders: what’s happened to change the story?
She waits before responding. It’d be cold comfort to assure Gustave of anything right now, of anything they’d been through or whatever Verso had done after to earn their trust. Her friend needs to feel the situation first, and there’s no avoiding that. Maelle has him in her sights, and Sciel feels no need to comfort Verso. Sneaky as he can be, he has never fled the scene of a disagreement.
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He isn't certain what expression that he has. His chin only lifts as he hears the questions that are almost accusations. No, they may very well be. His eyes dart to Maelle when she attempts to defend him. His shoulders drop as he hears the quiet, weak protests.
Family is complicated. He almost smiles at how she said that, as if it absolved his omissions.
However, he does step forward when she steps in front of Gustave. His chest feels heavy when she says that he chose them. It takes him a moment to be able to swallow, to be able to remember to breathe. But this time he doesn't look to Sciel; he feels her eyes on him. He imagines her gaze to be expectant rather than sympathetic.
Somehow, it would kill something in him if she sympathized with him at this moment. He isn't sure what it would be, but it would hurt.
Maybe that is why he can't look at her.
"It's not that I didn't think it was useful information. It's that it wasn't information that I felt you needed to hear then, Gustave." His arms remain at his sides, fingers flexing involuntarily. He just keeps looking at him, taking in all his outrage, hurt, fear, and everything.
"There wasn't a good time even now to say it." But he shouldn't turn it on them; he shouldn't make them ashamed of what is natural and understanding. Especially from what they know of Renoir. "I'm glad Sciel gave me the chance to, but I would've told you."
He holds onto that belief; he doesn't chase his other thoughts. The thoughts that agree with Gustave. The thoughts that say that he would've left the man oblivious forever. If Renoir wasn't here, if it was just them, would he have said anything? Is it better to say: "there's no way to know because that didn't happen?" Probably not. Definitely not.
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His head moves, turning just a little like an abortive shake, tipping just slightly, and he lifts his eyebrows at her as she goes on: Verso chose us. His voice, when it comes, could almost seem to be just for her: quiet, almost gentle, but there's a hard edge to it. "Are you sure?"
It's not really a question, is it? The truth is he isn't sure. He doesn't have all the context, the information, but how would any of it help? If Verso had good intentions, is he supposed to forgive the lie that came out of them?
But the man himself is moving now, taking a step forward, and here they come: the excuses, offered in a reasonable, apologetic tone that might soften a harder heart than Gustave's, if he weren't already so wounded and furious. It wasn't information I felt you needed to hear, Verso says, and now Gustave looks right at him, over Maelle's head, leaning forward like a dog straining on a leash. His right hand comes up, stabbing at him in a gesture. His voice is no longer raised, but that edge is still there, razor-sharp. "You don't get to to decide that for me."
And if he's decided that, what else has he decided is for the good of this person he barely knows, and coincidentally also beneficial to him? He goes on, more excuses — there wasn't a good time, I would have told you eventually — and Gustave snorts, straightening. His hand drops to his side, and he shakes his head, very slightly, eyes still fixed on Verso.
His voice, still quiet, is no longer edged. Instead, the words, almost gently placed into the air between them, have the simple finality of a closing door. "I don't believe you."
And isn't that the crux of all this? Who believes Verso. Who doesn't. Gustave steps back, lifting his hands, shaking his head again, more fervently this time. "One window's not enough. I need some air. You guys... I'll be back. Later."
Which is all he'll say before he's turning, heading to the door and— through it, steps fading along the hall.
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He doesn't know how Verso has been there for her because he was dead and she was so heartbroken and his poetry is awful and makes her laugh but his piano is the most beautiful thing Maelle has ever heard. All Gustave sees is a man that is the son of his murderer, the murderer of most of their expedition, and he didn't say as much because it's Verso. Nothing about him is simple, Maelle's learned. But maybe she can help explain.
She exhales, frowning. No use in telling Gustave to wait or stop. He's stubborn. He needs space, but surely she's the exception. He makes it to the door before Maelle follows without a glance back at Sciel or Verso, lighter, quicker steps chasing after his.
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They just need time.
She looks at the door as it swings closed, and follows behind when it doesn’t quite catch. She could walk out, too, but this is home base now. She closes the door properly and leaves it unlocked.
She glances back at Verso –– great, overgrown dog that he is, looming in their new living room. She does not smile. There’s the urge to say I’m sorry but she doesn’t exactly feel sorry in that moment. She’ll feel embarrassed about that later, but for now she drifts out of sight, into the kitchen.
To do what, she’s not sure. It’s just to take a minute.