Right. After Lune's inexplicable stint in San Francisco, she was forewarned about this Aurora, the name popping up more than enough times in conversation with her friends. So at least she's prepared when she wakes up at the hospital and shakes off her stupefaction at once more waking up in another strange place. This is Etraya, then.
She spends a significant amount of time of bombarding this figment of Aurora with questions, but at the end of it all, she still isn't satisfied with the answers. Frustrated and deeming further interrogation a waste of time, she leaves, grabbing a croissant on her way out. She packs her coat and glove up in her Pictos space in the heat outside, having every intention of figuring out a way to contact Sciel or Gustave, but then...
then there is the trolley. And it is, along with these curious automatons, entirely fascinating to her and she ends up completely losing track of time simply going around gawking and poking (sometimes literally) at things.
Lune doesn't believe in fate, kismet, whatever. Coincidences, yes. But maybe there's a little something more than pure dumb luck involved when she unexpectedly spies a familiar figure a few benches down, that messy head of hair unmistakable.
Lune smiles, and takes a seat next to Gustave like it's any old day back in Lumière, before the Expedition. Hello again, friend.
The trolley is absurdly inefficient, but it's a good way to get out of the apartment and familiarize himself with Etraya and all the strange and fascinating locations Aurora has built for the people she's taken so far— even if he's taking notes on how best to streamline the process.
So he's lost in thought when the light steps sound, when someone takes the seat next to him, and only when those words come in that voice does he blink out of his reveries, poring over his notes, and look up, startled. "Lune!"
A heartbeat's worth of staring, and then he's drawing her in again, just like had back in San Francisco, his chest shaking with a laugh. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you here, either. Sciel was sure you'd show up."
Much more sure than he'd been, but in this case he's happy to be wrong.
Lune returns the embrace, breathing a small laugh of her own— fond amusement. She can read between the lines, since she'd probably feel the same way herself were their situation reversed. The odds of her showing up here as well after San Francisco? They have to be slim.
"Maybe we should learn some lesson about Sciel's predictions by now. The tardiness I could've done without, both times— not my decision."
A hint of displeasure, there. She's still annoyed at Aurora that the rest of the team wound up in Etraya without her, and about the time she'd spent by herself in San Francisco without them. A part of her wondered if perhaps she was just going to be stuck there alone for good, so maybe it's no wonder that she now leans into the contact with Gustave so uncharacteristically easily. Her palm lingers on his shoulder for a beat after pulling away, squeezing gently before pointing at his notes.
"Are you already redesigning this contraption? It's obviously not optimized to reach a more efficient level of locomotion."
Actually being in Etraya is a whole different beast than just hearing about it. It's a lot on top of everything else. The Gommage, winding up in San Francisco, finding her friends, losing her friends (again)... now this. Admittedly, she'd wondered if she was just going to be stuck in San Francisco for good after days went by without any sign of Sciel, Gustave, Maelle or Verso. She'd wondered if maybe she was stuck there, alone.
Let's think of it as a detour, rather than the end. Sciel's words came back to her more than once during those days, trying to take a page out of her book of optimism. It was easier said than done, but she'd managed until waking up in that hospital.
The apartment is a sharp deviation from the kind of housing they're used to in Lumière, the architecture hardly particularly aesthetic. But it doesn't matter, so long as the team is here.
"I think it needs more rubble," Lune jokes wryly with a hint of a smile. "Or maybe stubborn pine cones, a rock or two."
Since those things seemed to always find their way beneath their bedrolls at night in spite any thorough inspections prior.
Things are slowly settling back into their right places, and Sciel couldn’t be more pleased about it. Those two weeks hotel-hopping in San Franciso would have been beautiful even if that’d been all the time they could have, but having Lune with them for keeps is so much better. It puts a bounce in her step and makes her look forward to having something to celebrate. They’ll have a proper welcome-home party tomorrow, when she’s had a chance to figure out groceries, and it’ll go far, far better than the first night with Verso, thank the stars.
“I’ve been saying that for weeks, but for some reason everyone objects!” she says, roving around the kitchen as she talks. Wine glasses from this cupboard, a bottle from that one, a corkscrew from the jumble that is their utensil drawer.
She looks back at Lune, beaming ear to ear.
“But it’ll do, your room? I thought about a second bookcase but didn’t get around to tracking one down.”
Lune pulls her eyes from the glimpse of that messy utensil drawer at the question, already mentally organizing it. Her expression softens a little, a small but genuine smile spreading to her lips. She'd bunk wherever she could if needed; after the Expedition they've had practice roughing it, but of course Sciel had taken it upon herself to fix up a whole spare room for her.
"Yes, of course. Thank you."
The bookcase would fill up quickly with the books she'd erm, borrowed, from San Francisco, but she'd sort out the haul stashed away in her Pictos later. She tips her head inquisitively, watching Sciel bustle about. "Gustave mentioned you were sure I'd show up. What made you so certain?"
She’s not nervous. Not exactly. What would the point be, given the inevitability of this conversation? But she is… apprehensive, she’ll say. Who can say how it will go?
She’s brought pizza home for dinner. Her casual relationship with the kitchen will feed them just fine, even in a household with a ravenous teenager and two people who sometimes need to be reminded to eat, but on a night that requires her to put her attention elsewhere, take-away will do. Two extra-larges, one pepperoni, one with mushrooms and green peppers. There are beers for the adults, soda for Maelle, and cutlery set out for everyone, even if it’s not strictly necessary.
And then, when everyone is sitting in front of crumbs and dots of sauce left over on their plates, it’s time.
Sciel clears her throat.
“Ah… I’m wondering if everyone is up for a conversation about something important.”
Her gaze flicks to Gustave first, but it’s not exclusive; it roves from person to person. Everyone needs to be on board.
It still feels a little strange to eat what they want, and as much of it as they way. The pizza is good, and he appreciates the fresh toppings, and the beers are cold and refreshing, and it all feels so... domestic. They aren't sitting around a campfire trying to keep warm, trying to recuperate from the latest fight; this apartment is getting homier by the day.
It's not Lumière. It's not the Expedition, hanging on by a thread. They have space here, and time, and he can see the way they've started slowly unfolding, expanding, to take advantage of both.
It's good, even if it's a little uncomfortable at times. Like now, as Sciel catches his eye before glancing around at the others. Gustave takes a second to be grateful that he had opened a new beer only moments before and nods at her. She's right; they need to talk about him. All of them. "Yeah. I think that's probably a good idea."
Maelle really wishes Sciel would have brought this up before she put away three pieces of pizza. Her stomach clenches uncomfortably at Renoir's name, and she can't help but glance over to Gustave.
Is it time we kill him again? She wants to remark, but for Gustave's sake, she bites her tongue. Renoir is her least favorite topic. Every time she's reminded he's here, she wants to hunt him down like a dog.
"Sure," she says hesitantly, pushing her plate back. She will not be grabbing a fourth piece.
He watches as Lune and Sciel make their way out of the apartment: not all that different from the last time they'd tried to have one of these talks, as it turns out. When the door closes, he looks down at Maelle, then gives her shoulders a squeeze before he lets go and heads to the sink to get her a glass of water.
Coming back, he crouches down in front of her again, offering up the glass as a small, wry smile touches his lips. "Would it help to go throw some rocks?"
Maelle takes the glass of water. Her hand trembles, but she obediently brings it to her lips to take a sip because Gustave will worry if she ignores it. She offers the glass back to him. He should drink, too.
"It's not the same without a target," she says quietly. Her eyes search Gustave's, pale and full of concern.
He waits patiently while she sips at the water, the liquid rippling in the glass with the way her hand is shaking, then accepts it back and takes a swallow himself. It's such a normal, mundane thing that it actually does help, a little. "Mm. Not right now, maybe. But I will be."
It's all so much, but he finally, finally feels as though has has a way forward, now. There's nothing left for any of them to admit to him, and he's not completely surprised to feel as though some weight has been lifted off his shoulders, a blindfold taken off his eyes. Maybe he's still not at the same place as the rest of the team, but at least now he knows how far he still has to go.
Gustave sets the glass on the table and looks up at her, reaching to cradle her hands again in his. "Are you?"
It would be a funny sort of synchronicity if she led Lune to the roof. Don’t they all love to sit on the edge of camp and gaze at the blazing numbers in the distance and the stars and ponder their worst experiences, the ugliest of feelings? But, truth be told, Sciel hasn’t been up there yet, and the last thing she wants is to be wandering up and down halls looking for the right stairwell door with Lune in tow.
So the elevator it is, headed down, and she’s quiet until the doors slide shut behind them. Sciel looks at Lune across the elevator, the lump in her throat still there, and she wonders if they’ll ever feel like a team again. No, right? Dozens are still dead. And even if they weren’t, won’t they have to justify all this to Alan, someday? Catherine? Lucien? Will that conversation come too late, too?
Lune doesn't particularly care to question where Sciel wants to lead them, her head still busy with everything that just happened. Stood next to her friend, Lune once more clasps her hands behind her back as the elevator slide shut. She turns her head slowly when Sciel speaks up, the slight tightening of her lips the most wan of smiles.
"You're not upset with me? That wasn't exactly the staggered approach we'd agreed on earlier."
Lune doesn't regret taking it upon herself to say all that she did, but that doesn't mean she isn't sorry for the ensued turmoil.
Sciel meets her eyes in turn, her expression still tense.
“No. I didn’t like that at all, but…”
That spike of annoyance is still somewhere in her body, lodged deep enough that she feels like she could just ignore it as long as it isn’t being pressed on. More than anything, she hates being upset with people. It feels like such a waste of time.
“He wanted to know. He wasn’t going to take it slow, either.”
She’s pressing on it herself. She could have chosen some of her words a lot more carefully and not led them into such fraught topics, but wouldn’t he have noticed that, too? Why should she be guarded and secretive person just because he needs to pick apart Verso’s business? It’s––
She stops her thoughts in their tracks there, leaning against the back wall even though the numbers are counting down quickly enough.
“There wasn’t really a way to tell him no, and you told him in a way he preferred.”
Maelle is gone, sent safely off to spend some time with Sophie, and the apartment feels very still. He spends a few minutes putting the remainder of the pizza away, then considers the beers left in the refrigerator for a moment before closing the door on them. Nothing they have here is strong enough for what he suspects they might need, after this.
He's washing his hands as the door opens, as he hears familiar steps, and plucks a hand towel from where it's hanging by the stove to dry his hands as he comes to lean on the doorframe between kitchen and living area. "Hey."
This feels all wrong, like somehow he and Lune and Sciel have taken sides, where no sides existed before. Another thing to regret: putting Maelle back in the middle again. "Maelle's gone with Sophie for a bit. She'll be back later."
Sciel is, outwardly, calm. Inside, it feels like preparing to take a running leap off a cliff without looking down first to see where she’ll land. Doesn’t matter. She has to get there, and she’s known that from the first day here, in this very apartment, where she’d been the one doing dishes.
“Hopefully that'll take her mind off things for a bit,” she says, sympathetic, as she sets her bag down on the coffee table. Candy peeks out as the tote sags.
Her attention flits over him, taking in the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. She takes a step closer to him.
Lune's gaze flicks briefly to Sciel; she knows the other woman is nervous, in spite of appearing her usual calm self on the outside. Brushing past behind Sciel as they slowly file into the living room, Lune touches her shoulder briefly as she goes in what she hopes is a gesture of reassurance, like Sciel has done to her so many times before. Maelle being sent away is probably a good thing for the girl, but clearly bodes nothing so pleasant for Lune and Sciel. As expected.
Lune lets Sciel open the conversation, always more emotionally in touch than her. Not wanting to crowd the two, Lune steps over to the couch instead and perches one haunch on the armrest, palms settling over her knee, silently expectant as she, too, looks at Gustave. She can only hope they can finally settle things once and for all tonight.
All things considered, it’s kind of funny to be winding down the night in the backyard of some sprawling manor. The expansive back patio has stairs down into the garden, lit by the stars above and the pathway lights below, and the pool in the middle casts an ominous blue glow of its own. It’s so quiet. Sciel laces her fingers together as she leans on the stone railing, wondering and wondering. Who cares for all these plants? Sophie? What is it like to cultivate something strictly for pleasure, and not because one needs it to survive? Is it a good life? Does it cost you something?
She had a garden on her little half-balcony, back in Lumière. She’d kept a few flowers on it. Nothing complicated, just a few things that forgave her when she was too busy to water them reliably, or when she deadheaded them for the season. They grew back. Not this year, though. The teenaged couple living there now probably let them wilt. And––
She turns her head when she hears the grand patio door creak open, and then the whole of her.
“Maelle,” she says, a sad smile breaking across her face. “Finished the movie? Did it have a happy ending?”
It feels like living different lives. The heavy mood of the apartment. Gustave's upset, her tears. From that to Sophie's blunt but upbeat personality, and the colorful lights of her room, where it was almost easy to forget the ache in her chest. Now, she looks at Sciel with trepidation. A third place, the difficult and the escape colliding. She doesn't want small talk.
"How is he?" She asks, ignoring her question, because Gustave is always her first concern. She knows how he was when she left, but there's a reason she cleared out.
She approaches the railing and leans against it, arms crossed, frown on her face.
Right to business. Like father, like daughter, in a way that feels like sand in her pockets. She breathes out something like amusement. There's no humour in this at all. It's just predictable. She looks at the girl, turning her body towards her –– open, if it's wanted.
"He's angry," she says. "But we'll talk it out more, and things will be alright. How are you feeling?"
How about some air? he'd asked, and now they're here, on the roof of this apartment building, and it still isn't the Hanging Gardens, but at least there's some open air and he can take a deep breath of it, look up at the domed sky. That, too, is familiar.
He glances over at Lune, once, twice; leans against the railing with his hands curling over metal. "Sorry about that."
Just... all of it. For losing his temper, for the argument with Sciel, for forcing Lune to deal with something she hadn't even been here to see unfold. He gives her a small, wry half-smile. "I think you can tell we've needed you."
Lune isn't surprised Gustave has ferreted out an outside space like this to use. She wonders if he's already come here to toss rocks. It's a nice enough spot— could use some plants, though, maybe a bench... The dome above is a familiar, strange throwback as they stand by the railing, the silence stretching between them as they take in the air.
She shakes her head slightly at the apology, dismissing it easily with a wan little smile.
"Just wish I could have been here from the beginning," she says slowly, sighing. Even if she's not sure it would have made a difference. Turning her head, Lune studies him for a beat in silence, debating for a brief moment.
"I've never heard you two speak to one another like that before." Her tone remains low, almost soft, but the implication behind the words is evident; it was difficult to follow.
She hadn’t really planned for it, nor did she relish a night on a couch, but it had won out over going back for yet another tense conversation. Pierre might have chided her for it, if only he knew. Unfortunately, she gets to make all her choices and reap their consequences, including a sore back. She’ll be a better person in the morning. At the very least, she’ll taken enough of a breather to get some perspective.
So there she is, quietly letting herself back into the apartment just after dawn. She holds the doorknob in a tight twist until the door is settled all the way into the frame, and only then does she carefully let the catch settle again with a quiet click. No bells here. She nudges her boots off and pads across the apartment, crossing through that terrible threshold where they’d argued. She’s made uneasy peace with it, now, or at least that it’s happened. She’s open-eyed. Rested, even if poorly. Yesterday’s make-up is smudged around the edges, so that’s a trip to the bathroom to scrub her face bare. Her clothes are all creased up, so she changes into lounge pants and a crop top.
There’s a whole day to sort out the rest.
She sits down on the couch, legs tucked up underneath her, and waits for the rest of the apartment to stir. Whoever is up first doesn’t particularly matter; there’s still something to talk about, no matter who it is. Until then, she meditates, mind blank until she hears footsteps, and then she opens her eyes to see…
Gustave, of course.
“Hi,” she says. She smiles, tense and uncomfortable, and after a second, adds: “Do you want to go get breakfast with me? No pretending everything’s just fine, and I leave the cards at home?”
Edited (Sorry I’m indecisive at 1am) 2025-09-20 04:40 (UTC)
He'd slept badly, and he suspects he's not the only one. All through the night he goes back over and and over what they'd all said to each other, trying to find where it all went so wrong. He casts his memory further back still, past San Francisco to that very first day Sciel and Maelle arrived; past that to his own arrival. Nothing has seemed right since he found himself here on Etraya, living past his own demise.
Soft footsteps jar him from his thoughts; he glances at the window, sees the dim hazy light of early dawn. He listens as the steps move through the apartment: the bathroom, another room, back close enough for him to hear before they halt. It could be Lune or it could be Sciel — it could even be Verso, back from wherever he'd left to.
Whoever it is, he doesn't want to avoid them. He gets up, dresses in a pair of comfortable pants and a soft sweater made of some thin woven material, then heads into the living room to see Sciel there on the couch, eyes closed. She looks relaxed, at a glance, but he can see the faint lines of tension still threading around her. They tighten more as she blinks her eyes open and sees him, and he feels it like a punch. "Sure."
At the very least, a little food is probably a good idea. His lips press into something resembling a wan, rueful half-smile. "I don't know. Maybe you should bring them. Might help."
Probably not, but maybe she'd enjoy pulling something uncomfortably accurate for him again.
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—for gustave
She spends a significant amount of time of bombarding this figment of Aurora with questions, but at the end of it all, she still isn't satisfied with the answers. Frustrated and deeming further interrogation a waste of time, she leaves, grabbing a croissant on her way out. She packs her coat and glove up in her Pictos space in the heat outside, having every intention of figuring out a way to contact Sciel or Gustave, but then...
then there is the trolley. And it is, along with these curious automatons, entirely fascinating to her and she ends up completely losing track of time simply going around gawking and poking (sometimes literally) at things.
Lune doesn't believe in fate, kismet, whatever. Coincidences, yes. But maybe there's a little something more than pure dumb luck involved when she unexpectedly spies a familiar figure a few benches down, that messy head of hair unmistakable.
Lune smiles, and takes a seat next to Gustave like it's any old day back in Lumière, before the Expedition. Hello again, friend.
"Why am I not surprised to find you here?"
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So he's lost in thought when the light steps sound, when someone takes the seat next to him, and only when those words come in that voice does he blink out of his reveries, poring over his notes, and look up, startled. "Lune!"
A heartbeat's worth of staring, and then he's drawing her in again, just like had back in San Francisco, his chest shaking with a laugh. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you here, either. Sciel was sure you'd show up."
Much more sure than he'd been, but in this case he's happy to be wrong.
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"Maybe we should learn some lesson about Sciel's predictions by now. The tardiness I could've done without, both times— not my decision."
A hint of displeasure, there. She's still annoyed at Aurora that the rest of the team wound up in Etraya without her, and about the time she'd spent by herself in San Francisco without them. A part of her wondered if perhaps she was just going to be stuck there alone for good, so maybe it's no wonder that she now leans into the contact with Gustave so uncharacteristically easily. Her palm lingers on his shoulder for a beat after pulling away, squeezing gently before pointing at his notes.
"Are you already redesigning this contraption? It's obviously not optimized to reach a more efficient level of locomotion."
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—for sciel
Let's think of it as a detour, rather than the end. Sciel's words came back to her more than once during those days, trying to take a page out of her book of optimism. It was easier said than done, but she'd managed until waking up in that hospital.
The apartment is a sharp deviation from the kind of housing they're used to in Lumière, the architecture hardly particularly aesthetic. But it doesn't matter, so long as the team is here.
"I think it needs more rubble," Lune jokes wryly with a hint of a smile. "Or maybe stubborn pine cones, a rock or two."
Since those things seemed to always find their way beneath their bedrolls at night in spite any thorough inspections prior.
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“I’ve been saying that for weeks, but for some reason everyone objects!” she says, roving around the kitchen as she talks. Wine glasses from this cupboard, a bottle from that one, a corkscrew from the jumble that is their utensil drawer.
She looks back at Lune, beaming ear to ear.
“But it’ll do, your room? I thought about a second bookcase but didn’t get around to tracking one down.”
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"Yes, of course. Thank you."
The bookcase would fill up quickly with the books she'd erm, borrowed, from San Francisco, but she'd sort out the haul stashed away in her Pictos later. She tips her head inquisitively, watching Sciel bustle about. "Gustave mentioned you were sure I'd show up. What made you so certain?"
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Everyone
She’s brought pizza home for dinner. Her casual relationship with the kitchen will feed them just fine, even in a household with a ravenous teenager and two people who sometimes need to be reminded to eat, but on a night that requires her to put her attention elsewhere, take-away will do. Two extra-larges, one pepperoni, one with mushrooms and green peppers. There are beers for the adults, soda for Maelle, and cutlery set out for everyone, even if it’s not strictly necessary.
And then, when everyone is sitting in front of crumbs and dots of sauce left over on their plates, it’s time.
Sciel clears her throat.
“Ah… I’m wondering if everyone is up for a conversation about something important.”
Her gaze flicks to Gustave first, but it’s not exclusive; it roves from person to person. Everyone needs to be on board.
“It’s about Renoir.”
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It's not Lumière. It's not the Expedition, hanging on by a thread. They have space here, and time, and he can see the way they've started slowly unfolding, expanding, to take advantage of both.
It's good, even if it's a little uncomfortable at times. Like now, as Sciel catches his eye before glancing around at the others. Gustave takes a second to be grateful that he had opened a new beer only moments before and nods at her. She's right; they need to talk about him. All of them. "Yeah. I think that's probably a good idea."
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Is it time we kill him again? She wants to remark, but for Gustave's sake, she bites her tongue. Renoir is her least favorite topic. Every time she's reminded he's here, she wants to hunt him down like a dog.
"Sure," she says hesitantly, pushing her plate back. She will not be grabbing a fourth piece.
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gustave & maelle
Coming back, he crouches down in front of her again, offering up the glass as a small, wry smile touches his lips. "Would it help to go throw some rocks?"
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"It's not the same without a target," she says quietly. Her eyes search Gustave's, pale and full of concern.
"Are you okay?"
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It's all so much, but he finally, finally feels as though has has a way forward, now. There's nothing left for any of them to admit to him, and he's not completely surprised to feel as though some weight has been lifted off his shoulders, a blindfold taken off his eyes. Maybe he's still not at the same place as the rest of the team, but at least now he knows how far he still has to go.
Gustave sets the glass on the table and looks up at her, reaching to cradle her hands again in his. "Are you?"
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Lune & Sciel
So the elevator it is, headed down, and she’s quiet until the doors slide shut behind them. Sciel looks at Lune across the elevator, the lump in her throat still there, and she wonders if they’ll ever feel like a team again. No, right? Dozens are still dead. And even if they weren’t, won’t they have to justify all this to Alan, someday? Catherine? Lucien? Will that conversation come too late, too?
Maybe Lune was right to bring up integrity.
Sciel just says, quietly:
“Thank you… for saying all that.”
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"You're not upset with me? That wasn't exactly the staggered approach we'd agreed on earlier."
Lune doesn't regret taking it upon herself to say all that she did, but that doesn't mean she isn't sorry for the ensued turmoil.
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“No. I didn’t like that at all, but…”
That spike of annoyance is still somewhere in her body, lodged deep enough that she feels like she could just ignore it as long as it isn’t being pressed on. More than anything, she hates being upset with people. It feels like such a waste of time.
“He wanted to know. He wasn’t going to take it slow, either.”
She’s pressing on it herself. She could have chosen some of her words a lot more carefully and not led them into such fraught topics, but wouldn’t he have noticed that, too? Why should she be guarded and secretive person just because he needs to pick apart Verso’s business? It’s––
She stops her thoughts in their tracks there, leaning against the back wall even though the numbers are counting down quickly enough.
“There wasn’t really a way to tell him no, and you told him in a way he preferred.”
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Gustave & Lune & Sciel
He's washing his hands as the door opens, as he hears familiar steps, and plucks a hand towel from where it's hanging by the stove to dry his hands as he comes to lean on the doorframe between kitchen and living area. "Hey."
This feels all wrong, like somehow he and Lune and Sciel have taken sides, where no sides existed before. Another thing to regret: putting Maelle back in the middle again. "Maelle's gone with Sophie for a bit. She'll be back later."
Translation: nobody here but us adults.
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“Hopefully that'll take her mind off things for a bit,” she says, sympathetic, as she sets her bag down on the coffee table. Candy peeks out as the tote sags.
Her attention flits over him, taking in the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. She takes a step closer to him.
“How are you feeling?”
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Lune lets Sciel open the conversation, always more emotionally in touch than her. Not wanting to crowd the two, Lune steps over to the couch instead and perches one haunch on the armrest, palms settling over her knee, silently expectant as she, too, looks at Gustave. She can only hope they can finally settle things once and for all tonight.
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Sciel & Maelle
She had a garden on her little half-balcony, back in Lumière. She’d kept a few flowers on it. Nothing complicated, just a few things that forgave her when she was too busy to water them reliably, or when she deadheaded them for the season. They grew back. Not this year, though. The teenaged couple living there now probably let them wilt. And––
She turns her head when she hears the grand patio door creak open, and then the whole of her.
“Maelle,” she says, a sad smile breaking across her face. “Finished the movie? Did it have a happy ending?”
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"How is he?" She asks, ignoring her question, because Gustave is always her first concern. She knows how he was when she left, but there's a reason she cleared out.
She approaches the railing and leans against it, arms crossed, frown on her face.
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"He's angry," she says. "But we'll talk it out more, and things will be alright. How are you feeling?"
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gustave & lune
He glances over at Lune, once, twice; leans against the railing with his hands curling over metal. "Sorry about that."
Just... all of it. For losing his temper, for the argument with Sciel, for forcing Lune to deal with something she hadn't even been here to see unfold. He gives her a small, wry half-smile. "I think you can tell we've needed you."
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She shakes her head slightly at the apology, dismissing it easily with a wan little smile.
"Just wish I could have been here from the beginning," she says slowly, sighing. Even if she's not sure it would have made a difference. Turning her head, Lune studies him for a beat in silence, debating for a brief moment.
"I've never heard you two speak to one another like that before." Her tone remains low, almost soft, but the implication behind the words is evident; it was difficult to follow.
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Gustave & Sciel
She hadn’t really planned for it, nor did she relish a night on a couch, but it had won out over going back for yet another tense conversation. Pierre might have chided her for it, if only he knew. Unfortunately, she gets to make all her choices and reap their consequences, including a sore back. She’ll be a better person in the morning. At the very least, she’ll taken enough of a breather to get some perspective.
So there she is, quietly letting herself back into the apartment just after dawn. She holds the doorknob in a tight twist until the door is settled all the way into the frame, and only then does she carefully let the catch settle again with a quiet click. No bells here. She nudges her boots off and pads across the apartment, crossing through that terrible threshold where they’d argued. She’s made uneasy peace with it, now, or at least that it’s happened. She’s open-eyed. Rested, even if poorly. Yesterday’s make-up is smudged around the edges, so that’s a trip to the bathroom to scrub her face bare. Her clothes are all creased up, so she changes into lounge pants and a crop top.
There’s a whole day to sort out the rest.
She sits down on the couch, legs tucked up underneath her, and waits for the rest of the apartment to stir. Whoever is up first doesn’t particularly matter; there’s still something to talk about, no matter who it is. Until then, she meditates, mind blank until she hears footsteps, and then she opens her eyes to see…
Gustave, of course.
“Hi,” she says. She smiles, tense and uncomfortable, and after a second, adds: “Do you want to go get breakfast with me? No pretending everything’s just fine, and I leave the cards at home?”
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Soft footsteps jar him from his thoughts; he glances at the window, sees the dim hazy light of early dawn. He listens as the steps move through the apartment: the bathroom, another room, back close enough for him to hear before they halt. It could be Lune or it could be Sciel — it could even be Verso, back from wherever he'd left to.
Whoever it is, he doesn't want to avoid them. He gets up, dresses in a pair of comfortable pants and a soft sweater made of some thin woven material, then heads into the living room to see Sciel there on the couch, eyes closed. She looks relaxed, at a glance, but he can see the faint lines of tension still threading around her. They tighten more as she blinks her eyes open and sees him, and he feels it like a punch. "Sure."
At the very least, a little food is probably a good idea. His lips press into something resembling a wan, rueful half-smile. "I don't know. Maybe you should bring them. Might help."
Probably not, but maybe she'd enjoy pulling something uncomfortably accurate for him again.
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