[Standing here now, Maelle feels like she can actually see beyond Gustave's grave. The markers, the sashes. All put here out of reverence. Out of care. She hadn't given it much thought before, her grief consuming all that passed through her mind, about how this all came to be. This sacred place.
It was Verso.
She'd cared less for Verso, before. He was their ticket forward, and Maelle was happy to leave it at that, but he's since become a friend. Even if he lied, hid things. He had saved her. He had made sure Gustave was put to rest somewhere beautiful. He fought alongside them.
It meant a lot to her. It still does, and finding him here makes her wonder if he'd come to speak to the dead, too.
As she steps beside him, she lightly touches his arm, glancing up at him before her eyes fall to Gustave's grave. His arm, neatly laid to rest. She thinks of all the times she would take that fabricated hand in hers and pull him along the rooftops of Lumiere, or feel that arm wrap around her alongside the one of flesh and bone, and how safe and loved she felt in his embrace.
She'll never stop missing him.]
Yeah. I mean, you've kept us alive thus far.
[And, maybe a little more importantly than that--]
You've kept me out of trouble.
[Not that she particularly goes looking for it, but he's quick to look to her, to see if she's all right. Check on her. She's noticed. He tries to cheer her up when she looks particularly sad, and he's simply there, filling some of the immeasurable space Gustave left vacant.
[ Verso's been here a few times, since they left, slips off on his own from the Expedition enough that it probably hasn't roused much suspicion. He has friends of his own here to pay quiet respects to, old memories and regrets. What he'd told Maelle was true, that sometimes he'd come here and talk to them, out loud. Sometimes it helps. Often it doesn't. And in recent visits, he's tried talking to Gustave.
There was never an apology. Somehow, it feels insulting to the man to even try. Instead he'd just -- tell him about what's happened since he joined the Expedition. How Lune and Sciel seem to be warming up to him, bit by bit. How Maelle had gone out of her way to include him as part of the team. He doesn't know if that's even more insulting, somehow, but Verso feels like the least he can do, the closest thing to an actual apology that might mean anything that he can give, is just -- the assurance that he's doing his best. Protecting them, keeping them going, that they're pressing on. One fell. They all continued. And he'd stand there, in the wind and silence, too afraid to voice questions that he wants to ask to someone he knows isn't there.
Now Maelle is here, and in some strange way, he thinks he can hear his voice in hers. He closes his eyes -- not wanting to turn and look at her. To see the quiet hurt he can hear in her voice, to know that he did that to her. ]
I don't think I've kept you entirely out of trouble.
[ Maelle does what she wants, more or less. Spirited, bright, strong. Weighed down by impossible grief, but more and more of her old self ( that he remembers from brief glimpses in Lumiere, running and laughing along the rooftops, rolling her eyes as Gustave chided her ) is starting to shine through again. ]
-- He raised you well. You've got sense enough on your own.
[ She's a clever girl. Just young, and a touch too bold because of it. Verso can only stand beside her, try to be at least a pale reflection of what she's lost -- a role he knows a bit too well. ]
Gustave wasn't able to keep me entirely out of trouble, either. I was rounding up.
[She crouches, knees bending as she takes in a breath. That Gustave could be reduced to just this breaks her heart. He was her everything. Father, brother, friend. And she knows how much he meant to Emma, his apprentices, their neighbors and the infinite number of friends he had in Lumiere. She supposes there's some comfort in thinking that, wherever he is, he may be with Sophie--but she's selfish and misses having him with her. In the next life. That might be sooner rather than later, depending on how the upcoming battles go, but she swallows that thought down along with the lump in her throat.]
He was just meant to be someone's parent. I'm lucky that it was me.
[If she continues down that trail of thought she'll cry, and she doesn't want to, so she sniffs and glances up to Verso. Something lighter.]
You're not snitching on me, are you?
[Verso is in a somber mood. She can feel it. He's harder to read than Gustave, and she hasn't had years to figure him out, but this is obvious.]
[ Somber, guilt-ridden, and miserable. It's too late to change his mind even if he wanted to, any attempt he made to tell the truth would fall on deaf ears. His choices are made, they're about to play out, and maybe he's here just because of all the choices he's made, this is the one he wishes he could have changed, because if anyone could look at everything he's doing and cast judgment on him, it would have to be Gustave.
Placing that on a dead man that he only ever knew from afar is probably more than a little unfair. But the grave is, as always, silent, and it's just Maelle next to him, crouching down to peer at Gustave's arm -- sniffing, as she looks up. She doesn't really want to linger on that, does she.
Verso half-shrugs, folding his arms loosely over his chest, raising an eyebrow as he regards her. ]
What if I am?
I think he deserves to know what you've been getting up to.
[ That is a lot of what he talks to the grave about. Maelle did this, today, she said this, she's fighting, learning, growing. You'd be so proud of her. She's carrying you with her. I know you wouldn't believe me, but I'm sorry you aren't here to see it. ]
[Snitches get stitches, Verso. She breathes out a soft laugh, looking back down at that fabricated arm sitting alone. Alone, except for the fact that she feels like part of her is buried here, too.]
Has he said anything back?
[Verso doesn't know what Gustave sounds like. Not his voice, not his laughter. He only saw him as a corpse, bloodied and still. Verso doesn't know Gustave's silly smile when he thought he made a clever joke--they often were--or anything at all about him, not really.]
I wish...
[The words trail off. She wishes for a lot of things. That she had been stronger. That they hadn't stopped to throw stones. That Verso had shown up earlier.
But that would be cruel to say. Still, the words are there, on the tip of her tongue.
Had he been minutes earlier, they wouldn't be standing over Gustave's grave at all. Lune could have healed him. They would he okay. Right?]
I like to think I can hear a bit of him in you, actually.
[ Maelle can't possibly know how much Verso means that, too, past a platitude. Since Clea unceremoniously found him and and gave him another unwelcome truth that he'd be forced to live with for the rest of his miserable too-long life, Verso has known about Alicia being born into the canvas. He couldn't exactly be there all the time, but he'd made the efforts, slipping off to Lumiere for a day or two with Esquie's help at least once or twice a year, keeping an eye on her from afar. He could never really say he was there for her in any meaningful way, but Verso did see enough to know that her parents left her too young, that other families also didn't give her enough time, and that the year he started seeing Gustave and his older sister in her life is when Verso noticed how much more she was starting to smile. He'd only see distant glimpses into their lives, into what Maelle and Gustave had with each other, but it was enough to know how much she meant to him, how much he meant to her, the mark that they've left on each other.
The legacy he leaves will be in her, in his apprentices, in Lumiere.
At her trailed off murmur, he just -- closes his eyes. Reaching out to her, settling a gentle hand over her shoulder. ]
I know.
[ She doesn't need to say it. He knows.
He knows and he understands, with all the weight of truth. The memory of standing there on the edge of that cliff, crouched low and watching as the man somehow struggled to his feet, as he stood against Renoir for far, far longer than any one Expeditioner should have been able to do. He kept watching, even as the girl he's watched grow up these past sixteen years cried and screamed and battered her fists against a barrier she couldn't possibly understand she had the power to entirely unmake. He kept watching as her heart broke, as her world unraveled, and -- when he realized, beside him, stone-cold and silent, was Alicia.
Sometimes he thinks the guilt of her presence made him act. But in the end, he'd chosen to wait, and now they're here, standing in front of that man's grave, trying to comfort the daughter he raised with his own hands. And what does that make him? A shadow, a monster, a -- there aren't really many words. But whatever Gustave was ( and whatever Verso was ), he knows he's far from it.
Before he realizes what he's saying, there are more words falling from his lips, his voice gaunt and hollow and ringing in his ears like someone else is saying them. ]
[Once, she would have laughed--no way does she sound like Gustave, his heartfelt laugh, his stumbled words when excited or nervous or simply passionate about the subject at hand. She doesn't have as many words to trip over. And while Verso couldn't know these things about him, now, she hopes he's right. She was not Gustave's child by blood, but she is his legacy. Not just because of the Lumina Converter, but because he raised her right, and he was good.]
I know. [He's said it so many times. Tried to offer condolences she brushed away. It's easier now to accept them, knowing who Verso is as a person, as a friend, but the words still bother her in a peculiar way.] It's not your fault.
[Right? She looks up to him, chewing on her words for a moment before deciding to say them.]
Sometimes I wonder... if you'd only arrived moments earlier. How different would things be? He was hurt, but--
[He could have lived. Maelle's blue eyes search for Verso's, looking for something she's unsure of, really. Just something.]
[ It's not his fault because he wasn't holding the knife, but a bystander watching a throat get slit is just as complicit, especially an entirely capable one. Verso can't defeat Renoir, but he can certainly stop him, could definitely have bought the man enough time to get back to his friends.
And what does this matter? Just another Expeditioner. He's watched so many die, over so many years, stood by as Renoir slaughtered them by the dozens. He used to fight Renoir on every single one, but as the decades went by, as time went on. The deaths still weigh heavy on his heart, and being here, especially, surrounded by grave markers he remembers carving and shaping and driving into the ground until his fingers splintered and bled, but no matter how hard he tries it all blends together. This isn't even the first Expeditioner he's allowed to take a fall to help him earn his way into trust. Gustave only stands out to him now because of Maelle, and would he even care that much, if he didn't know who she really was?
( Of course he would. He knows the truth and still hasn't thought of her as Alicia since they met, a name that sometimes enters his thoughts on the edges, but -- this is Maelle. Bold, playful, ornery, stronger than she knows. She'd so readily accepted him as one of them, chosen to trust him, and. )
Just another death to his name. When it all ends, maybe his miserable debts will finally be gone, too. He should probably just accept this, say there's no point in dwelling on the past, but instead what comes out, halting and hesitant; ]
I'm sorry. I know it isn't what you want to hear, but --
-- If I'd arrived sooner. [ And he did arrive sooner. He'd watched them the whole time, was there before Renoir arrived, was there when it was just them and the lampmaster. He made a choice. ] All he needed was a bit more time. I could've gotten him back somewhere safe. I could've brought him to Lune.
[ He's thought about it too many times. There were numerous fractal paths he could've taken that could've saved his life. Why did he choose this one? Verso looks at Maelle, next to him, at her sorrow in her searching eyes.
[It isn't what she wants to hear, but it's what she suspected. Had Verso had arrived sooner, Gustave could have lived. It would have been difficult, even with Lune's skills, but he would have had a chance. Maybe he would have to remain at camp for a while, and Maelle wouldn't have minded. She would have stayed, made sure he was well. Kept him safe. Anything would have been better than the reality, and it's so hard sometimes to remember the warmth of Gustave's smile instead of the cold, lifeless expression on his face, discarded on the stones. Sirene was dangerous, but secretly, Maelle is glad she got to see him again looking alive and proud, if only for a moment.]
But you didn't arrive sooner.
[It's no accusation.
Is it?
Maelle's eyes, so similar a blue to his, remain on him. Verso's timing had always been strange. Too convenient. She's seen how fast he can move. She's seen how aware he is of the world around him and all the sounds and movements around them, born after decades and decades on the Continent.
And he apologizes and apologizes. Apologizes for a man he's never known beyond how Maelle and the others miss and mourn him. He must have apologized for this more than any other thing in his life.]
[ Verso doesn't think it's an accusation. Maelle's always been sharp, in a dozen different ways: a sharp wit, a sharp tongue, observant and piercing with it. He'd caught glimpses of it from afar in Lumiere, has gotten to experience it first-hand now -- but she trusts him, for better and for worse.
But he hears one in her words, anyway. His guilt lurching deep in his stomach, something cold reaching through him to grasp at his lungs. He can feel her eyes on him, even as he keeps looking at their little makeshift grave, at that metallic arm resting amongst fallen leaves.
He wishes he'd chosen differently. But at the time . . . ]
I could have saved him. [ His voice is quiet, hanging in the air. ] I just -- Didn't.
[ Coward.
He wasn't Renoir, but he could have stopped him. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have killed him. In all of Verso's visits to this quiet sanctuary away from the Paintress' gaze, for all the time he's spent talking to the echo of a man he's never met, he's not been able to say that truth out loud. He's thought the words in his mind, he's told the grave that he regrets it ( but might still do the same thing if he had a chance to go back ), but the only thing he's really been able to say about it was just, apologies. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I wish it was different. It could've been different. I'm sorry.
Verso folds his arms loosely over his chest, eyes still cast down, his expression as quiet and distant as ever. ]
[Could have. But didn't. Maelle inhales sharply, but she doesn't think it a confession of anything but guilt. She could have saved Gustave, too. Could have. Didn't. Couldn't. Perhaps if she'd been quicker or stronger. Things Verso might feel, too.
He's seen firsthand what Gustave's loss has done to not only her, but Sciel and Lune, even without knowing him. He must know she writes in his journal every night because she wants to continue his legacy. Sciel talks to the stars, to Gustave, and Lune makes sure the Lumina Converter works properly, because Gustave's work couldn't be wasted. They had to continue.]
He'd forgive you.
[She says quietly, looking down at Gustave's arm. He would.]
[ It's good thing they aren't facing each other, because for a moment before Verso can fully steel his expression, he looks a little like he's been struck.
Stabbed. Shot. A blade levelled at his chest and slid neatly between his ribs until it pierces through what's left of his miserable, still-beating heart. His breath catches like he can feel all the air caught in his throat , twisting violently around his lungs. As a thing to say, it's kind, achingly kind, gentle and loving in a way that he's quickly learned Maelle can often be, neatly tucked away behind her sharp wit and sharper tongue. It's gentle and affirming, stubbornly asserted with no room for disapproval. He remembers her giving him the armband. He remembers her calling him one of us.
But this, this. He'd forgive you. That doesn't mean anything. She's not Gustave --
-- but he can hear him in her voice. He's always been able to, the echo of a man he only knows from afar, that he knows mostly from the shape of the empty space he's left behind that Verso himself has tried unsuccessfully to fill.
He feels like he wants to throw up. Like he's been given something sweet and kind and his body itself rejects it the same way it would reject poison, knowing that he doesn't deserve it, that Maelle doesn't even understand half of what she's trying to absolve him of, in all her kindness, in all of her trust and love. Verso struggles to school his expression back into just something quiet and neutral and pensive, his arms locking a little tighter where they're folded over his chest, fingers twitching against his uniform. ]
He shouldn't.
[ He really, really shouldn't. She shouldn't.
He shouldn't be here. Verso closes his eyes, feels as if the world is starting to spin under his feet. He shouldn't be here. Gustave should be here, next to her. He shouldn't -- and yet, he is. ]
[The guilt is eating him alive. She can hear it, though she keeps her eyes forward. Maelle is sure that Gustave isn't the first expeditioner he's failed to save and feels sorry for. Maybe he's met other broken parties, struggling to carry on. He's had to see this over and over and over.
He shouldn't. Gustave would forgive him for that and more, even if it really wasn't his place. He was good, and Verso is good, and Maelle feels her heart ache for him. It's why she quietly gets to her feet and leans into Verso's side, a gentle weight, but not an embrace.]
He would anyway. So would I.
[As many alternatives could have played out that night, the reality is that Gustave died. But they're here. The best they can do is carry on in his memory.]
There's only one person responsible for what happened.
[ Gustave is far from the first Expeditioner he's failed to save. He's also not the first he's simply let die. He's not even the worst -- Verso has played a more active role in killing a good number ( he thinks of her all the time, beautiful even in her anger and fury, of the light leaving her eyes when he his sword finds the gap between her ribs and he drives it through ).
Maelle also isn't the first to trust him, to sense some of his guilt, to try to ease it from him. But Maelle is the first to have invited him in so readily, to trust and love in the way only someone like her could, to have so quickly distinctly learned to look at him not just as an ally or a worthy teammate but family. She looks at him like a brother, he knows, much like how he can't help but see her like a sister -- not Alicia, he's reminded himself over and over, but he can't help but wonder. Is that why? Does part of her recognize some shade of something in him?
There's only one person responsible, Maelle says, and there's some truth to that, except Verso lifts his head, and everywhere he looks, this quiet little grove is filled with regrets. The fluttering of armbands, of the people he couldn't save. He hadn't known, back then, just what he was capable of, but that's not eased his guilt over the years, every time he's come here. He should have known. He should have found out. And with Gustave, while Verso could never really face down Renoir on his own, he knows, he could have saved him --
He recoils from Maelle's touch, jerking away a bit too quickly, like the weight the simple weight of her presence and her touch burns him like fire. Verso regrets it immediately, but he's already moved, a hand running up along his side as he steps back, shaking his head. ]
Maelle.
I -- [ Coward. Say it. Putain, say it, look at her in the eyes when you say it, except he can't. His gaze drops to her feet, to the gentle drift of falling leaves, to Gustave's arm, gently embraced by the Earth. He takes another step back. ] -- I could have saved him.
It wasn't luck. It wasn't timing. It was a choice.
Edited (fussing dont mind me) 2025-07-25 23:59 (UTC)
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It was Verso.
She'd cared less for Verso, before. He was their ticket forward, and Maelle was happy to leave it at that, but he's since become a friend. Even if he lied, hid things. He had saved her. He had made sure Gustave was put to rest somewhere beautiful. He fought alongside them.
It meant a lot to her. It still does, and finding him here makes her wonder if he'd come to speak to the dead, too.
As she steps beside him, she lightly touches his arm, glancing up at him before her eyes fall to Gustave's grave. His arm, neatly laid to rest. She thinks of all the times she would take that fabricated hand in hers and pull him along the rooftops of Lumiere, or feel that arm wrap around her alongside the one of flesh and bone, and how safe and loved she felt in his embrace.
She'll never stop missing him.]
Yeah. I mean, you've kept us alive thus far.
[And, maybe a little more importantly than that--]
You've kept me out of trouble.
[Not that she particularly goes looking for it, but he's quick to look to her, to see if she's all right. Check on her. She's noticed. He tries to cheer her up when she looks particularly sad, and he's simply there, filling some of the immeasurable space Gustave left vacant.
She wants to think he'd appreciate that.]
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There was never an apology. Somehow, it feels insulting to the man to even try. Instead he'd just -- tell him about what's happened since he joined the Expedition. How Lune and Sciel seem to be warming up to him, bit by bit. How Maelle had gone out of her way to include him as part of the team. He doesn't know if that's even more insulting, somehow, but Verso feels like the least he can do, the closest thing to an actual apology that might mean anything that he can give, is just -- the assurance that he's doing his best. Protecting them, keeping them going, that they're pressing on. One fell. They all continued. And he'd stand there, in the wind and silence, too afraid to voice questions that he wants to ask to someone he knows isn't there.
Now Maelle is here, and in some strange way, he thinks he can hear his voice in hers. He closes his eyes -- not wanting to turn and look at her. To see the quiet hurt he can hear in her voice, to know that he did that to her. ]
I don't think I've kept you entirely out of trouble.
[ Maelle does what she wants, more or less. Spirited, bright, strong. Weighed down by impossible grief, but more and more of her old self ( that he remembers from brief glimpses in Lumiere, running and laughing along the rooftops, rolling her eyes as Gustave chided her ) is starting to shine through again. ]
-- He raised you well. You've got sense enough on your own.
[ She's a clever girl. Just young, and a touch too bold because of it. Verso can only stand beside her, try to be at least a pale reflection of what she's lost -- a role he knows a bit too well. ]
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[She crouches, knees bending as she takes in a breath. That Gustave could be reduced to just this breaks her heart. He was her everything. Father, brother, friend. And she knows how much he meant to Emma, his apprentices, their neighbors and the infinite number of friends he had in Lumiere. She supposes there's some comfort in thinking that, wherever he is, he may be with Sophie--but she's selfish and misses having him with her. In the next life. That might be sooner rather than later, depending on how the upcoming battles go, but she swallows that thought down along with the lump in her throat.]
He was just meant to be someone's parent. I'm lucky that it was me.
[If she continues down that trail of thought she'll cry, and she doesn't want to, so she sniffs and glances up to Verso. Something lighter.]
You're not snitching on me, are you?
[Verso is in a somber mood. She can feel it. He's harder to read than Gustave, and she hasn't had years to figure him out, but this is obvious.]
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Placing that on a dead man that he only ever knew from afar is probably more than a little unfair. But the grave is, as always, silent, and it's just Maelle next to him, crouching down to peer at Gustave's arm -- sniffing, as she looks up. She doesn't really want to linger on that, does she.
Verso half-shrugs, folding his arms loosely over his chest, raising an eyebrow as he regards her. ]
What if I am?
I think he deserves to know what you've been getting up to.
[ That is a lot of what he talks to the grave about. Maelle did this, today, she said this, she's fighting, learning, growing. You'd be so proud of her. She's carrying you with her. I know you wouldn't believe me, but I'm sorry you aren't here to see it. ]
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Has he said anything back?
[Verso doesn't know what Gustave sounds like. Not his voice, not his laughter. He only saw him as a corpse, bloodied and still. Verso doesn't know Gustave's silly smile when he thought he made a clever joke--they often were--or anything at all about him, not really.]
I wish...
[The words trail off. She wishes for a lot of things. That she had been stronger. That they hadn't stopped to throw stones. That Verso had shown up earlier.
But that would be cruel to say. Still, the words are there, on the tip of her tongue.
Had he been minutes earlier, they wouldn't be standing over Gustave's grave at all. Lune could have healed him. They would he okay. Right?]
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[ Maelle can't possibly know how much Verso means that, too, past a platitude. Since Clea unceremoniously found him and and gave him another unwelcome truth that he'd be forced to live with for the rest of his miserable too-long life, Verso has known about Alicia being born into the canvas. He couldn't exactly be there all the time, but he'd made the efforts, slipping off to Lumiere for a day or two with Esquie's help at least once or twice a year, keeping an eye on her from afar. He could never really say he was there for her in any meaningful way, but Verso did see enough to know that her parents left her too young, that other families also didn't give her enough time, and that the year he started seeing Gustave and his older sister in her life is when Verso noticed how much more she was starting to smile. He'd only see distant glimpses into their lives, into what Maelle and Gustave had with each other, but it was enough to know how much she meant to him, how much he meant to her, the mark that they've left on each other.
The legacy he leaves will be in her, in his apprentices, in Lumiere.
At her trailed off murmur, he just -- closes his eyes. Reaching out to her, settling a gentle hand over her shoulder. ]
I know.
[ She doesn't need to say it. He knows.
He knows and he understands, with all the weight of truth. The memory of standing there on the edge of that cliff, crouched low and watching as the man somehow struggled to his feet, as he stood against Renoir for far, far longer than any one Expeditioner should have been able to do. He kept watching, even as the girl he's watched grow up these past sixteen years cried and screamed and battered her fists against a barrier she couldn't possibly understand she had the power to entirely unmake. He kept watching as her heart broke, as her world unraveled, and -- when he realized, beside him, stone-cold and silent, was Alicia.
Sometimes he thinks the guilt of her presence made him act. But in the end, he'd chosen to wait, and now they're here, standing in front of that man's grave, trying to comfort the daughter he raised with his own hands. And what does that make him? A shadow, a monster, a -- there aren't really many words. But whatever Gustave was ( and whatever Verso was ), he knows he's far from it.
Before he realizes what he's saying, there are more words falling from his lips, his voice gaunt and hollow and ringing in his ears like someone else is saying them. ]
I really am sorry.
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I know. [He's said it so many times. Tried to offer condolences she brushed away. It's easier now to accept them, knowing who Verso is as a person, as a friend, but the words still bother her in a peculiar way.] It's not your fault.
[Right? She looks up to him, chewing on her words for a moment before deciding to say them.]
Sometimes I wonder... if you'd only arrived moments earlier. How different would things be? He was hurt, but--
[He could have lived. Maelle's blue eyes search for Verso's, looking for something she's unsure of, really. Just something.]
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And what does this matter? Just another Expeditioner. He's watched so many die, over so many years, stood by as Renoir slaughtered them by the dozens. He used to fight Renoir on every single one, but as the decades went by, as time went on. The deaths still weigh heavy on his heart, and being here, especially, surrounded by grave markers he remembers carving and shaping and driving into the ground until his fingers splintered and bled, but no matter how hard he tries it all blends together. This isn't even the first Expeditioner he's allowed to take a fall to help him earn his way into trust. Gustave only stands out to him now because of Maelle, and would he even care that much, if he didn't know who she really was?
( Of course he would. He knows the truth and still hasn't thought of her as Alicia since they met, a name that sometimes enters his thoughts on the edges, but -- this is Maelle. Bold, playful, ornery, stronger than she knows. She'd so readily accepted him as one of them, chosen to trust him, and. )
Just another death to his name. When it all ends, maybe his miserable debts will finally be gone, too. He should probably just accept this, say there's no point in dwelling on the past, but instead what comes out, halting and hesitant; ]
I'm sorry. I know it isn't what you want to hear, but --
-- If I'd arrived sooner. [ And he did arrive sooner. He'd watched them the whole time, was there before Renoir arrived, was there when it was just them and the lampmaster. He made a choice. ] All he needed was a bit more time. I could've gotten him back somewhere safe. I could've brought him to Lune.
[ He's thought about it too many times. There were numerous fractal paths he could've taken that could've saved his life. Why did he choose this one? Verso looks at Maelle, next to him, at her sorrow in her searching eyes.
( He knows exactly why. ) ]
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But you didn't arrive sooner.
[It's no accusation.
Is it?
Maelle's eyes, so similar a blue to his, remain on him. Verso's timing had always been strange. Too convenient. She's seen how fast he can move. She's seen how aware he is of the world around him and all the sounds and movements around them, born after decades and decades on the Continent.
And he apologizes and apologizes. Apologizes for a man he's never known beyond how Maelle and the others miss and mourn him. He must have apologized for this more than any other thing in his life.]
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But he hears one in her words, anyway. His guilt lurching deep in his stomach, something cold reaching through him to grasp at his lungs. He can feel her eyes on him, even as he keeps looking at their little makeshift grave, at that metallic arm resting amongst fallen leaves.
He wishes he'd chosen differently. But at the time . . . ]
I could have saved him. [ His voice is quiet, hanging in the air. ] I just -- Didn't.
[ Coward.
He wasn't Renoir, but he could have stopped him. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have killed him. In all of Verso's visits to this quiet sanctuary away from the Paintress' gaze, for all the time he's spent talking to the echo of a man he's never met, he's not been able to say that truth out loud. He's thought the words in his mind, he's told the grave that he regrets it ( but might still do the same thing if he had a chance to go back ), but the only thing he's really been able to say about it was just, apologies. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I wish it was different. It could've been different. I'm sorry.
Verso folds his arms loosely over his chest, eyes still cast down, his expression as quiet and distant as ever. ]
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He's seen firsthand what Gustave's loss has done to not only her, but Sciel and Lune, even without knowing him. He must know she writes in his journal every night because she wants to continue his legacy. Sciel talks to the stars, to Gustave, and Lune makes sure the Lumina Converter works properly, because Gustave's work couldn't be wasted. They had to continue.]
He'd forgive you.
[She says quietly, looking down at Gustave's arm. He would.]
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Stabbed. Shot. A blade levelled at his chest and slid neatly between his ribs until it pierces through what's left of his miserable, still-beating heart. His breath catches like he can feel all the air caught in his throat , twisting violently around his lungs. As a thing to say, it's kind, achingly kind, gentle and loving in a way that he's quickly learned Maelle can often be, neatly tucked away behind her sharp wit and sharper tongue. It's gentle and affirming, stubbornly asserted with no room for disapproval. He remembers her giving him the armband. He remembers her calling him one of us.
But this, this. He'd forgive you. That doesn't mean anything. She's not Gustave --
-- but he can hear him in her voice. He's always been able to, the echo of a man he only knows from afar, that he knows mostly from the shape of the empty space he's left behind that Verso himself has tried unsuccessfully to fill.
He feels like he wants to throw up. Like he's been given something sweet and kind and his body itself rejects it the same way it would reject poison, knowing that he doesn't deserve it, that Maelle doesn't even understand half of what she's trying to absolve him of, in all her kindness, in all of her trust and love. Verso struggles to school his expression back into just something quiet and neutral and pensive, his arms locking a little tighter where they're folded over his chest, fingers twitching against his uniform. ]
He shouldn't.
[ He really, really shouldn't. She shouldn't.
He shouldn't be here. Verso closes his eyes, feels as if the world is starting to spin under his feet. He shouldn't be here. Gustave should be here, next to her. He shouldn't -- and yet, he is. ]
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He shouldn't. Gustave would forgive him for that and more, even if it really wasn't his place. He was good, and Verso is good, and Maelle feels her heart ache for him. It's why she quietly gets to her feet and leans into Verso's side, a gentle weight, but not an embrace.]
He would anyway. So would I.
[As many alternatives could have played out that night, the reality is that Gustave died. But they're here. The best they can do is carry on in his memory.]
There's only one person responsible for what happened.
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Maelle also isn't the first to trust him, to sense some of his guilt, to try to ease it from him. But Maelle is the first to have invited him in so readily, to trust and love in the way only someone like her could, to have so quickly distinctly learned to look at him not just as an ally or a worthy teammate but family. She looks at him like a brother, he knows, much like how he can't help but see her like a sister -- not Alicia, he's reminded himself over and over, but he can't help but wonder. Is that why? Does part of her recognize some shade of something in him?
There's only one person responsible, Maelle says, and there's some truth to that, except Verso lifts his head, and everywhere he looks, this quiet little grove is filled with regrets. The fluttering of armbands, of the people he couldn't save. He hadn't known, back then, just what he was capable of, but that's not eased his guilt over the years, every time he's come here. He should have known. He should have found out. And with Gustave, while Verso could never really face down Renoir on his own, he knows, he could have saved him --
He recoils from Maelle's touch, jerking away a bit too quickly, like the weight the simple weight of her presence and her touch burns him like fire. Verso regrets it immediately, but he's already moved, a hand running up along his side as he steps back, shaking his head. ]
Maelle.
I -- [ Coward. Say it. Putain, say it, look at her in the eyes when you say it, except he can't. His gaze drops to her feet, to the gentle drift of falling leaves, to Gustave's arm, gently embraced by the Earth. He takes another step back. ] -- I could have saved him.
It wasn't luck. It wasn't timing. It was a choice.