Emma was kind enough to get you some pills from the chemist. She gave to me before she left for council business, but I was told I was only supposed to give them to you if you seemed "appropriately regretful."
[ He isn't hungry, and it's not just the latent nausea from his hangover that makes his stomach lock up at the thought of food. Sophie would tease him and coax him into eating some bread and drinking some water. Sophie... won't be the one looking after him anymore. ]
I'm a little afraid to ask, but: who put me to bed?
[Does that make it easier to stomach? She's not sure, but it warm bread sounds better than room temperature bread.]
I did. You're heavier than you look when you're bouncing off the door frames.
[Emma would have taken up that responsibility, typically, but she may have been cleaning up a mess elsewhere. It was kinder to let Maelle deal with the drunk rather than the drunk's... stomach contents.]
[ It's enough time for him to drag his unwilling body and aching head out of bed and over to the bath, where he dunks his head and washes up and doesn't look at himself in the mirror. Normally trim and neat, he simply throws a loose white shirt on, along with a clean pair of trousers, and lets his damp hair fall where it will after a morose attempt to comb his fingers through it. It's good enough, even if he'll be sweating alcohol for the next three days straight. ]
[Ten minutes gives her time to prepare his plate. A very thin slice of warmed bread, two pills, and a napkin in case he needs to hurl into it. Eugh. The most important thing is a big glass of water, filled to the brim, and Maelle carefully balances it all as she delicately ascends the stairs to his room.
[ He starts toward the door as the knock comes, hesitates, then goes to open the windows, letting fresh air come swirling into the stale room. Only then does he shuffle over to the door, opening it to let her in, head low and a hangdog expression camping around his eyes, his mouth. He feels too rotten to offer much more than an anemic shadow of a smile at her question. ]
Thanks. And... sorry. For.
[ Well. ]
...Everything.
[ He doesn't remember much, thankfully, so it's best to be expansive. ]
[She grimaces at the sight of him. Gustave's saving grace is that, while a messy drunk, he's not an angry or combative one. So, he was manageable--getting him up the stairs was a feat, but he was a little more lucid after puking up some of his drink once he got home. Maelle gives him a sympathetic smile as she steps in, stepping around him and bringing his remedies to his nightstand.]
It's okay. You're a silly drunk.
[Comes from being a silly guy in general.]
Here. Take these.
[She turns towards him to hand him the pills, glass of water in the other hand.]
[ Dry, as he turns toward her and reaches for the items. His right hand, human and full of nerves and blood vessels and muscles that are confused and irritated by his dehydration and last night's saturation in alcohol, would shake, but his metal left hand holds the glass of water without nearly as much of a tremble. He lets her drop the pills into his other palm and lifts it straight away to his mouth, chasing them down with about half the glass of water. It'll help the headache, at least. ]
[Maelle frowns. She wasn't going to bring that up. She wasn't going to bring anything up, really, but maybe he wants to talk about it. Maybe not. Only one way to find out.]
Do you wanna talk about what happened? Is it true, you and Sophie...?
[She sits herself on the foot of his bed, hands on either side of her, ready to listen.]
[ He picks up the plate of bread and comes to sit heavily on the edge of the bed, his whole body curved forward like some weight is dragging him down. Even the scent of the bread makes him feel a little sick, but it isn't only his stomach that's aching. ]
It's true.
[ The life he'd dreamed of and planned and hoped for, gone, just like that, four years too soon. The thing separating him and Sophie now isn't as irreversible as the Gommage, but he knows — he knows — it's just as permanent. ]
[It'd be easy to ask what did you do, tease him. But Maelle, by nature or proximity, can tell he's hurting. She can't kick him while he's down. He doesn't deserve it--and no matter what happened, she knows Gustave is a good man.
Still, she liked Sophie. She liked how happy she made Gustave. He always smiled when talking about her, singing her praises.]
[ His head tips, just slightly, but in the end he finds he can't look over at her, can't bear to see the sympathy in her eyes. Instead, he shrugs, shakes his head as he lifts his metal hand to pick idly at the crust of the bread. ]
Nothing very dramatic.
[ No fight, no flash of there and gone again. He knows now that this was a long time coming, though he'd fought against it for as long as he could. ]
[So, for something he's trying to downplay as a simple disagreement, she's not so sure she buys it. Then again, what does she know? Boys are still gross, for the most part, and she has no daydreams of romance or a future when she can't imagine anything past the next four or five years.
Even then, she tries her best not to think about it.
Sitting upright, she scoots over (careful not to make the bed bounce, and his stomach with it), to lean against his side.]
Whatever happened... I'm sorry, Gustave. Maybe give her some time?
[ His stomach lurches at the small movement, but it quiets enough that when Maelle leans against his side, small and warm, he can shift a little of his own weight to meet her. ]
I don't think time will help.
[ Time turned out to be the enemy, in the end. Four years until Sophie's Gommage, and he'd pointed out that if they were to have any time at all with a child, or even children, they'd have to start right away—
He brushes aside the hazy mental image of Maelle, another year or two older, with a blue-eyed, brown-haired baby smiling up at her from her arms. His chest and shoulders lift with a sigh; his head aches. And yet there's still simple, steady affection in his eyes when he glances down at her, though it's clouded right now with a constant ache. ]
[Maelle hums at his comment--time won't help. Why? It's there in her eyes when she looks to him, concerned. He's heartbroken over this. Luckily, Maelle is far too shy to investigate with Sophie herself, and so it may have to remain a mystery to her. In the end, she supposes it doesn't matter. All she can do is try and comfort the man beside her.]
Only a little? I could get you more wine, if you really want.
[Except no, it will probably kill him. And if not, Emma will kill them both.]
[ Maybe he'll go on a week-long bender, trying to put some distance between himself and his broken heart.
But he can't, and they all know it. He still has so much work to do on the latest iteration of the Lumina Converter, and he's scheduled to go out to the eastern farms with three of his apprentices in a few days to pilot their design for a high-yield crop harvester robust enough to work through multiple fields in a day while harvesting delicately enough to preserve the plants. ]
I think you'll hurl at the sight of a bottle, so... yeah.
[He's barely managing bread. She looks down at his hands, thoughtful.]
I thought you would marry her, some day. [You and everyone else that ever saw them, Maelle.] You both seemed so happy. I don't understand what happened.
[Maybe he doesn't, either. She's sure her remarks aren't helping him feel any better.]
[ He does feel sick: his head swims and there's a stabbing pain radiating through his temples. His stomach feels the way it did when he and Lucien and Catherine took a tour of Expedition 39's ship, out in the harbor. Everything... sloshing.
Maelle's comment doesn't help. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he sets the plate and glass aside so he can lean down and rest his elbows on his thighs, face in his hands. He is not, it turns out, too dehydrated for his eyes to prick once more with hot tears, though he wills them not to well out.
Muffled: ]
I thought so, too.
[ He hadn't just thought he would, he'd planned to. There was a ring, down at one of the jewelers in the market... it'll stay there, now. ]
[Oh. Maelle watches him, worried for a moment he may just get sick again, but it's actually worse than that. The sadness is threatening to overtake him. She reaches out to put a hand on his back, but a moment later thinks better of it and just scoots in closer to hug him.]
You always do what's best. Even if it hurts you. [He never complains about anything. So, maybe he earned the right to get absolutely trashed last night, and now he has the right to be sad. There's a lot to be sad about, and Sophie is a terrible loss, however it's happened.] It'll be okay.
[ She curls around him, small and warm, and he takes a deep breath, lifts a hand from his face so he can slip his arm around her, holding onto her like he used to hold onto his stuffed animals as a child. ]
Always, huh?
[ He certainly doesn't feel that way right now, but Maelle's looked at him with near-hero worship almost since she came to live with him and Emma. He'd rather flay himself alive than disappoint the belief she has in him, even on his worst days. Even today. ]
Yeah. It will.
[ It's an effort, but he manages to find a shadowed semblance of a smile for her. ]
How could I not be okay? I have you and Emma and my apprentices and my work. I'm a rich man.
[If Maelle is sure about anything, it's him. From the day they met, he felt like what she'd imagine home to feel like. It was such a strong and loud feeling, and it hasn't faded at all since. In fact, it's only grown. She adores him. It's there in the way she squeezes him, as if she could rid him of the heartache that way.]
We'll help you be okay. [Starting with this: keeping a hangover from taking him, and company so the sorrow doesn't suffocate him.] I don't have anywhere to be today. [And given that he's newly single--] Neither do you, so...
[ He grimaces, but she's right. He usual plans can safely be set to the side to begin gathering dust. ]
We could go down to the harbor.
[ It isn't yet being decorated for the Gommage or the festival, which he prefers. They'd still be staring out at the Monolith, too far away to hit with stones or even a shot from his pistol, but the sound of the waves might be soothing and he knows Maelle enjoys prowling among the ships. ]
Yeah? You think you can manage being out and about?
[It's a gentle tease, but with some real concern behind it. And what if, against all odds, they bump into Sophie? Or someone else that's curious about what happened decides to pry when Gustave seems a hair away from more tears?
Maelle doesn't want to have a bite record. The running away is already something she's trying to put behind her. Would it be worth it? Probably, yet...]
It's that or stay cooped up in here to wallow. And wait for Emma to come back and lay into me.
[ Emma will understand, when he tells her, but Maelle... Maelle is still so young. And she'd been an orphan, herself; he'd never quite been sure how to broach the topic with her, this dream of his, of children. A future past himself.
Who knows? She might agree with Sophie, that it's cruel to bring children into this world only to leave them a few short years later. ]
But no running along the rooftops this time, not unless you want me to lose my breakfast from five stories up.
cries about a timeline where gustave had kids and she gets to be a big sister
[Once he and Sophie became a thing, she did wonder. Long ago, people dated, wed, had children--grandchildren, even. It was simply what people did. But as time went on and there was no mention of children, Maelle simply assumed they had no interest. She could do the math, figure out how long they would have with a baby. Would that child become her responsibility, one day? To raise them in Gustave's stead? It was dizzying to ponder at such a young age, and now... she sees there would be no point. It didn't happen. Won't happen, now, given the time left to him.
It would make her sad to know it was something he longed for. He's a wonderful parent. The absolute best. As fortunate as she is to not have to share him, it's tragic that she's the only one to be raised by him.
Some time is better than no time at all.]
You're gross. [She says with a laugh.] No running. A slow walk, for your health. Emma will be impressed you got outside.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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That's not the story I heard. I guess it doesn't really matter. You're paying the price now, aren't you?
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[ In other words: yes. ]
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Or if you sounded like you were dying.
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I feel like I'm dying. Does that count?
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Do you think food will stay down?
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[ He isn't hungry, and it's not just the latent nausea from his hangover that makes his stomach lock up at the thought of food. Sophie would tease him and coax him into eating some bread and drinking some water. Sophie... won't be the one looking after him anymore. ]
I'm a little afraid to ask, but: who put me to bed?
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[Does that make it easier to stomach? She's not sure, but it warm bread sounds better than room temperature bread.]
I did. You're heavier than you look when you're bouncing off the door frames.
[Emma would have taken up that responsibility, typically, but she may have been cleaning up a mess elsewhere. It was kinder to let Maelle deal with the drunk rather than the drunk's... stomach contents.]
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Well, that explains the bruises. I'll be down in a minute, I should
[ Drag the pillow back over his head and perhaps suffocate himself in the process. Go back to sleep. Go back to yesterday, before— before. ]
wash up first.
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[To put it kindly.]
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Just give me ten minutes.
[ It's enough time for him to drag his unwilling body and aching head out of bed and over to the bath, where he dunks his head and washes up and doesn't look at himself in the mirror. Normally trim and neat, he simply throws a loose white shirt on, along with a clean pair of trousers, and lets his damp hair fall where it will after a morose attempt to comb his fingers through it. It's good enough, even if he'll be sweating alcohol for the next three days straight. ]
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She knocks with her foot.]
Decent?
[After last night that's all relative, but...]
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Thanks. And... sorry. For.
[ Well. ]
...Everything.
[ He doesn't remember much, thankfully, so it's best to be expansive. ]
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[She grimaces at the sight of him. Gustave's saving grace is that, while a messy drunk, he's not an angry or combative one. So, he was manageable--getting him up the stairs was a feat, but he was a little more lucid after puking up some of his drink once he got home. Maelle gives him a sympathetic smile as she steps in, stepping around him and bringing his remedies to his nightstand.]
It's okay. You're a silly drunk.
[Comes from being a silly guy in general.]
Here. Take these.
[She turns towards him to hand him the pills, glass of water in the other hand.]
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[ Dry, as he turns toward her and reaches for the items. His right hand, human and full of nerves and blood vessels and muscles that are confused and irritated by his dehydration and last night's saturation in alcohol, would shake, but his metal left hand holds the glass of water without nearly as much of a tremble. He lets her drop the pills into his other palm and lifts it straight away to his mouth, chasing them down with about half the glass of water. It'll help the headache, at least. ]
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Do you wanna talk about what happened? Is it true, you and Sophie...?
[She sits herself on the foot of his bed, hands on either side of her, ready to listen.]
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It's true.
[ The life he'd dreamed of and planned and hoped for, gone, just like that, four years too soon. The thing separating him and Sophie now isn't as irreversible as the Gommage, but he knows — he knows — it's just as permanent. ]
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[It'd be easy to ask what did you do, tease him. But Maelle, by nature or proximity, can tell he's hurting. She can't kick him while he's down. He doesn't deserve it--and no matter what happened, she knows Gustave is a good man.
Still, she liked Sophie. She liked how happy she made Gustave. He always smiled when talking about her, singing her praises.]
What happened?
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Nothing very dramatic.
[ No fight, no flash of there and gone again. He knows now that this was a long time coming, though he'd fought against it for as long as he could. ]
We disagreed on... a few things. That's all.
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[So, for something he's trying to downplay as a simple disagreement, she's not so sure she buys it. Then again, what does she know? Boys are still gross, for the most part, and she has no daydreams of romance or a future when she can't imagine anything past the next four or five years.
Even then, she tries her best not to think about it.
Sitting upright, she scoots over (careful not to make the bed bounce, and his stomach with it), to lean against his side.]
Whatever happened... I'm sorry, Gustave. Maybe give her some time?
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I don't think time will help.
[ Time turned out to be the enemy, in the end. Four years until Sophie's Gommage, and he'd pointed out that if they were to have any time at all with a child, or even children, they'd have to start right away—
He brushes aside the hazy mental image of Maelle, another year or two older, with a blue-eyed, brown-haired baby smiling up at her from her arms. His chest and shoulders lift with a sigh; his head aches. And yet there's still simple, steady affection in his eyes when he glances down at her, though it's clouded right now with a constant ache. ]
This does, though. A little.
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Only a little? I could get you more wine, if you really want.
[Except no, it will probably kill him. And if not, Emma will kill them both.]
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[ Maybe he'll go on a week-long bender, trying to put some distance between himself and his broken heart.
But he can't, and they all know it. He still has so much work to do on the latest iteration of the Lumina Converter, and he's scheduled to go out to the eastern farms with three of his apprentices in a few days to pilot their design for a high-yield crop harvester robust enough to work through multiple fields in a day while harvesting delicately enough to preserve the plants. ]
Water's probably a good choice for right now.
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[He's barely managing bread. She looks down at his hands, thoughtful.]
I thought you would marry her, some day. [You and everyone else that ever saw them, Maelle.] You both seemed so happy. I don't understand what happened.
[Maybe he doesn't, either. She's sure her remarks aren't helping him feel any better.]
... are you really sure it's over, Gustave?
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[ He does feel sick: his head swims and there's a stabbing pain radiating through his temples. His stomach feels the way it did when he and Lucien and Catherine took a tour of Expedition 39's ship, out in the harbor. Everything... sloshing.
Maelle's comment doesn't help. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he sets the plate and glass aside so he can lean down and rest his elbows on his thighs, face in his hands. He is not, it turns out, too dehydrated for his eyes to prick once more with hot tears, though he wills them not to well out.
Muffled: ]
I thought so, too.
[ He hadn't just thought he would, he'd planned to. There was a ring, down at one of the jewelers in the market... it'll stay there, now. ]
But I'm sure. We need to... go our separate ways.
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You always do what's best. Even if it hurts you. [He never complains about anything. So, maybe he earned the right to get absolutely trashed last night, and now he has the right to be sad. There's a lot to be sad about, and Sophie is a terrible loss, however it's happened.] It'll be okay.
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Always, huh?
[ He certainly doesn't feel that way right now, but Maelle's looked at him with near-hero worship almost since she came to live with him and Emma. He'd rather flay himself alive than disappoint the belief she has in him, even on his worst days. Even today. ]
Yeah. It will.
[ It's an effort, but he manages to find a shadowed semblance of a smile for her. ]
How could I not be okay? I have you and Emma and my apprentices and my work. I'm a rich man.
no subject
[If Maelle is sure about anything, it's him. From the day they met, he felt like what she'd imagine home to feel like. It was such a strong and loud feeling, and it hasn't faded at all since. In fact, it's only grown. She adores him. It's there in the way she squeezes him, as if she could rid him of the heartache that way.]
We'll help you be okay. [Starting with this: keeping a hangover from taking him, and company so the sorrow doesn't suffocate him.] I don't have anywhere to be today. [And given that he's newly single--] Neither do you, so...
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We could go down to the harbor.
[ It isn't yet being decorated for the Gommage or the festival, which he prefers. They'd still be staring out at the Monolith, too far away to hit with stones or even a shot from his pistol, but the sound of the waves might be soothing and he knows Maelle enjoys prowling among the ships. ]
The fresh air might help.
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[It's a gentle tease, but with some real concern behind it. And what if, against all odds, they bump into Sophie? Or someone else that's curious about what happened decides to pry when Gustave seems a hair away from more tears?
Maelle doesn't want to have a bite record. The running away is already something she's trying to put behind her. Would it be worth it? Probably, yet...]
I'm in if you are.
[She'll protect him.]
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[ Emma will understand, when he tells her, but Maelle... Maelle is still so young. And she'd been an orphan, herself; he'd never quite been sure how to broach the topic with her, this dream of his, of children. A future past himself.
Who knows? She might agree with Sophie, that it's cruel to bring children into this world only to leave them a few short years later. ]
But no running along the rooftops this time, not unless you want me to lose my breakfast from five stories up.
cries about a timeline where gustave had kids and she gets to be a big sister
It would make her sad to know it was something he longed for. He's a wonderful parent. The absolute best. As fortunate as she is to not have to share him, it's tragic that she's the only one to be raised by him.
Some time is better than no time at all.]
You're gross. [She says with a laugh.] No running. A slow walk, for your health. Emma will be impressed you got outside.