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"You are brooding."
Verso glances up at the voice. Across the fire, Monoco stares at him. Or at least, Verso assumes he is. He's never pretended to know what the original version of him was thinking when he put masks on their faces. Monoco walks back and forth, joints creaking as he works off his energy.
(Why can't his mother see, that even though he has these memories, they are not truly his? He thinks Monoco's name had something to do with a dog.)
"Alicia is here," he admits quietly. He hasn't decided how involved he should be. Doesn't know if he deserves to be involved with this version of her. Even though she's the real one and not his Painted sister, he still considers her his sister. "Clea stopped by not too long ago. Said she got pulled into Maman's powers. I… went to check on her."
Clea is one for standing tall, no matter the circumstances. She'll look death in the eye if she must. Tell the concept to wait for when she is ready. She will never be ready until she finishes that war of hers with the Writers. The war he can't comment on because it was waging long before that other him or Clea was ever involved.
She hardly looks him in the eye now. Avoids it like she'll be lesser for her grief.
Monoco cocks his head. Bumps it against his staff with a quiet ping. "Shouldn't you be happier?"
"I already have an Alicia." Verso rakes a hand through his hair. "She shouldn't have gotten involved. It's not for her to settle the war between our parents. But— Monoco—" He cuts himself off. Having never been much of a Painter, the loss of the skill never made him a Writer.
It's so much easier to communicate through music. He thinks it a shame the number of listening ears keeps diminishing.
"Oh this is gonna be good," Monoco shifts. "Spill your guts then. Might get a brooding evening free then."
Verso sends him a look, not sure if he should be as amused as he is about the comment. Brooding means unhappiness, of which he is currently not. More so confused over everything. Because why won't Maman let him rest? He quickly sobers as he thinks his next words through.
"Gustave… you met him, right?"
Monoco takes a seat on the bench beneath him.
"Well, now owowow… that's a name I haven't heard in a bit. Dare I ask the question of why the lover's name is being brought up now?"
"The… lover…" Verso flicks through the memories he has. He supposes Gustave was introduced as a mate. The easiest description for a gestral. They came into the Canvas a few years before Verso's death. It wasn't anything special… a sort of trip to show Gustave what he could do outside his passion. More than once Verso had to pull him back from falling down a cliff of some sort. "Has been Painted."
Again, Verso doesn't know if Monoco is truly staring at him or not. It certainly feels like he is though. His head is tilted his way.
"Are you sure it wasn't Gustave coming to visit?"
"No." Verso shakes his head. He had been hidden on the rooftops, the miscellaneous boxes and garden fixtures added to his secrecy. Clea said to keep an eye on Alicia, and Verso isn't stupid enough to ignore an order from her. As long as he does it intermittently, he decreases the risk of Clea hunting him down.
Alicia had been such a small thing. More fiery curls than body. She still has that fencer's habit of tucking an arm behind the small of her back. Expeditioners start their training young, but certainly not that young. She wouldn't have started welding a weapon yet. Would she still retain her other habits from outside this Canvas if this one shows so blatantly?
He had watched as she played in the flowers, deft fingers twisting the stems round and round as she made her crowns. There are other children running around,he can see them in the distance, but Alicia has always been one for the quiet clicking of her typewriter. Free of her burns, even from a distance he could see the glee in those blue eyes as they lit up. So very much like his and the rest of them whenever happy.
Verso had followed her gaze, idly curious to see who could make her so happy to see—
Gustave.
A few years younger he might look here, but still so very recognizable. Verso had felt like he had been plunged on one of Frozen Heart's icicles. Was he not enough for Maman? Did she truly need to Paint Gustave into all of this? Does Papa know about this? Surely not. Bad enough for one family to be ruined. Renoir would not have stood for ruining another.
Clea made no mention of Gustave when she had warned him about Alicia.
"Gustave isn't a Painter. He never would've asked. Not without Verso. They don't like Gustave that much. " Verso remembers that he is meant to be speaking. He keeps his sentences short. Alicia or Clea would have the words, he is sure. They've always been better at this sort of thing.
"Are you— going to get more involved?" Monoco asks him, not quite cautious enough to not ask.
"How can I?" he scoffs, more empty than bitter. The shock had drained him. "He doesn't know me. He doesn't know me anymore. It wouldn't be the same."
His wonderful Julie. Julie— who made him think for a moment that this world might deserve the chance to live. He still doesn't blame her for the things that happened. His own part to play started with his continued lies. Maybe he would have told her the truth if he had more time. He doesn't know. Hasn't allowed himself much more of a chance in recent times.
All he has is time now.
Time he's growing more tired of everyday he experiences it.
"Gustave was always funny." Monoco offers.
Verso looks at him suspiciously, the non-sequitur throwing him off. "Am I not funny enough for you?"
"Am I supposed to be happy with your broody self?" Monoco points his staff at him. The bell inside rings a little as he does so. "We're not fighting right now, so why don't you give me some other entertainment."
"I am not brooding," Verso insists, offended. "And you only think Gustave is funny because he would scream so often." Not in fright. Oh no, Gustave was as foolish as he was brave. He always made the funniest faces whenever he gave into the requests given to him by gestrals. He didn't scream nearly as often as Verso implies, but it had been enough to be remembered by.
He always smiled at Verso. And a distant part of him remembers the warmth he used to feel.
"They might not have been screams of terror," Monoco concedes. "But they were close."
"This version of him might differ," Verso cautions with an amused huff. And then he realizes— "He might differ. Fuck— he'll be on one of the expeditions."
There's no way he wouldn't. Gustave never cared much for being oppressed; he would get into arguments all the time with his teachers about holding his inventions back. And Maman is the most oppressive being here. Even now, Verso doesn't want him to end up another nameless corpse on this continent made graveyard.
Gustave had asked after the gestrals after he saw how they normally treat each other. There are plenty of them who still ask Verso about him.
"Then he shall be amongst friends." Monoco shrugs. "He was capable enough, I guess. There will be enough of us who remember meeting him."
"…And that Renoir?"
"We must hope that he'll at least give him time. It would go against his colours to separate family."
Verso sighs. "I guess so…"
"Now stop brooding," Monoco orders as he opens his arms. "Get over here. I'm already sitting so you need to come to me if you want to snuggle."
"Come to you?" Verso is already standing. "So demanding. Thinking this way or that. Which ever do you want me to think?"
Monoco wraps his arms around him. His fluff is the most comfortable part about him, the rest of him too bony. Verso always wakes up with aches and bruises whenever they fall asleep together. He's half-convinced Monoco does it on purpose in some weird sleep driven victory. "Whichever way you want."
It's not hard to be constantly reminded of why he doesn't want to be around the Painted versions of his family with words like these.
"Time to wake up, mon doux."
Verso has to bite back a laugh as he watches Gustave flinch away from the light. He's probably confused, he thinks fondly. He had found him at his desk the night before and had to carry him into bed. To mess with him some more, Verso pulls the curtains enough to make sure the entire bed is covered in sunlight.
It's Gustave's own fault for insisting there be so much light outside. He's fond of always being able to see the people around him.
"What time is it?" he groans into his pillow. Snatches the extra one beside him and places it over his face; Verso runs his eyes along the length of Gustave's prosthetic appreciatively. Watches his bare shoulders shift with bruises.
"Clearly, too early," the mattress shifts as Verso sits. He will never fully understand Gustave's penchant for working through the night. Though, that might have to be due to the echoing halls back home. He stayed up once to practice through the night and Clea threatened to hide away his piano if he kept her up again with his wailing.
She always did unintentionally keep him on a tight schedule. (Knowing her though, it was definitely not as unintentional as he might think.)
This version of home in the Canvas is so quiet. He's allowed to echo as much as he wants.
He pulls the pillow away from Gustave's head. Props his leg against the mattress as he turns to him. "Should teach a class on sleeping vertically. Might make your students as productive as you."
Gustave tucks his head against his thigh with a sleepy sigh. "Do as taught, not as seen. That's all they need to know."
"Ahh, Professor Gustave, the liar," Verso drawls. "Whatever shall we do when this scandal breaks out? You won't be able to finish the speech."
"Good thing I am not a professor then."
"I don't know," he runs his hand along Gustave's cheek. Adjusts his tone to make it seem like he's seriously considering his next words. "It has a nice ring to it, does it not? Could always make the position official."
"No, thank you. Then I would surely have to wake at appropriate times, and I can't have that. Actually— you can't have that either. You would never have anyone to carry into bed if I fell asleep at a reasonable time."
"Oh, is that the argument we're going with? Yes, whatever would I do with a free evening of carrying helpless princesses to bed."
Gustave draws back, a mild glare on his face.
Verso waits for his response patiently.
Finally, Gustave rolls his eyes with a sigh. He drops his face back into Verso's thigh. "Don't we have somewhere to be today? I can't think of any other reason for you to wake me up during such an awful hour."
"Dinner with Maman." Verso answers promptly. She's been wanting to meet with Gustave outside of a professional setting. He doesn't quite agree with her words, but she insists she know about the workers underneath her to know if she should trust them or not. Not that Gustave is one of hers in the first place, his passion leading him through a different medium.
"And that requires waking up this early?" Gustave looks at him, scandalized.
"Grown men need to be polite." Verso taps his cheek. "That means getting there early enough to impress Papa. Of course, this is all ignoring that we are technically already home. You get to be the scandalous secret instead if we are found out."
"Oh joy."
"Yes, it is."
"Are you sure we can't stay here a bit longer?"
Verso laughs at his attempt to get out. "In the Canvas? I'm sure that I can arrange for you to visit again. Your Chroma—"
"No, not the Canvas," Gustave shifts so he leans on his knee. "Although, coming back here would be a treat should we get the chance. The gestrals had some interesting suggestions about their sakapatat when I was talking to them. I still can't believe they use their former partners as weapons— though that can be a discussion for another time, I guess. I'm getting off topic though— I was referring to with you in general." He reaches up. Places his prosthetic on Verso's arm. "I'm sure we can come up with something to do for a bit of time."
"Gustave." Verso says in shock. Most of it is true. He's so used to his power being the center of attention that it never truly occurred to him that anyone could want him. It's part of the reason why he enjoys music so much. No powers to be found there. "Was that a full sentence?"
"Hey, now," Gustave looks away with a laugh. "Contrary to popular belief, I do think that those come out occasionally."
"Hmm… you sure about that?"
Gustave lightly taps him, "Stop."
"I just have to make sure—"
"Of what? Talking happens naturally—"
"Absolutely not." Verso insists as he leans down. "But it would be good if your newly acquired skill holds up during dinner. Alicia has been to overjoyed to know she can officially meet you outside of a classroom."
"It will hold up during dinner. Meeting people didn't suddenly become a new thing." Gustave laughs as he meets him half way. He holds Verso's face between his hands, and he can almost convince himself the prosthetic is as warm as flesh.
"Think we've got time?" Gustave sends him a playful look.
"For you?" Verso brushes those curls of his out of the way. "Always."
It's one of Verso's favorite memories when he bothers to think of them.
Neither seen, nor heard.
Regardless of their intentions, Verso wonders if his parents know how cruel they are. He was brought to life because of grief, but they are so wrapped up in each other, his intention isn't even being fulfilled. So what should his new purpose be when his original one can't be fulfilled?
He looks at his reflections; spots the gray hair of a dying man and he isn't even allowed to do that properly.
But, naivety dies because of love.
Maman wants her son back. Papa wants to save the last of his family. Alicia and Clea want their brother. Julie wanted a partner.
Should he meet this Gustave, what would he want of him?
Verso had been so willing to become these things for his people. If there had truly been a way for everything to be right, he would have been the perfect son. Would have cared for these versions of Alicia and Clea. Would have been the brother they needed. Would have done everything they asked of him and more. Moved the skies the way he once did as a child.
He avoids them all most of the time and no one is none the wiser for it.
His Clea has been missing for ages. He's had to stop looking for her; knows the real one enough to know she wouldn't simply leave her alive for no reason if she were kind enough to let her live in the first place. His Alicia paints her canvas at the top of a spiral. Alone, save for their Papa's creations.
It's not a life for her. All alone with only the occasional visits when Verso forces himself to stop being a coward. Alone except for when she brings herself down to interact with the leftovers of their Painted family.
It is not fair for her or Clea. And when he isn't being selfish, he thinks it might not be fair to him either, jaded years tearing him apart a bit more each time. They think themselves so strong, his parents. But is it strength when they are ruining a child's playground?
Verso almost wishes he could go back to the years where he wished everyone could live. Where he thought everyone deserved a chance to live their own lives. Choose who they want to be. Be among people, talking the day away. Play his piano and lose himself as much as they are losing themselves in the Canvas.
He forgets how time works in Canvases, but to live another forty years is not an appealing thought. Not with the way everyone is crumbling around him, the numbers searing his eyes with a golden gleam.
Will she be able to make a difference? The Paintress, Alicia? Darling Alicia who fell into Maman's power the moment she entered the Canvas? He wants to place the same amount of hope in her that Papa does. The hope she'll one day reach the stars. Aches to trust that his sister can turn this around in a direction; any would be better than this stalemate. Almost sixty years of the same thing.
And it will be more repeating.
Perhaps Gustave might be able to do something. It's a funny thought. Placing his hopes on a stranger. Gustave knows nothing about his true origins, for if he did, he would have been looking for the piece of Verso instead. Verso assumes no one told the real him anything, for he also wants to believe that there is someone merciful enough to help his family.
He isn't strong enough to resent Verso for dying; only mourns that he isn't strong enough to help those who remain.
"Esquie," Verso greets him with a pat on his plush stomach. "How are you?" He's 'sunbathing,' lying on his back on the rocks to dry off from his swim.
Even though they are in a cave.
And the only lights around are from the hanging lamps.
"Mon ami!" Esquie rolls over, and without another word, swipes him up and into his arms. Verso dangles there for a moment, not minding the contact if it is from Esquie. "How are you instead? It has been waaaaay to long. Even François was beginning to miss you."
"Really?" Verso very much doubts that. "I didn't know he could miss someone who stops by. Even if somewhat infrequently."
"THAT'S BECAUSE HE'S LYING!"
Ahh, there's François.
"But you were listening!" Esquie calls back cheerfully, voice as lilting as ever.
"I NEEDED TO KNOW WHEN TO HIDE!"
"Can he hide?" Verso leans on Esquie and folds his legs beneath him. "I mean— he's a turtle. They can only tuck their heads in. I suppose he can just look like a big rock, but even then he stands out with being the only big rock in the middle of the room."
Esquie runs a hand down his head consolingly. "François can do anything he sets his mind to."
Verso feels like he's going to be doubting François a lot today.
"Does that include listening? I have something I need to ask you."
"Verso needs a listener?" Esquie sits up, but he makes sure to tug Verso along the ride. "I can be Verso's greeeatest listener."
"…Thank you for being my listener." Verso ducks his head in thanks. Not that Esquie would ever accept his thanks. He knows exactly what he was created for—sometimes—and he's always happy to oblige. "Do you remember Gustave?"
"Gustaaaves," Esquie cooes.
"Staves?"
"He had a wooden arm."
"Huh… I suppose he did."
"Does Verso need to talk about Gustaves?"
"YOU HAD BETTER NOT BRING THAT HOOLIGAN BACK HERE!"
Verso snorts. "Did they not get along?" He didn't think they had been in the Canvas long enough to meet others outside of Monoco, Esquie, and some of the gestrals.
"François was jealous," Esquie chortles. "Verso used to come and tell us all about his feelings! It was François who finally told him to ask Gustaves for a courtship. And then Verso came by less often. He thanked François and went to see Gustaves."
"Did he really?" Verso breathes, impressed. His doubt in François grows greater.
"Gustaves always knew how to find my rocks," Esquie continues fondly. "Searching was always so faaaaast."
"Well, with how often you lose them," Verso chuckles, "that must've been quite the accomplishment."
"Indeed! But Verso said he needed a listener. Did Verso mean he wants to be the listener instead?"
"Well… how would you feel about being able to see Gustave again?"
"Is he here to visit again?" Verso can feel as Esquie perks up. "Did you hear that, François? Gustaves is back!"
"HE BETTER NOT BE!"
"Ah, no." Verso raises a hand in an attempt to settle Esquie down. "The Gustave I'm referring to is one of hers. She Painted him sometime ago."
Esquie wiggles. "Did she really?" It's the most bemusement Verso has ever heard from him. "Does this mean you get to have your own Gustaves?"
"I… don't think that would be for the best," he hesitates. This version of him does not remember. How can she truly look upon this facsimile of a person and declare him to be real?
From what little he had seen of this Gustave, he reminds Verso of a typical expeditioner. Training to leave to fight a losing fight. Oh, Maman kept the basics of him— because she's always been too brilliant, but she only ever knew him as Gustave the engineer. And Verso only remembers the pieces of their visits.
She must've seen something in him if she brought Gustave back.
Verso wonders what it was.
Because— does she expect for him to fall in love all over again? A whirlwind romance to last the ages? Gustave might not have been a Painter, but he could create such wonderful things. Enough to garner the attention from even the likes of Maman and Papa. Are they meant to be lost lovers meeting on a battlefield? A reunion powerful enough to last more than enough lifetimes?
"Verso had a Gustaves. Do you not want a Gustaves?"
"Would it be fair?" Verso whispers, almost afraid to speak louder. This was meant to be his world, and he can't enjoy the quiet anymore. Always afraid, he waits for the moment where one will fail sooner than thought. Julie didn't know and look what happened to her.
A strong part of Verso wouldn't be able to handle that with Gustave.
"Only if it makes Verso happy." Esquie hugs him.
Verso returns the grasp tightly. Such wonderful hugs he gives. Verso can see why the child returned here to see him.
If only he were lucky enough to suffocate in Esquie's arms.
Damn Alicia and her stubbornness.
He knows how she can be. He simply wishes it wasn't to the extent of herself.
As soon as he picks up Alicia, he knows he is not going to return. He can't. With Papa here, he has to get Alicia away as quickly as possible. Gustave will be safe, he tries to tell himself. He's caught glimpses of him training with Alicia and knows he can take care of himself. (Not against someone like Papa. Papa will destroy them all.) Against him, Alicia breathes hoarsely. So, he can only convince himself Gustave does the same somewhere else along these sands.
Clea said nothing about Gustave. Only Alicia. He has to remind himself that he does not know the person somewhere along these sands. (It would be easier if he didn't have a name. Didn't have the memories given to him by Maman or the pieces from his soul.)
Yet, he looks for Gustave anyway. Catches sight of someone who might look like him. Sees him still standing. It must be enough. Verso tries to convince himself it is enough because he does not know this Painted person. Maman barely knew him. Surely, she doesn't know enough about him to know him?
He settles Alicia down and away from the fighting. Brushes the curls she grew in to. Papa would never harm her. He's a desperate man clinging to a desperate family. A family in which Alicia is a part of.
Verso turns around; he always turns around.
Having been in bed together enough times, Verso looks upon the ground, sure he might see him lying somewhere. There have been enough explosions that anyone still around would have to be on the ground. Holding back a cough, he plunges back into the smoke.
Because he has to check.
They were close together, he recalls. He simply has to retrace his steps, get back to where Alicia had been collapsed upon the ground. She had barely been any taller, so it should be easier to find a grown man. (Curses this Gustave anyway for bringing someone so young on an expedition.)
Why?
Why must he do this?
Curse him anyway, but Verso doesn't want to lose another part of himself. Not until he can get a chance to meet him. Esquie's hope might finally be rubbing off him.
Just this once.
He will give into the memories that are not his and save the people they adore.
Gustave isn't around, and Verso's breath quickens. He has to be around here somewhere. There are too many nevrons. Even Verso won't be able to stay. He can still feel pain even if he can't die. And there are so many of them, he can't run far. Which means Gustave won't be able to run far.
Distantly, he thinks he can still pick out a few screams.
This is certainly one of the harsher expeditions. Destroyed the moment they landed.
There he is. His curly hair always stands out. Especially against the lights in front of him. Verso quickens his pace, tries to get to him, because he isn't moving.
Why doesn't he move?
The nevron slams down, but not before Verso tackles Gustave out of the way.
He's unconscious. And heavy. But the adrenaline forces Verso to move. He tosses Gustave over his shoulder. Sprints over the sand. Ignores how his feet slip as he blindly makes his way back to Alicia. The relief is nearly enough to bring him down when he reaches her.
One is heavy enough. Verso perseveres for them both.
Alicia will be safe in the Manor with him.
And for now, Verso stays in the trees, waiting and watching for the moment Gustave wakes up.
"I… remember him." Alicia, his Alicia tells him, voice rough. Guess she's the one approaching him now. Curiosity, he supposes. That hasn't changed. "He would always give me the seat next to you, even though we all knew you were playing for him."
She approaches quietly; finds him contemplating on one of the various cliffs. So rarely she uses her voice now. Either her or Maman forgetting she used to use it at all. From here, he has a clear view of her reach, and the Monolith.
Verso thinks about her words. Wordlessly, he raises his arm, waits for her to place a delicate hand in his before he gently pulls her down to sit next to him.
"It was only because he knew I would transition into songs for you."
"Was it?" she hums slowly. "That was nice of him."
"It was," he agrees solemnly.
She leans forward, twists to face him properly. Cautiously, she raises a hand and places it on his arm; it's not warm at all, but he soaks in the touch all the same. "Papa is making a move," she blinks at him.
"Is he?"
He doesn't know why she's telling him this now. Papa has been hunting down the stray expeditioners since they arrived. They've been making fairly good time, as the Manor had been empty when he visited. From the Indigo Tree to there in only a day. Leave it to Gustave to be impatient to reunite with his family.
"Your engineer is going to die."
Verso had been almost been expecting this moment to happen.
Still, the little pieces remaining of his heart manage to shatter.
"Then he wasn't strong enough," he takes a breath. Looks away from her piercing gaze.
"It might be an opportunity."
His gaze lands back on her. Attempting to search her face yields nothing with that terrible mask in the way. "Opportunity? But you and Papa—"
"Is between us," she insists. "And you. And Clea. And Maman. Between us. But not him." She shifts and places her hand on his chest instead. Right over his heart, as if she can hear the cracks and hold them together. "He's not one of us," Alicia says flatly. "But he's a part of you."
"But if he's dead—"
"You can use it. Big brothers are hard to lose. It makes little sisters want to go somewhere else."
"Like outside the Canvas," he breathes as he catches onto her thoughts.
"Like outside the Canvas," she agrees. "The rules of the Dessendre were made between us. But they are broken now. With the one who is not one of us. We are not. Just as they are not. As he is not. But he is a he. And so is she."
Her name is Maelle now. Verso heard the name from Gustave's mouth once, and didn't know who he was talking about until she came running into the room. She will always be his Alicia though.
A sacrifice play… well it certainly wouldn't be the first time Verso has used one. If he can get everyone out of this Canvas, it might bring everyone some peace. A cruel move; to have to make his sister watch her brother die twice. But she would be able to live her life truthfully outside of here, away from the building lies.
Sorry Esquie. You seemed so happy.
"Where are they going to be?"
It is time for this Painting to end.
It is a kindness.
Verso swallows hard. Eyes flickering, he takes in the moon above him. He can still hear the echoes of his father's cane as he walks away. Thump. Thump.
It is a kindness.
He looks down at Gustave's body and a harsh breath leaves his throat. He falls to his knees, strength forgotten when he glances to see how far his father has walked. It had been a simple thing, to think it easier to have him die.
(There's a twinge deep inside him. Verso weeps and weeps, because he doesn't know any better. Doesn't know Gustave is perfectly safe as long as he stays away from their family. Doesn't know it will be better to watch over them from a place of safety; where he can rest. Be allowed to close his eyes and play a piano instead of a paintbrush.)
Wrapping an arm under Gustave's shoulders, Verso lifts him. Runs the thumb of his free hand along his cheek in a cheap attempt to clean him. It's him alright. Even through his blurry vision, Verso would be able to recognize those curls anywhere. He almost laughs at the reminder of Verso being so enthralled with his hair. Somehow he always kept it soft.
When will the tragedy of their family end? Verso doesn't want to be a part of it anymore. He closes Gustave's eyes. Rests his cheek on him. Yes, he never got the chance to know this person. Glimpses are nothing when compared to a conversation, but he mourns the loss anyway.
Because if everything had gone the way Esquie said, this could have been his Gustave.
Verso picks up the arm that fell. Sleek and hot to the touch, static haphazardly bounces along the substance. He's sure the real Gustave would love to have a prosthetic like this. He was always itching the area where it met his skin. Wonders if this one loved to invent as much as him, because it had been quite the show to watch him blow Papa away.
Ahh, but he has to check on Alicia now. Make sure she doesn't get into any more trouble for now. Gently, he rests Gustave back on the ground. Arranges him so that he's lying on his back, even though he hates sleeping on his back. Verso takes another shuddered breath at the image.
It would have been kinder to wait for the Gommage.
But he looks peaceful, and Verso resolves to join him.
For now, he will take this arm and give it to the one left behind.