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The last thing Renoir remembers is being erased by the Curator, the Painter’s hand covering Maelle’s, her face set in stone. The golden hues fade into grey, crimson petals losing their color and then… nothing.
He doesn’t expect awareness to return to him, and yet his eyes open to the gray stones and raging sea on the Cliffs with Maelle sobbing brokenly, inconsolably over the body of a dead Expeditioner that Renoir killed a lifetime ago, the last human life he took before it was over. Was it enough to shift the scales?
This change in circumstances isn’t something he could account for or factor into his plans.
For a brief moment he allows himself to close his eyes, unnoticed, and composes himself. All he can do is try to get the best out of the situation he doesn’t fully understand, until he can make sense of it.
He approaches Maelle, who isn’t aware his presence until he’s close enough to touch. She flinches away, deathly pale and visibly shaken.
He should kill her now, send her back to her world and hope she isn’t strong enough to hold on to the Canvas yet. He knows this much. But even combined with knowledge that she isn’t truly his daughter and the impending, undeniable consequences of this decision he cannot hurt her, not while she’s staring at him with those wide terrified eyes, as if he’s the monster.
This time he doesn’t try to talk to her. It’s clear that she would be unable to remember or make sense of anything he could say, just like she probably didn’t back then. He approaches with the sole purpose of pushing her from the cliff so that she could rejoin her friends, ones that he’d have to dispose of at a later date, now that he knows how much threat they’d eventually pose.
Attacking them while they are on top of that creature is unwise though. Renoir has never tried to approach it or communicate with it in any way, and it’s another unknown factor that he cannot account for. That’s all there is to it.
Of course, this is the moment his son chooses to interfere.
Renoir lets the confrontation play out the same as before, watches Maelle leave, goes through the motions purely by memory. Seeing him again is harder than he imagined. He knew Verso intended to sacrifice their family and doom them all to death, but living through it is a different, sobering experience. This is not a betrayal one simply walks away from, but this is what Renoir does, walks away before his composure slips through the widening cracks. He doesn’t know what will emerge, doesn’t want Verso anywhere near the vicinity when the dam breaks.
Even now he will protect his son.
The Nevrons on this location will not provide a suitable challenge. He paints a door to return to the manor, sensing the chroma dissolve behind him as it closes to open in another place, and exits on the dark shores of the beach, decimating the first Noir he comes across. Then another. He loses himself in the rhythm of attacking and parrying, to the pain of the attacks that did land, relishing in it.
He stops when enemy count hits a dozen, allows the injuries he acquired to fade. The pain doesn’t. He pushes it aside, down into the deepest recesses of his mind, without examining it too closely.
It doesn’t matter. Renoir will persevere. He doesn’t have the luxury of losing himself, of giving up, not on his daughter and not on his son, not on his wife, not on their home. He will take a pause to refocus, and then find and destroy what is left of this Expedition. He made a mistake before, underestimating them and letting them live, allowing them to become a force to contend with, but he won’t repeat it this time. He doesn’t know what granted him this second chance, but he isn’t going to waste it.
Finding them is not easy. That creature moves fast, faster than Renoir can pinpoint their location with any degree of certainty, and Alicia refuses to help him this time, nor will she be convinced to travel to their camp herself so that he could follow. He cannot attack them in camp since the Curator is there, but he could shadow them during the day, find an opportune moment if he had a chance. His lapse in self-control has cost him.
By the time he finds them again, Maelle is at the front door of the manor. Verso tries to rush past her like he did previously, although he doesn’t announce his presence this time. He fails all the same. Maybe he’d have had better luck if he tried it to begin with, but Renoir has the advantage of a prior warning. He walks out of the front door, steps unhurried, blocks the entrance to his home with his own body. The doors slowly close behind him.
Maelle tells Verso to step aside and advances, her face a picture of cold, empty hatred when she looks at Renoir. He dismissed it the first time, didn’t see her as a real threat, attempted to reason with his son instead. This time takes note, and the hatred is not the kind that might make her focus slip or the one that burns bright, raging, dimming with distance. Her eyes are wide, unblinking, but not with vulnerability or fear. It’s the look of a predator, aimed for a kill with single-minded determination.
He turns away, forces himself to look back at Verso instead. It’s difficult and so painful to look do so. If his words come out rawer than he intended to, Verso doesn’t seem to notice, even though the boy himself comes across as tenser, less centered, more desperate in his father’s eyes.
Maybe it’s Renoir just seeing what he wants to see. If Verso felt guilt for what happened, maybe he could still be convinced to abandon his destructive plan, to be brought back into the family. Standing here, in front of his home, he knows that if there was ever a hope to solve this by force then it’s already gone. He doesn’t stand a chance, not against two Painters. But maybe if Verso could see reason. Maybe…
There is sorrow in those pale eyes, but also a set line in his shoulders, jaw locked stubbornly tight. He won’t find a leeway here.
Maelle remains silent during their conversation, not intervening and not asking any questions, and in his previous life he thought that maybe she was listening, factoring that in her final decision, even if he didn’t consider it important. Maybe she could be swayed to see their side, to stop the correct cycle instead of one that would bring them all to ruin. That didn’t happen, and Renoir turns to her instead, as if attempting to plead his case to another party even as he’s still speaking to his son. He watches her for any signs of confusion, curiosity, understanding, and only finds a void.
This time, back on the Cliffs, he didn’t try to speak to her because he realized she was in to state to even resister the words. Now he sees that she will not, likely never will at this point, that they land to evaporate on that barrier with barely a ripple. The revelation that Verso is his son grants only a slow turn of her head, not a whip and definitely not the surprised betrayal that should have warranted, as if it doesn’t really matter. And to her, he realizes for the first time, it doesn’t. He could reveal the full truth to her now, shatter her world, but nothing would take precedence over her target, over Renoir, something she seeks to destroy at all cost.
The rest of their party arrives and they are fighting again.
Renoir attempts to turn the scales in his favor with the knowledge he gained, but he already knows it will be a futile effort whether he wins or loses this battle. He has already lost the war. He manages to strike one last, devastating blow before Alicia shifts him, and the manor, away. He follows Alicia when she goes to their camp for that final conversation that will change nothing, and pleads his case fully aware of this. Then, there’s only waiting.
When they come to fight him on top of the Monolith Verso’s position is unchanged. Maelle doesn’t speak to him at all safe for that initial ‘you’, a confirmation, a marking shot, a target locking in place.
Renoir is erased.
He opens his eyes on the Stone Wave Cliffs. This time, he isn’t in the cave with an opening outlooking the Monolith. He is in the beginning of the cave system right where he had painted that door, the Lamp Master’s hiding place a few minutes’ walk from here.
Miraculously, he is given another chance.
Renoir knows what he needs to do. This time, he needs to kill Maelle before she becomes an unstoppable force impossible to reason with. It will not actually kill her, he knows, just hopefully remove her from the canvas before she gains enough power to stay or worse, awakens as a Paintress.
Renoir needs to protect his family.
He breathes deep, steeling himself, and pauses for a few moments. Strides into the cave with the same unhurried steps and, this time, aims his strike at Maelle. Releases the charge.
Verso emerges from the dark in a trail of light and parries the attack, glaring at him disbelievingly and almost indignantly like Renoir lost his senses. Which makes Verso a hypocrite, because if he is here now it means that he either didn’t bother to interfere to protect the Expeditioner before or deliberately let him die. Renoir wishes he was at least slightly surprised by this.
Verso snaps at both of them to leave, which they do, and Renoir doesn’t bother to pull up a barrier to try and hold them back. His son stands there in a battle position, a splitting image of a dashing hero staring down a villain. Renoir is tired.
“Are you really going to pretend to be the wronged party in this?” he questions. “After all these years?”
Verso tenses, staring at him suspiciously.
“You protect her,” Renoir continues, “And yet you would condemn your sister to death. Condemn all of your family to death.”
“You lived more than a lifetime,” Verso objects, an old argument. Renoir has no desire to rehash that conversation today. “Aren’t you tired?”
“What about them?” Renoir asks in lieu of an answer. The huge form is slowly disappearing into the distance, the four figures on it impossibly small.
Verso follows his gaze. Renoir can no longer see his face, but his Adam apple bobs and he doesn’t respond. His mind is unchanged. Renoir has nothing else to say, so he turns and walks away for a third time.
In this life, the confrontation in front of the manor goes differently. Verso is faster, combining the forced entry with an attack, but he still fails to make it past the front door. Maelle seems scared of Renoir, but cautiously curious. Her eyes dart nervously in between him and Verso as if she is actually trying to follow the conversation. When Renoir reveals that they are a family she flinches back a step and looks shocked, shaken. Verso, in contrast, appears progressively more and more dismayed. Renoir thinks he may achieve a different outcome this time.
And then the rest of the Expedition shows up and the man that should have died poses himself in between the two of them, his eyes boring into Renoir with cold fury. He is like a shield, impenetrable in a sense that Maelle only shoots Renoir one last mistrustful glance, and then her focus shifts entirely. She doesn’t try to get past her companion, clinging to him in a way that almost hides her from view. In turn, the rest of the Expedition moves to cover the duo, to shield them as well.
It’s clear that Maelle will not listen to Renoir while that Expeditioner is still around. In the end of the familiar battle Renoir releases a burst of concentrated chroma from above and the Expedition scrambles. The man shoves Maelle aside as the dark-haired woman shouts out a warning. Verso doesn’t parry the blow this time, though he makes a show of trying. Renoir kills the man again. Alicia repositions the manor again.
When Maelle finds him on top of the Monolith her expression is the familiar single-minded determination. Renoir is erased.
His awareness returns to the sight of the blooded Expeditioner standing in front of the barrier keeping Maelle trapped inside.
“Why are you doing this?” the man asks, and it’s only now that Renoir vaguely remembers that he has done something like this before. Renoir didn’t pay much attention to him and he doesn’t deign him with a response now, not even a look. Maelle watches the man with wide panicked eyes, and if Renoir attacks her now it will goad Verso out of hiding. Whether that will accomplish anything in the long run remains a question.
A sound of heavy breathing fills the air and the man summons his sword, shifting into battle stance. “We did nothing to you. We should be on the same side!”
Renoir needs time to gain his bearings. It’s unfortunate that the last loop dropped him in the middle of these events before he had the chance to think. Something triggered the change in it, but what?
The attacks that land on him are barely a sting, easy to ignore. “Let her go!”
A storm of red electricity sends him flying, back hitting a rock formation that pierces his torso straight through. He forgot about this as well.
Renoir might be immortal, but it does nothing for the pain. He has also had a trying few weeks. When a rush of fury overtakes him, he feels no need to hold it back.
Renoir’s body knits itself back together as he collects his cane and stalks up to the man. His prosthetics fell off at some point, leaving him one-armed, Renoir notes detachedly. He doesn’t wait for an incoming attack or for the man to finish his goodbyes. He stabs once, twice, making sure that strikes are nonlethal and as painful as possible, and with the final explosion of chroma sends him careening over the edge into the ocean below.
The man will die from the injuries, but not immediately. Very likely he will drown first.
“GUSTAVE!” Maelle screams heart-wrenchingly. Renoir is jolted out of the cloud of red at the reminder that she is still here, and he feels a pang of regret at having allowed her to witness his lapse in control. Torn from the inside, the chroma barrier around her vanishes and she drops down, landing on top of that creature where the two women are still locked in battle with the Lamp Master. She ignores it completely and slips into the water as they parry the stray hits thrown her way, swims to the spot where the man landed and dives beneath the waves.
Verso, who at one point appeared unnoticed by Renoir’s side, curses and leaps from the edge into the same general area, disappearing under the surface.
They don’t emerge for what seems like hours.
When they do, another dark head between them, the sounds Maelle makes in between stuttering heavy breaths aren’t even sobs. It sounds like she’s dying, like air has difficulty going past her throat, much less creating a voice. She sounds like…
Renoir paints a door on the closest vertical surface he can reach, unable to stand hearing it for a moment longer.
In Old Lumiere, for the first time in any of the loops, they come to the manor together as a group, and it isn’t only Maelle who has a death sentence painted onto her expression. Even Verso’s face is more closed off and less conflicted than usual. He looks at Renoir like he’s a stranger.
The man isn’t with them.
There isn’t as much as an attempt of a conversation and Renoir is absurdly grateful for it.
Alicia watches him with undisguised concern when she transports the manor away, but Renoir can’t bring himself to speak to her, much less explain what transpired. She probably saw it anyway, he realizes with a sinking feeling. Still, when she hugs him he responds by folding his arms gently around her, touch feather light, and doesn’t let go for a long time.
When they find him on top of the Monolith, he’s almost relieved.
Renoir is erased.
He stares at the entrance of the cave, a myriad of lamps alit inside. He contemplates it for a few moments, then swirls on his feet and walks away.
Renoir checks the perimeter of Old Lumiere at a set timeframe and he knows when the Expedition enters the city. He watches them from afar without engaging. Verso is with them, apparently having found another means to worm his way into their ranks. He banters with them like an old friend and keeps Maelle within reach at all times. Maelle doesn’t seem to mind, but the Expeditioner, Gustave, steps between them at two occasions that Renoir has seen, unobtrusive and soft, redirects her attention elsewhere. Verso seems exasperated by it, but not to the extent Renoir would have expected. There may even be some fond amusement underneath it, like an old joke between friends. The women do not hesitate to tease him about it, and it’s to no one’s surprise that neither does Monoco.
The change is so jarring Renoir doesn’t know what to make of it.
Maelle seems calm, centered, confident in a way Renoir doesn’t remember seeing her in any timeline, and he wonders at the change. The reason becomes apparent the more he watches. Gustave guards her without prohibiting, in small gestures like a hand on her shoulder when there is a Nevron around, but when she steps forward towards danger he lets her, choosing to stand by her side instead of holding her back, a silent support she can fall back on. He lets her make her own decisions, her own mistakes, and is there to catch her if she needs him. He listens patiently and without judgment. Their easy banter is a thing of envy. There is mutual respect there, a history.
With a slowly dawning horror Renoir realizes that he didn’t kill just any Expeditioner. He murdered Maelle’s father right in front of her, helpless to stop it, and didn’t bother to pay enough attention to see it. It has taken him this long to see it.
Perhaps at another time the realization would have invoked irrational anger and jealousy at the man for becoming the girl’s father, for daring to take that place in her life. Perhaps some other time he would be grateful to the man for doing such an exceptional job, maybe even find it in himself to thank him for it. For now there is only sickening, burning shame.
“This is a kindness, not a cruelty.”
Renoir would have liked to say that he couldn’t have been crueler if he tried, but he knows that not to be true.
He forces himself to pay attention this time, not just to his family but to the group as a whole. And the entire group seems lighter, more focused, more seamless than before. It should have been impossible, taking into consideration how united and driven they were in the previous timeline, but it’s as if a missing piece is slit into place to complete a puzzle. Despite himself, Renoir is intrigued as to how they would conduct themselves during a battle.
It’s almost a disappointment that in this timeline the Expedition doesn’t show up at the manor at all. They find what they were apparently looking for and take their leave, presumably straight to take out the Axons.
It means that Renoir has to find another way to speak to them.
He waits on the Visages Island until the change in chroma informs him the Axon is gone and intercepts the group near the exit. To his eyes they look a little subdued, the green-eyed woman specifically, perhaps tired after the long fight, but they shift into battle stance immediately. Renoir can’t help but note that Gustave pushes Maelle behind him even as the man himself looks terrified, and then Verso steps in front of them both and shields them from view, expression grim.
Renoir remains purposefully still and calm. “There is no need for this,” he says. “I am only here to have a conversation.”
“I wouldn’t put much faith into the words of a man who murdered countless Expeditions,” Verso counters immediately.
Renoir would have liked to point out that Verso didn’t have much objection to a particular Expeditioner being murdered, but then he remembers that it didn’t happen in this timeline because Renoir never finished his job on the Cliffs or, as far as anyone of them knows, even showed up there. Of course, there was another Expedition, but under no conditions will he throw that to his son’s face in a petty argument, or possibly any argument ever.
The pause costs him. The group tenses further, and Verso goes for attack, or rather, dismissal. “Please ignore my father,” he says casually, and Renoir almost stumbles. There is no surprise on any of their faces. To them, it’s old news. “We can incapacitate him and be on our way.”
Not in a single timeline has Verso ever argued towards ending Renoir’s life permanently, despite being willing to participate in it. Every single time he suggested the opposite to his companions, even in the last one, in spite of how fruitless it always ended up being.
Renoir must be at a very low point to feel warmth or any reassurance at the thought. His son looks almost smug, but he cannot even be irritated by the sight.
Despite his best judgment Renoir repeats “No need”. Holds Verso’s stare and says “I hope you know what you are doing,” and steps aside to let them pass. Continues walking on the path that leads to the mask of Anger and ignores obvious confusion and bursts of conversation behind him.
This time, on top of the Monolith, Renoir doesn’t get erased. Maelle tears her hand away from the Curator in horror when she realizes what he means to do, glances at Verso and backs away into the supportive embrace of her father who folds her in his arms immediately. Verso looks relieved, but also pained, worried.
They are at a standstill. Renoir will not back away and also will not let them pass, and while he has no hope of defeating them he also happens to be immortal and able to travel very fast.
“So… how about some rope?” the green-eyed woman suggests, and they exchange glances that he doesn’t like.
By the time he frees himself, he’s too late, only able to witness Aline fading into the cloud of golden petals, cradled in Verso’s arms. Grief hits him as he falls into his knees, his world shattered. The loss is indescribable.
“Esquie!” yells a familiar voice only a moment later. Verso’s face is filled with determination and he doesn’t pause, grabbing Maelle’s shoulder to get her to her feet, then closing the space between them and doing the same to Renoir, dragging him towards the creature. “Come, all aboard! There’s no time, I’ll explain on the way. Hurry!”
And he does explain, at least the abbreviated version, and bears the weight of their betrayed, justified anger and accusations. Renoir would be surprised or maybe sympathetic if he had the ability to feel anything. The altercation, however, is very brief and mostly unexplosive, considering the severity of the situation.
“We don’t have time for this,” the black-haired woman cuts off her own argument. She glares at Verso and he looks away with a small, barely noticeable flinch. “We need a plan.”
The plan doesn’t work. Renoir is erased alongside the entire Expedition 33 as soon as they land next to the original he was painted after.
Renoir opens his eyes to the sight of a blooded Expeditioner rushing at him with a sword, his own blade already drawn and headed towards the man. He knows at once that he’d be unable to stop the momentum. He reaches out to the damaged chroma and directs the path of destruction so that it flows within the riverbanks shaped by previous strike, with as little deviation as he is capable of, and can immediately tell that he didn’t fully manage that, not within such short distance and time window. He suppresses the outburst of chroma that wants to rip blood vessels and tear through organs and dismisses the weapon, worried that the man’s weight might make the blade hit something vital like the heart or the main artery.
Gustave collapses bonelessly to the ground, deeply unconscious, or so Renoir hopes. He probably should have caught the man and lowered him down more gently, but he’s afraid to touch him. He’s even more terrified to check for breathing or a heartbeat.
“GUSTAVE!” comes the desperate scream, familiar by now, but no less heartbreaking.
Renoir moves a few steps away to let Maelle check on her father and watches in silence. It’s easy to see how devastated she is by what she experienced, face pale, breath stuttering. She’s trembling so badly that her movements are jerky, like walking is a struggle, and she crawls to the body on the stone floor on her knees. Looking back, he cannot tell if he didn’t notice, dismissed or willfully ignored it at the time. It seems so long ago. He also cannot decide which one is worse and settles for each option being equally terrible.
He wishes to comfort her, but he is the least suitable person for the role at the moment. His very presence is having the opposite effect. He should probably leave, but he can’t bear to do so without knowing.
Maelle’s visibly shaking fingers reach out to the pulse point on Gustave’s neck and she summons a revival tint, scrambling to uncork the vial, almost dropping it in the process.
Briefly, Renoir considers not blocking Verso’s incoming attack, but his body does so by instinct. They stare at each other in silence, Verso not following up and Renoir not hitting back. There is a temptation to accuse his son of standing idly by and letting this happen, but even as a concept the line is laughably hypocritical. Perhaps Verso is on the same page as him for once, because there is no judgment in his stare either.
“Let me,” Verso says, voice low, soothing, as he goes to crouch next to Maelle, helps her uncork the tint and covers her hands with a steady touch as their shaking threatens to spill the contents on the stone. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”
She sobs and lets go of the bottle, allowing him to drip the tint slowly into Gustave’s mouth. Verso keeps muttering reassuring nothings at her, not faltering once, as natural as breathing, but that only makes her cry harder, curling into a little ball.
Renoir forces himself to seek the signs of life and notes a faint, barely there rise and fall of the man’s chest. The relief is strong enough to make him close his eyes for a second, releasing the tense string of his back and the painful grip on the handle of his cane.
It’s vital, he decides as he turns to leave, that Maelle’s father survives this encounter and the subsequent ones. But it’s also crucial that Maelle learns the truth before it’s too late to make a difference.
Alicia didn’t help him before, but maybe it’s time that he talked, actually talked to his daughter instead of making decisions for her. A beginning of a plan begins to form in his mind, but he doesn’t let it take shape, not until he learns what his daughter wants and how he can factor that in. If they are going to make it, they will need to work in tandem.
For the first time, Renoir feels hope.