Sciel gives Lune a flash of a smile in turn, appreciative –– they’ll all be fine, she’s sure. Eventually.
“Augh, I am going to lose my mind if we don’t have a good spar sometime soon,” she says. It would be good for all of them, probably. Might be a little tough on Gustave’s pride, but if they’re all at risk of getting rusty, that should even the playing field a little. “Besides, they’re never going to get friendlier with each other if we keep them separated. Sparring’s a good place to start.”
No drinks, neutral ground, some semblance of protocol, an excuse to hit each other.
"Mm— I was hoping maybe one of these missions would help us with finding a new energy source to use with the Lumina Converter. I know there's a way to adjust it so it might use sources other than Chroma to create more Lumina."
Lune shakes her head, making a small sound of dissatisfaction. "It's not just pride, though. It's... bothering Gustave more than he's saying. He really believes he's a liability to us, with less Lumina and comparatively weaker Pictos."
And that in turn bothers Lune, on some raw, fundamental level, that Gustave thinks he's a weakness in the team— even if she cannot deny that when viewed through the lens of hard facts, Gustave is not on the same level as they are. She wants to fix it for him, with him, but so far even their combined efforts have yielded little results.
“Well, if the Converter could be made to work in the first place, there’s no reason you two couldn’t make it run on other things.”
What does she know, honestly, but if other worlds have magic, too, they must have their own way of using it. Channelling it. It’s up to smarter people than her to make that happen. She’ll be there to test it.
“And even if it never happened, we’re all liabilities in one way or another. That’s why we’re better as a team than we are alone,” Sciel says, lighthearted, and a little bit of humour slips into her voice as she adds: “And Verso took a short-cut, anyway, the cheater. He couldn’t do anything until us and the Converter.”
"Here's hoping," Lune says, blowing out a small breath between her lips. She does think Sciel is downplaying the liability issue some, but that's neither here nor there now; she's always one to look at things from a more positive outlook.
When Sciel goes on to rag on Verso, Lune huffs a laugh. "Such disrespect! I'm shocked."
No, no she isn't, since Sciel is absolutely correct.
Sciel nods, moving breezily past Gustave being a liability; all of this is going to be whatever it is, and maybe Gustave will hold them back in a fight someday, but not in any way that’d make her feel poorly about him. None of this would be possible without him, anyway. He could never grip a sword or a pistol again, never see the battlefield again, and he would still have a meaningful part to play.
She raises her arms above her head and stretches out from her toes to her fingertips.
“Oh, I’d like to see him deny it!” she says, grinning. It’s nice to be leant on, though, to be a support to him, even if he’d underestimated them more than once. “And until he gets his chroma back, he has his own catching up to do, anyway.”
Lune doesn't disagree. It's the fact that Gustave himself does that's not sitting right with her, sitting heavily like a stone in the pit of her stomach. They've overcome many hurdles by now, since winding up in Etraya, but there are still some that need to be resolved.
"It's true, though. He couldn't even handle one paltry Axon without us." She sucks air through her teeth in a small tsk, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Sciel meets that smirk with a scrunched nose, smiling.
“I told Gustave that, you know,” Sciel says. “What Verso said about the Axons, and the Nevrons that have flattened him. But I guess it’s all the same because we need the Lumina converter, too. All of it comes back to the Sword of Lumière!”
"Oh? Hope he got a chuckle out of it." But probably not. Lune herself only recalls being angry and suspicious in the aftermath of Old Lumière, ready to go toe to toe with Verso over his insistence that they were surely going to die the moment they came face to face with the Axons.
"The Sword of Lumière," she echos wistfully, humming. "What was left of it, at least."
Two women and a teenager. They'd been so optimistic, boarding that ship in the morning of departure. Solemn but optimistic, with their Lumina tech and their protocols and their full team, trained and prepared to perfection— or as close to it as possible. Not one of them could have begun to think they would get violently smashed into pieces the moment they set foot on that darkened shore.
No comfort in anything involving Verso. Sciel just turns her eyes up to the sky, thinking of the Continent, how beautiful it had been anywhere the light touched, anywhere someone saw fit to set a lantern or a candle.
But she knows that wistfulness, that reminder that many died. They did. Hundreds of thousands died so they could get where they are. There is no comfort in that, either, not really, but Sciel has done her mourning for the senseless violence of life and who gets to have it and for how long. How cruel, she thinks, that Lune was made to feel responsible for that, the machinations of other, even crueller people.
“Only a few of us made it to the end, but every single Expedition helped get us there,” she says, voice a little softer, more sober. Every body a warning, every journal or handhold a waypoint. “We made it there together.”
For all the good any of it did. Lune holds back the words just in time, pressing them into the roof of her mouth with her tongue while that familiar blend of guilt and disappointment churns within, the different shades of failure. What inroads she'd begun to make into accepting what had happened in these passing months, the fog had undone, every single whisper still echoing in her ears.
Her fingers pluck at bits of grass, devoting the task too much attention. "Yeah."
As usual, letting her thoughts venture down these paths threatens to plunge her into melancholy, silent obsession and self-flagellation. She forces a hard stop to it, boxes it all up again and shoves it into the back of her mind. Nobody needs to be subjected to her dysfunctions on such a nice day, Sciel least of all.
"We should try to set something up once we're back in Etraya," she says, in a steadier voice. "For the sparring, I mean."
The slightly morose expression that had taken over Lune's mien clears away at that, making way for attentive curiosity as she turns her head to look at Sciel.
Oh. Sciel meant a personal question. Lune still isn't thrilled about such things, after a lifetime's worth of walling away her thoughts and feelings. She's tried to do better, here, but it's hard to put into words something that's just... always been. She draws in a breath, exhales quietly.
"Both," she eventually settles on, with a small shrug of one shoulder.
She knows she’s asked something uncomfortable, but Lune, she reasons, is already uncomfortable; what good is sitting on a beautiful little hillside in an eternal spring if it comes with a side of doom? She waits patiently for the answer, her brows furrowing with sympathy.
“Seems tough to hold onto that alone,” she says. “You don’t need to.”
"I'm used to it." While true, it sounds too dismissive even to Lune as it leaves her mouth, after everything they've gone through together. Sighing, she gropes for words, the look she gives Sciel caught somewhere between grateful and apologetic.
"I know. Sometimes it's just... better to push those things aside. Easier." With a hint of a crooked smile, she adds, "Besides, it's too nice of a day to obsess over things that can't be changed."
“Easier for who?” she asks, but that one’s rhetorical. Lune is like that felled Axon sometimes, limbs heaving under the weight of everything built on her shoulders, no matter how awe-inspiring her strength or powerful her presence, Sciel has never envied it. “It seems like it’s itching to come out, regardless of the weather.”
She smiles back, and adds, just to soften it: “And it doesn’t have to, right now, if you really don’t want to. I’m just saying… I’ll listen, when you’re ready.”
Edited (Fixing a sentence lol) 2025-12-27 04:27 (UTC)
Lune stays silent. A lifetime of sacrifice, of putting everything else aside to finish her parents' work, feeling undeserving of personal distractions when more important things were on the line... the future of Lumière is more important than any individual life. She doesn't know how to unlearn any of that. And now there's nothing left to show for all the toil, anyway.
"I don't know what's left to say," she replies quietly after a moment. "My mind gets... stuck, sometimes. Too much time to think, here— without anything more immediate, urgent."
Sciel shifts over, closer, leaving just a little bit of space between them in case Lune wants it. She wraps her arms around her knees, comfortably, her head still turned to Lune, her expression calm.
“There’s never enough real distractions,” she agrees. “We’ve talked a little about what happened, whether we failed or not… but we’ve never really talked about how it felt.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
“Augh, I am going to lose my mind if we don’t have a good spar sometime soon,” she says. It would be good for all of them, probably. Might be a little tough on Gustave’s pride, but if they’re all at risk of getting rusty, that should even the playing field a little. “Besides, they’re never going to get friendlier with each other if we keep them separated. Sparring’s a good place to start.”
No drinks, neutral ground, some semblance of protocol, an excuse to hit each other.
no subject
Lune shakes her head, making a small sound of dissatisfaction. "It's not just pride, though. It's... bothering Gustave more than he's saying. He really believes he's a liability to us, with less Lumina and comparatively weaker Pictos."
And that in turn bothers Lune, on some raw, fundamental level, that Gustave thinks he's a weakness in the team— even if she cannot deny that when viewed through the lens of hard facts, Gustave is not on the same level as they are. She wants to fix it for him, with him, but so far even their combined efforts have yielded little results.
"Still. Some sparring couldn't hurt."
no subject
What does she know, honestly, but if other worlds have magic, too, they must have their own way of using it. Channelling it. It’s up to smarter people than her to make that happen. She’ll be there to test it.
“And even if it never happened, we’re all liabilities in one way or another. That’s why we’re better as a team than we are alone,” Sciel says, lighthearted, and a little bit of humour slips into her voice as she adds: “And Verso took a short-cut, anyway, the cheater. He couldn’t do anything until us and the Converter.”
no subject
When Sciel goes on to rag on Verso, Lune huffs a laugh. "Such disrespect! I'm shocked."
No, no she isn't, since Sciel is absolutely correct.
no subject
She raises her arms above her head and stretches out from her toes to her fingertips.
“Oh, I’d like to see him deny it!” she says, grinning. It’s nice to be leant on, though, to be a support to him, even if he’d underestimated them more than once. “And until he gets his chroma back, he has his own catching up to do, anyway.”
no subject
"It's true, though. He couldn't even handle one paltry Axon without us." She sucks air through her teeth in a small tsk, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
no subject
“I told Gustave that, you know,” Sciel says. “What Verso said about the Axons, and the Nevrons that have flattened him. But I guess it’s all the same because we need the Lumina converter, too. All of it comes back to the Sword of Lumière!”
no subject
"The Sword of Lumière," she echos wistfully, humming. "What was left of it, at least."
Two women and a teenager. They'd been so optimistic, boarding that ship in the morning of departure. Solemn but optimistic, with their Lumina tech and their protocols and their full team, trained and prepared to perfection— or as close to it as possible. Not one of them could have begun to think they would get violently smashed into pieces the moment they set foot on that darkened shore.
no subject
But she knows that wistfulness, that reminder that many died. They did. Hundreds of thousands died so they could get where they are. There is no comfort in that, either, not really, but Sciel has done her mourning for the senseless violence of life and who gets to have it and for how long. How cruel, she thinks, that Lune was made to feel responsible for that, the machinations of other, even crueller people.
“Only a few of us made it to the end, but every single Expedition helped get us there,” she says, voice a little softer, more sober. Every body a warning, every journal or handhold a waypoint. “We made it there together.”
no subject
Her fingers pluck at bits of grass, devoting the task too much attention. "Yeah."
As usual, letting her thoughts venture down these paths threatens to plunge her into melancholy, silent obsession and self-flagellation. She forces a hard stop to it, boxes it all up again and shoves it into the back of her mind. Nobody needs to be subjected to her dysfunctions on such a nice day, Sciel least of all.
"We should try to set something up once we're back in Etraya," she says, in a steadier voice. "For the sparring, I mean."
no subject
“We should,” she says, warmly, and she pushes herself up to sit again, weight leant on one hand, towards Lune. “Can I ask you a question?”
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"Of course. Always."
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“When you swallow your feelings down like that,” she says, “is that for me? Or for you?”
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"Both," she eventually settles on, with a small shrug of one shoulder.
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“Seems tough to hold onto that alone,” she says. “You don’t need to.”
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"I know. Sometimes it's just... better to push those things aside. Easier." With a hint of a crooked smile, she adds, "Besides, it's too nice of a day to obsess over things that can't be changed."
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She smiles back, and adds, just to soften it: “And it doesn’t have to, right now, if you really don’t want to. I’m just saying… I’ll listen, when you’re ready.”
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"I don't know what's left to say," she replies quietly after a moment. "My mind gets... stuck, sometimes. Too much time to think, here— without anything more immediate, urgent."
No Paintress, no Expedition.
no subject
“There’s never enough real distractions,” she agrees. “We’ve talked a little about what happened, whether we failed or not… but we’ve never really talked about how it felt.”