“I wish, too,” she says. “But the cards were dealt for this a long time ago. All we can really hope for is that Verso’s better angels win out –– that he wants to be here with all of us, and has cast his lot with Lumière knowing it’s worth the awkwardness. I think it’s a solid bet.”
Maelle doesn't think so. She feels a tear roll from the corner of her eye, down to her ear, and hastily wipes the tear track away.
"He should do whatever he wants," she says, and maybe that means he starts over. "He's been with so many Expeditions. We ended up like all the rest, in the end, so it makes sense he'd move on."
Sometimes she thinks she should feel something more about the Gommage. What she saw, what she felt, her vision fading into nothing but petals. Yet that still doesn't quite feel like it happened to her. It's been okay because she's had Gustave, and Sciel, and Verso--now Lune, too, but Verso's absence hurts in a way it shouldn't. It hurts too much.
Not wishing to argue, and maybe hoping for some comfort, she sits up. She can't bring herself to look at Sciel before sagging towards her.
Sciel opens her arms, accepting Maelle into them with a deep breath in. There have been so many hugs lately, some good and some sad, and Sciel is glad that even when she runs short on soothing things to say, she still has arms and a steady core. She holds Maelle tight.
“I’m glad you came to visit tonight,” she says, into Maelle’s hair. “We can be sad together, hmm?”
She sniffles and presses her face to Sciel's shoulder. She knows she genuinely cares for Verso, too. She wanted everyone to get along and be happy together just as much as Maelle did.
She doesn't feel she can be sad about something so silly regarding Verso with Gustave. Oh, he'd comfort her, hold her, let her be sack of unhappiness just like this--but it would hurt his feelings.
Gustave had held her to cry just a week ago, huddled in her kitchen. Now it’s her turn to pay it forward, and she holds Maelle in her arms and gently leans back against the headboard so Maelle can press into her all she wants.
“He’d understand, but this is better just between us, I think,” she murmurs. “And better to not stroke Verso’s ego with some big, public manhunt! He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
Sciel isn't as huggable as Esquie, but Maelle manages to fit herself against her in a mostly comfortable manner--if not for the stuffed nose and hot tears quietly rolling down her cheeks.
She wishes she could be honest about this with Gustsve. It feels like a lie, but between hurting his feelings and omitting the truth--well, she has a feeling both roads lead to the same door, but one might delay the hurt.
"Yeah," Maelle agrees. "He... we just have to let it be."
Sciel squeezes Maelle tight, a hand going up to cradle her head. Others her age are already having babies, but Sciel still remembers when sixteen was still clinging to girlhood, when she was young enough to feel the canyon of difference between her age and people in their forties.
Sixteen year olds used to have mothers to hold them.
Sciel draws a deep breath, feeling Maelle shift with her. At this point, her own sadness feels less like sorrow and more like frustration –– finding steady ground with Gustave is one thing, but Verso's tendency toward self-destruction feels overwhelming. How can one man waltz in, yank them around until they're struggling to keep on even footing, and then waltz right back out without a word?
All while saying he cares about them.
Why the hell was he talking with Renoir? Why did she?
"I don't think I like Verso very much right now," Sciel murmurs. "It'll pass, but... what a mess."
Edited (I already said that) 2025-08-11 21:07 (UTC)
The tight hug gets a little mmpfh out of her as she struggles to keep the tears silent. A hitched breath threatens to be louder than she wishes, but she sucks it back in, face pressing into Sciel all the more.
"He's not even that funny," Maelle says weakly, voice muffled, trying to find more reasons to not miss talking to him. "His jokes are as bad as his poetry."
“And he does that thing where he bobs his head like a chicken,” she says, “And he changes the subject whenever he pleases, even if you’re not done yet.”
She leans her cheek against the top of Maelle’s head and closes her eyes.
“Did I tell you he didn’t even bother opening the gift I brought him? He sent me out because he wanted to take a nap.”
"That's rude. What was the gift?" She asks, making a mental note to elbow Verso in the gut the next time she sees him. Will she do it? Unlikely, but right now, the thought of him is just frustrating and disappointing and she hates that she's hurt Gustave by defending someone that can't even bother to be present for the people that wanted to help him.
“Oh, just that door stopper I picked up when we were shopping, the one that looked like a little Monoco.”
It wasn’t a big deal, nor had she been all that bothered by being kicked out of his bed, but it’s something to throw. Most importantly, it’s petty. They’ll regret it if they say anything too cruel; she’d done that once, after a friend had broken up with a boyfriend. It had been awkward when they’d gotten back together again. No one ever forgets when you say you’d always resented them.
“If he’s locked it, for once, I’ll jump the balcony to get in.”
Who cares about a seven story fall if she slips? She smooths Maelle’s bangs back again, tilts her head to peer at the slice of her scrunched up and reddened face.
“And that tattered old uniform! After all those Expeditions, he didn’t think to ask someone for a spare?”
The hair petting is almost enough to make her feel entirely better. The tears, all of this--it's truly embarrassing. She wishes she didn't care so much.
"But thought to cut and style his hair," she mutters. "Someone clearly did that for him. Could have asked for a new uniform while he was at it."
Verso does not possess the hair of a man that cuts it himself.
“Oh,” Sciel hums, and a chuckle buzzes in her, deep in her chest. “He sees an apprentice hairstylist in the Gestral village, who sometimes turns his hair purple by accident.”
Or maybe on purpose. Gestrals are like that.
“Impossible for him to have told it to be funny, so it must be true.”
It feels nice to cuddle like this, and though the conversation ahead keeps her from being lulled right into dreamland, she is more relaxed than she has been about this. Her hand runs up and down Maelle’s back, rhythmic.
“He’s going to look so ugly, and it’ll be well deserved. What else? Have we said anything rude about his fighting? He fights like Lune’s there just to keep him on his feet.”
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"He should do whatever he wants," she says, and maybe that means he starts over. "He's been with so many Expeditions. We ended up like all the rest, in the end, so it makes sense he'd move on."
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“Sit up,” she says, gently. “Come here.”
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Not wishing to argue, and maybe hoping for some comfort, she sits up. She can't bring herself to look at Sciel before sagging towards her.
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“I’m glad you came to visit tonight,” she says, into Maelle’s hair. “We can be sad together, hmm?”
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She doesn't feel she can be sad about something so silly regarding Verso with Gustave. Oh, he'd comfort her, hold her, let her be sack of unhappiness just like this--but it would hurt his feelings.
"Yeah. Get it out before Gustave gets here."
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“He’d understand, but this is better just between us, I think,” she murmurs. “And better to not stroke Verso’s ego with some big, public manhunt! He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
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She wishes she could be honest about this with Gustsve. It feels like a lie, but between hurting his feelings and omitting the truth--well, she has a feeling both roads lead to the same door, but one might delay the hurt.
"Yeah," Maelle agrees. "He... we just have to let it be."
And she hates it.
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Sciel squeezes Maelle tight, a hand going up to cradle her head. Others her age are already having babies, but Sciel still remembers when sixteen was still clinging to girlhood, when she was young enough to feel the canyon of difference between her age and people in their forties.
Sixteen year olds used to have mothers to hold them.
Sciel draws a deep breath, feeling Maelle shift with her. At this point, her own sadness feels less like sorrow and more like frustration –– finding steady ground with Gustave is one thing, but Verso's tendency toward self-destruction feels overwhelming. How can one man waltz in, yank them around until they're struggling to keep on even footing, and then waltz right back out without a word?
All while saying he cares about them.
Why the hell was he talking with Renoir? Why did she?
"I don't think I like Verso very much right now," Sciel murmurs. "It'll pass, but... what a mess."
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"He's not even that funny," Maelle says weakly, voice muffled, trying to find more reasons to not miss talking to him. "His jokes are as bad as his poetry."
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She leans her cheek against the top of Maelle’s head and closes her eyes.
“Did I tell you he didn’t even bother opening the gift I brought him? He sent me out because he wanted to take a nap.”
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Asshole.
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It wasn’t a big deal, nor had she been all that bothered by being kicked out of his bed, but it’s something to throw. Most importantly, it’s petty. They’ll regret it if they say anything too cruel; she’d done that once, after a friend had broken up with a boyfriend. It had been awkward when they’d gotten back together again. No one ever forgets when you say you’d always resented them.
“What else? Sometimes he smelled.”
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And the frustrating thing is he probably won't even notice. Or care. He's not a materialistic man. In this case, that is derogatory.
"He did smell. Worse than Monoco. I think he enjoyed cleaning his feet with him too much."
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Who cares about a seven story fall if she slips? She smooths Maelle’s bangs back again, tilts her head to peer at the slice of her scrunched up and reddened face.
“And that tattered old uniform! After all those Expeditions, he didn’t think to ask someone for a spare?”
At least they had an excuse not to share!
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"But thought to cut and style his hair," she mutters. "Someone clearly did that for him. Could have asked for a new uniform while he was at it."
Verso does not possess the hair of a man that cuts it himself.
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Or maybe on purpose. Gestrals are like that.
“Impossible for him to have told it to be funny, so it must be true.”
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"I think purple hair would be a great improvement."
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"I told him it would be fun," she replies. "It's so rude of him to not indulge us."
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The color, not the beard. Actually, she's pretty sure she saw some thinning spots. She'll let him know.
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Ha. That does actually make her feel better, in the moment, imagining Verso with blotches of a hideous purple in his hair and beard.
She snuggles herself in closer against Sciel. She knows just what to say. Somehow.
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“He’s going to look so ugly, and it’ll be well deserved. What else? Have we said anything rude about his fighting? He fights like Lune’s there just to keep him on his feet.”
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"He's not as cool as he thinks he is."
He's a skilled fighter, and Maelle can't really drag him for being showy when she herself tends to be, but he's not that cool.
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