[A laugh of Verso's own, more fond than anything, at the first part of Clive's story. He wonders to himself whether Clive's cheeks pinked, if his eyes did that thing they do when he feels the good kind of teased, whether his voice got just-so soft when he found his words again. In a palatial manor, surrounded by so much opulence and by the kind of artistry that builds wealth, Verso can think of nothing more lovely.
What comes afterward gives him a bit of pause, though, the loose smile he wears tightening into something more contemplative. That picture he'd been holding in his mind of Clive falters a little at how he seems to have taken Joshua's teasing to heart. Verso bops his shoulder with his own, a gesture of you doofus, every bit as fond as his laughter had been moments earlier.]
Like I said, you're not that hard to see through. I knew. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing it, but...
[A sigh, soft and inward, as he collects his thoughts. Thank fucking goodness that the manor is large enough to afford him a little more time.]
You know that feeling you get when you're with someone and neither of you are saying anything but you just... you know you're on the same wavelength?
[How long has it been since he'd felt that way? I love yous can come into question. They certainly had with Julie, who still said it even after her doubts had begun to fester into a lethal rot. Verso doesn't know the last time she said it and truly, truly meant it, and he thinks he hates that feeling more than he would have if she'd stop saying it longer ago. But the utter simplicity of knowing, of feeling Clive's chroma imbue it indelibly into his own, that he can trust absolutely.]
That's how it felt, and I liked it every bit as much. So, there's nothing to apologise for.
[ A cant of the head, when he's told, again, that he's not hard to see through. (Is that true??? Is he really that easy to decipher???) There's no time or space to question the veracity of that, though, as Verso continues and posits the question of whether Clive has ever shared that feeling of knowing without saying, and...
...he has. Not in the sense of shared love, but in shared understanding. Shared purpose. Cid, sitting by an open window in his solar, breathing smoke towards the direction of the Monolith; Clive, watching the older man in profile, feeling his thunder-like anger simmering under that calm exterior.
So. A pause, here, mid-step. Clive notes that he doesn't actually know where the library is (Joshua has likely been awake long enough to do some exploring), but he stop their journey for a moment to digest that nudge and that sigh, the way Verso looks at him and seems to look not through him, but into him. ]
...I understand. Sometimes, something doesn't need to be said for it to be the truth of things.
[ As they both well know. Sometimes it's these unspoken truths that are the most devastating of all, and they seem to always be surrounded by it; the air is thick with it, the beauty of this world is founded on it. ]
It's only that I thought I should earn the right to tell you. ...But I suppose that was a foolish presumption on my part.
[ A small smile, as he presses a je t'aime against Verso's temple. (A not-so-small part of him wonders when the last time Verso had felt that way about someone was. The same wavelength. Alicia? Clea? The woman he loved and lost?) ]
...Now, do you want any actual ammunition, or do you feel prepared?
[Another bristle of hypocrisy when Clive talks about rights, even if he does toss it aside shortly after its speaking. Verso still has a lot of work to do on the front of simply absorbing other people's painful truths and their bursts of questioning their self-worth or descents into self-loathing without making these kinds of internal challenges. It's just another form of dishonesty, another method of applying his own brushstrokes to the people around him, little microgestures that, if he thought deeper on them, might call to mind the way Aline has shaped him. Be happy. Prosper. Love yourself. All single-sighted commands he's long resented being pushed to follow.
So, a smile of his own instead of the frown that threatens dominance.]
Very.
[Foolish, he means, though he doesn't actually mean it at all. It felt like a good moment for a little tease is all, something lighthearted to clear away this latest burst of encroaching shadows. None of this is hard, at least, with firelight flickering a hot blue in Clive's eyes, with the warmth of his breath and the gentleness of his lips osmosing love into Verso's pulse. A contented hum follows, shifting into a laugh in its final moments, a je t'aime in its own right.
It's silly how he feels almost conspiratorial and nostalgic as a result. But it makes sense, too; the feeling hearkens back to all those times when he'd rally his siblings against their parents, all their little whispers eventually making way for laughter.
Naturally, then:]
Oh, I want the ammunition. Far be it from me to turn down an advantage.
[ Sweet, soft-hearted, wonderful Verso. Clive will marvel every time at the man's capacity for love, and will feel his heart break and mend every time he sees Verso smile just so, as if he's finding out that he can after he lost the true shape of it for so long.
Clive wouldn't know, though. He still doesn't know who 'Verso' was before this, and what kind of foundation the un-painted Verso provides, inextricable from this Verso's context. All Clive can say with some measure of certainty is that, no matter the miasma of uncertainty that his Verso carries within him, Clive finds it all radiantly, imperfectly, perfect.
Maybe that's an unspoken reality that Verso can feel without Clive putting it into words, too. It seems a little too heavy for the latter, anyway. He squeezes their linked fingers, thumb brushing along the back of Verso's now less-injured hand. ]
It's hard to know who to root for, here.
[ A hum, almost a chuckle. Clive's eyes soften, as he reaches into his memory for something to offer Verso as a harmless lens through which he can see Joshua a bit more clearly. ]
But, hm. Joshua and I... well, we both liked birds as a child. We'd only seen them in books our Father gave us, but Joshua seemed so taken by them that I went out and made a rocking horse in the shape of a bird for him.
He loved it― named it Ambrosia. Mother bade me get rid of it one day after Joshua fell off and scraped his knee, but I hid it away somewhere secret. ...I wonder if it's still where I left it.
[Verso's totally fine with keeping any wins to himself, anyways, because he'll be keeping any feelings of losing to himself. Whee and whoo, perfectly balanced. Esquie would be proud.
With the hand still holding onto Clive's, he gestures them onward towards the library and starts moving again, steps a little slower than before so that their arrival doesn't interrupt Clive's story. A cosy story to offset all the awful ones he's shared about their childhood. Which soon inspires another fantasy to slip into Verso's willing mind, one where they have a little workshop at the back of their operahouse, one that smells of fresh wood with floors that are never clean and finished and unfinished projects alike stocked on shelves and overflowing from handmade chests. Rustic and imperfect, not a trace of black and gold in sight.
It's foolish to harbour these dreams, Verso knows, but so too is it foolish to hold them at a distance. Another duality, another conflict, but one that he chooses to power himself through, at least.]
I'm noticing a theme here.
[Ambrosia. A firebird with healing properties. There's a prickly thought about tainted Chroma and how many pieces they carry of the artists who made them, but, again, not the time, not the place.]
We can add trying to find it to our agenda, if we ever get to Lumiere. Dust it off, bring it back for Joshua as a gift. At the very least, I want to see your craftsmanship for myself.
[ "Craftsmanship", Verso says, as if young Clive had any real skill in carpentry other than a dogged determination to make something his brother could be pleased with. Because of their ignorance about the size of birds, they imagined that the bird they'd eventually find would be as big as a horse (also an animal they'd never seen in reality), and they'd mount one and travel across the Continent like storybook knights.
It's a sweet memory. Not dulled, even, by the eventual fate of that rocking-bird, sequestered in Clive's hiding hut where he lamented being a son his mother couldn't love. Just two siblings with fanciful dreams and a pocket of uncomplicated time to be children.
Not marred, either, by the association that Verso points out. From what little Clive has heard from Joshua about the Nevron that Joshua houses, it seems far less volatile than Ifrit: almost the other side of Ifrit's violent coin, even. Protective, nurturing, healing. To temper Ifrit's worst impulses? To rebuild after Ifrit first razes everything to the ground? Clive still isn't sure. But it's another reason why Clive should stay away from his brother for a bit, he supposes― to delay anything catastrophic that might happen if their Nevrons ever resonate too closely with one another.
That's not something he wants to burden Verso with. So, as they make their way down the hall again, overseen by vistas of scenery they've seen and are yet to see, Clive shifts the gears in his mind. ]
Then I'll take you to my secret hiding spot. I've never let anyone in there besides myself. [ Not even his brother. Especially not his brother. ] If my memory serves me correctly, there are a few other trinkets that I would be happy to give you as well.
[ His old training sword, for one. If Verso would even want it.
The scent of toast and eggs gets stronger; they must be getting close. ] Maybe I'll carve you a wooden train.
[There's more he wants to say, more he wants to ask, like whether there's anything Clive would want to bring back for himself, but he can't keep monopolising Clive's time – he doesn't want to – while they're feet away from Joshua, and the air smells like food, real food, and everything reminds him of what domesticity feels like, that ordinary day-to-day kind of existence he's denied himself for the better part of seven decades. That Clive's been denied over the years, too.
Letting go of Clive's hands, Verso pushes open the doors to the library with the ease of someone well-accustomed to the weight of them, to the ease with which their hinges turn. Joshua sits waiting by the fireplace, a tray of sandwiches set by the flames to keep them warm.]
Knock-knock.
[Said so long after the point of appropriateness that Verso's already guided Clive halfway into the room and Joshua's already pulled away from the bookshelves, turning to face them, his eyes bright with an enthusiastic kind of overwhelm, his hands empty only for the fact that he couldn't decide which book to take.
"How does anyone decide what to read here?" he asks as he grabs the tray of sandwiches and moves it over to the table by the couch. He's already positioned one of the chairs nearby but doesn't sit in it yet, instead standing behind it with his hands resting on its back. "Or eat, for that matter. Who's keeping the kitchens so well-stocked?"]
Good question.
[Verso offers with an apologetic smile and a shrug as he takes a seat on the couch. If he's worried at all about the food, it doesn't show. The Dessendres may not have many limits, but they tend to consider themselves above underhanded methods like poisoning, so... One day, Verso will learn what Renoir had done to Simon and he'll understand that he doesn't only destroy people from afar. But as far as he knows now, only his own father has exhibited that kind of brutality.]
[ There's a subtle shift in demeanor, when Clive is within range of his younger brother. Not quite a bracing of posture, not quite a stiffening of shoulders, but a slight straight-backedness that speaks to vigilance and protectiveness that has everything to do with having believed, until very very recently, that his sibling had been lost to him forever.
Verso settles on the couch, and Clive hovers for a bit near the table until Joshua smiles and gestures for him to sit by Verso instead of poising near him looking for invisible problems. The request isn't immediately obliged, and Clive offers a quick: ] Did you sleep well? [ To which he receives a warm and convincing "like a log― I haven't slept on a proper mattress in an age."
Another graceful-yet-insistent wave from Joshua later, and Clive plops himself down, making the couch cushions bounce under his weight. And, since Verso hasn't immediately alerted the both of them to the food in the manor being unfit for consumption, Clive finally listens to the screaming in his stomach (right on cue, it rumbles) and reaches for one of the very nicely-made croque madames to give him something to do as his beloved brother and beloved lover bracket him from the side and the front.
He takes a bite, munches, and swallows. ] Are there any other doors leading into this manor? Preferably ones closer to the Station, in case Joshua ever feels unwell and needs a warmer place to rest.
[ "Clive", Joshua sighs. "No fussing over breakfast, please." ]
[Relaxing into the sofa, Verso's content to simply take in how the brothers bounce off of each other at first. Protectors the both of them, each in their own ways, tiny flames bristling off them as those impulses create gentle friction, bringing their own warmth to a cold room, an empty manor. It's only once Clive settles into place and starts to eat that Verso joins him, not bothering to hide the way his shoulders slump on that first bite. Quick to savour and slow to swallow, his response comes after a slight delay.]
Unfortunately, no. This is the closest one by far.
[Later, Verso will let Clive know about all the winter wear that's stored away in the attic, relics from a reality when the Dessendres would regularly travel to the Swiss Alps, hoping that the thought of bundling Joshua up in the finest Parisian downs and furs will help salve some of his worries. But he can already imagine Joshua's objections to that, too, so he keeps it to himself for now.]
But – [An all-important pause so he can emphasise the point he's about to make by literally pointing at Joshua.] – the Station isn't your only option. There's always the Gestral Village. You won't get to take advantage of the Grandis' knowledge and, uh, Monoco's not exactly welcomed there so he wouldn't be able to join you, but it is a lot warmer and it does have its own manor entrance.
[Upside: there are Gestrals everywhere. Downside: there are Gestrals everywhere. Verso chose to build his home in the forest surrounding it for a reason, though, so it's a possibility he offers in earnest. And one that Joshua chews on in lieu of taking a bit of his own sandwich. He doesn't look convinced but, perhaps in a gesture to give Clive some room to big brother him, he asks, "What say you, Clive?"]
Difficult, [ is Clive's verdict. ] I can't tell which option would be better for your safety or sanity.
[ On one hand, being inside a village that has withstood the test of the Continent's time would put Clive at ease; on the other, the Gestrals are charming (a dog person assessment) but not very good at... tending to people. Or mindfulness. Or not picking fights.
The first piece of sandwich-toast gets demolished in a matter of seconds. There are two more, presumably one for seconds and the other for Joshua, but Clive politely sits and licks crumbs off of his fingers to allow Verso the chance to eat first if he wants. Force of habit. ]
This manor doesn't present its own set of problems, does it?
[ It seems to be neutral territory, given what they've been able to get away with thus far, but... it's still Dessendre territory, and the fear there is that Joshua will somehow come face-to-face with someone like Clea again. She hadn't seemed to rely on the manor to jump from place to place, but still.
Joshua taps at his chin with an index, and gives voice to that concern. "I assume that this place was 'painted' by the family you spoke of last night?" ]
[Verso's barely taken his second bite by the time Clive's ready for a second serving, and he's just started chewing when he gestures towards the extra with his free hand. Following suit, Joshua finally takes his share, but not before using it to nudge the spare in Clive's direction.
Which is perfect, since Clive goes on to ask a question that flips Verso's stomach a little, and Joshua goes on to follow suit. Maybe one day he'll be able to think about tackling the mountainous truths he's still keeping silenced and not feel that too-familiar twinge of guilt-laced dread, but not without putting a more honest attempt into dealing with everything that had happened with Julie and the others. It's nothing he can't pretend like he isn't feeling, though, so he lets out a whistle of air and an appropriately uncomfortable laugh, he thinks, given the subject matter. Breakfast fussing, bad. Breakfast drilling Verso, good. He gets it now.]
Yes and no. It was only painted by one of them – Renoir. The Paintress and... my family don't have access. At least I don't think they do. He wants nothing to do with his mirror, and Alicia wants nothing to do with this manor, so...
[It's family. It's complicated. Verso shakes his head, looks off into some distant corner, hates how it feels more familiar than the one in his mother's painted manor does.]
What I'm getting at is Renoir's the only other person I've seen here. Yeah, Clea could come by, but she hates everything here that was brought back from out there so it's not likely. And it doesn't matter, anyway. If she wants to find you, she will.
[ A pang of guilt, when Verso's dry laugh whistles from the back of his throat. Unfair of the both of them, to keep treating the man like an information dispenser― as much as they might need certain truths to map their future trajectory, they could stand to be more mindful of what that means for Verso's emotions.
Thankfully, Joshua seems to share Clive's moment of contrition. Instead of asking for elaboration, he cuts in with a gentle "I see," though it's obvious that half a night hasn't been entirely enough for him to wrap his mind around the entirety of the Dessendre family dynamics (hell, Clive still struggles with it); diplomatically, he adds "I'll think on the matter. The matter of the manor aside, both the Grandis and the Gestrals are fascinating in their own right― I feel spoiled for choice."
The smile that follows is sincere. The look of a bright young man who has always wanted to apply himself to the discovery of new and novel things. It helps Clive relax a bit and take the sandwich after a properly apologetic bow of his head. ]
As long as there's someone looking after you. Be it Verso's friend or a Gestral.
[ Narrator voice: "He will later find out that Monoco, too, is a Gestral." ]
You always did like to wander. Even when Mother or I would tell you to stay inside.
[ A glance, Verso's way. It doesn't seem like Alicia was the type to wander around needlessly, but maybe this is an Elder Brother Problem that he can share with Verso. ]
[A warm smile to meet Joshua's sincerity. Maybe this Verso didn't paint the Grandis and the Gestrals, but he loves them in ways he's sure that the real Verso had, too. Hearing anyone speak so genuinely about getting to know them better is always a highlight of his time with the Expeditioners.
Now, as for Clive, Verso could take the opportunity he unwittingly offers him and provide the clearly absent clarity about who – and what – Monoco is, exactly, but, again, that sounds a hell of a lot less fun than leaving everything to surprise, so he hides a mischievous smile behind his croque madame as he takes a slightly smaller bite than before and lets Clive believe that he's made an actual distinction there.
Alas, he can't quite relate to having a little sibling with wanderlust; Alicia was far more inclined to worry him by staying put. Honestly, there'll probably come a point when Clive ends up having to deal with Verso heading off somewhere to get up to fuck knows what. If he's lucky, it'll never involve lost limbs.
What he can relate to is the fondness, though, that little air of I love your brand of trouble. All the ways Alicia has bucked against their parents over the years have always made him feel a little proud, a little admiring of the way she was coming into her own, even if it was a somewhat stunted pace thanks to those very same parents. So:]
Alicia was a hider. And I know what you're thinking – how hard can it be to hide in a manor? – but she could find places I didn't know existed. Granted, she cheated...
[Being able to stop time definitely helped.
That said, Verso isn't without his own feelings of contrition. The man deserves to be grilled just as much as Clive and Joshua the truth, and he knows that. They shouldn't feel responsible for him facing the consequences of his own decisions. So:]
But seriously, guys, it's okay. You have questions, I have answers I've been hoarding like a dragon for over half a century. What you do want to know?
[ Alicia. Mention of her always seems to spark something fond in Verso, and Clive loves to see it, even if that fondness is also laced with the sort of far-flung wistfulness that makes her absence all the more stark. 'A hider' seems apt, given what little Clive knows of the snow-haired girl and her somewhat-skittishness.
It's charming, though. The thought of Verso on his hands and knees, getting more and more frantic as he starts to exhaust the items on his list of hiding places. It's only funny to Clive because he can relate, and so he raises a careful brow in a silent don't give my brother any ideas, as if his fully-grown adult sibling would be inclined to play hide-and-seek in a stranger's manor.
He might, if suggested. For the novelty of it, that is. Joshua catches that Look on Clive's face, and covers his mouth to hide his chuckle.
"A dragon, you say. How unfortunate for you, then, to have caught the eye of Lumiere's premier knight." Oh, the drama of it all. "I ask the dragon, then― what secrets would he like to share?"
Or, in other words, what would he be comfortable speaking about over breakfast? Clive hums his agreement, and nudges his knee against Verso's in solidarity. ]
[The laugh that follows Joshua's remark comes across as genuine, though he's hit the nail a bit too on the head there. Comfortable truths is a matter that's still hard to navigate, if only because Verso's never sure which truths will inspire devastating reactions in which people. The Paintress isn't our enemy had, at the time, felt like the safest thing that he and his family could share about the truth, and look how that turned out. Conversely, I'm not immortal had seemed like a prudent lie. Which, of course, was proven wrong.
But he shakes his head at Clive's offer and circles back to that look he'd given him just before, to the look Joshua had responded with in turn.]
I wouldn't try it in this manor. You never know where you'll end up – or what'll be waiting for you on the other side.
[It's like Nevron roulette! Verso wishes he knew if the layout of the manor doors across the Continent was deliberate, something Renoir had carefully planned for one reason or another, or if it had something to do with the Fracture, but speculations aren't truths so he keeps them to himself.]
Renoir is trapped under the Monolith, but he can cast an apparition of himself. A strong one that could easily kill you if he wanted. He doesn't, for the record, but get on his bad side and he won't hesitate.
[Which feels like a dismissive thing to say considering how many people Renoir has killed, year after year. And it is. But Verso understands Renoir on some level – after all, if it does come to be that the only way to save the Canvas is to destroy it, then he'll be doing the same thing, just in broader strokes – so he moves to elaborate.]
I'm not ignoring the Gommage. It's... different to him. Probably because he can distance himself from what he's doing. And I'm pretty sure that's the same reason he's left me alone all these years. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't see me as his son, but I don't think he has it in him to oppose me. Even if we both know things would be easier for everyone if I wasn't around. So. That's the long version of why I'm okay with you being here.
[ Well, that's... heavy. At least, it's heavy for Clive, who still rebels against the idea that Verso is anything less than a man who should exist and should be entitled to a life fully lived. There's a faint wrinkling of his nose at the assertion that things would be "easier for everyone", and the sort of kneejerk tension that prompts him to look to the side, lest Verso see that not-quite-small frown. Eventually, he thinks to hide it behind the rest of his sandwich as he lets his brother digest this new tidbit about the Gommage and how the Painters perceive it.
"I... see. Much as I'd like to say that I don't understand, I think I would be much the same were I in 'Renoir's' predicament." Joshua finally ventures after a beat, obviously trying to comprehend all sides of the current matter at hand. "It's a difficult thing, to be impartial about family. Or about those who call themselves as such."
A prickle in Clive's chest, at that. He knows how horrible it must have been for Joshua to be in the middle of the storm that was their mother and him; in a sense, maybe Joshua relates far more to Verso than Clive ever could. The weight of expectation, the difficulties of playing mediator, the push and pull.
Clive keeps working at his sandwich, licking yolk from the flat of his thumb. ]
All the same, it doesn't change the fact that all of them have placed Verso in an unhappy spot.
[ The grim impartiality, the dogged determination to make him assume his place. Both sides of the equation are equally guilty, and Clive likes none of it. That, he can make plain without reservation.
(Joshua's eyes widen, and then narrow fondly. There he is, as always: his stupid, stubborn brother.) ]
[Maybe Verso can't catch that frown, but he can guess at what Clive's hiding when he looks away. Another twinge of guilt comes; no impulse to apologise or downplay what he means follows. Deep down, he knows it's not as simple as that, but it feels that simple, that obvious, like knowledge immediately inherited upon learning the truths of his existence. Ah, yes, there is the epicentre of our storm of petals and ash.
If nothing else, it helps keep him going when he doesn't feel like he can.
His lips thin at what Joshua says next, but there's something soft in his eyes, almost like overwhelm. Between the brothers, he's been met with more easy acceptance than he can remember, and not just of himself and of the truths he shares, but of the Dessendres as well. The tragedies of their stories. The love behind their evils.
Each man with a different approach, of course. A different perspective that feeds Verso's own. He might have laughed at Clive's interjection and how that calls those differences to attention if the mood were lighter, but instead he places what's left of his sandwich back on the tray and sinks against the couch, relaxing what he can of the tension he's sure that he's wearing in plain sight of the others.]
Maybe not. But I don't think any of them expected it to last as long as it has, either. I mean, it was supposed to end with the Fracture. And if the Paintress hadn't moved that piece of Lumiere across the Continent, it would have.
[Another frown, this one directed inward as he looks down at his hands. There's the slightest sheen of a burn still left on the ball of his palm, and he rubs his thumb across it.]
After spending all that time doing such awful things, how do you stop without feeling like everything you've done has been in vain? All those lives...
[ "Meant to end with the Fracture". That's something that Clive hasn't given too much thought to: what was meant to happen when Renoir first came into the Canvas to drive the Paintress out. A quick, definitive genocide, and then...
...what? A dispassionate un-painting of the "false" Dessendres? And what would have happened to this world, this last fragment of the other Verso?
It puts the smallness of their existence into perspective, again. The ease with which Renoir could have obliterated them all, if not for the Paintress' white-knuckled grip on her fantasy. The helplessness of their situation, and how they only persist because of that grief-curled woman hunched in front of the tombstone marking her wrecked family. ]
Renoir thinks it a kindness, to erase us. [ Like plucking weeds. Clive turns his focus back towards Verso, at how he's fidgeting with his hand again, finding the one part of his palm that remains raw and aching, and seeing it feels like a bone lodged in his throat. ] And the Paintress only sees us as living shadows for her play.
[ And the rest of Verso's painted family... well. Lumiére is no longer their concern. The remains of his croque madame rests next to Verso's, and Clive folds his hands on his knees. ]
You've ever been the only one to fight for us, Verso. And even that...
[ "I'm tired", he'd said. Again, the back of Clive's throat itches with the sort of pain he can't reach. ]
...You've exhausted yourself. And now it's our turn to fight for you.
[There's a look Joshua fixes Clive with when he speaks of it being their turn. Fond and familiar in one part, posing a quiet challenge in another: haven't you exhausted yourself, too? Verso's own look carries similar fondness and a different kind of familiarity, and its challenge carries more like a selfish plea. Verso should be the one to run himself ragged; everyone else should be spared the worst of the consequences of fighting because he can't bear the thought of seeing anyone else suffer under the weight of his burdens. And just like Renoir, he can't take even a single step backwards after all that he's done. A Dessendre through and through; indeed, his mother's masterpiece.
Engaging in a battle of who should sacrifice themselves for whom – and whether the honourable knight and the bird of fire should rise in the name of the dragon whose slaying could save the world – feels like overstepping the already-crossed line of what makes for proper breakfast conversation, though, and so instead he wags his finger at Clive and quirks him a halved smile.]
What, and let you two swoop in and claim the glory after I've done most of the work?
[Completely unserious. There is no glory. There's precious little work for Verso to show for his efforts. It's a bit hard for him to leave it at that – goodness knows he has enough to question about whether he's ever truly fought for the Lumierans or if he's raised them like flags painted in his colours – but he can't very well sit by Clive's side and tell him that he isn't what he sees of himself only to maintain a staunch grip on his own negative self-image. So, instead:]
Don't worry about me. [An impossible request to make of Clive, he knows, but one he makes all the same.] There are worse things to be out here than exhausted.
[Which, he supposes, is why it's one of the few things he admits to being. That and the fact that it's really fucking obvious to anyone with eyes and the capacity to imagine what it might mean to live forever.]
But enough of that. [Mercy, mercy, he's very good at wallowing.] Seems only fair that since I answered your questions, I get one of mine answered so... Joshua, care to share a story about Clive as a boy?
[ "Don't worry about me" is accepted with the sort of frown that says wow, I do not like that at all, and it lingers even after Verso tries to shift subjects by making Clive the focus of it. Clive remains a shaggy dark stormcloud with his brows pinched inwards, finishing the last bite of his sandwich as he perches on the couch like a dog that's very unhappy about being told to sit and stay.
He loves Verso. He wants the best for him, even if Verso doesn't seem to want the same for himself. "Don't worry about me" sits next to "I'm fine" in the ranking of Things Clive Doesn't Like Hearing, but he's also aware of the old adage of the pot and kettle; despite his kneejerk rejection of don't worry, Clive wants to be fair, and he knows he'd say the same if he were in Verso's place.
So. A little bit of brooding, as he lets his brother continue the conversation― about his boyhood, no less. He wonders what Joshua will offer about it, and huffs a brief laugh about where he starts.
"Only one? I think you would need a handful, to balance the scales." Softly, but warmly. Apologizing for the heavy nature of the questions they've made Verso answer, while offering something lighthearted in return. Joshua really is much better at this than Clive is. "Where to start, where to start... has Clive ever told you how fond he is of plays? He'd stay up all night acting out his favorite scenes from his production of choice."
(Sir Crandall of Camelot, you will always be famous.) "Or the time I begged him to take me outside of the house for my nameday... or the time he nearly perished trying to find the biggest flower to gift to our neighbor on the day of his Gommage."
A little laugh, as Joshua shakes his head. "I can't remember a time when my brother wasn't rushing about trying to do something for someone." ]
[This time, Verso moves to soothe some of the consequences of his dismissal, reaching for Clive's hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. If Monoco were here, he might chime in with a Don't worry, he'll find a way to get himself sliced in half soon enough. Then, he'll have no choice but to let you help. But alas, he's not. Clive will have to learn about Verso's propensity towards a different kind of duality some other day.
For now, Verso lets out a laugh of his own, something soft and airy. It's sweet, the kinds of stories Joshua chooses to tell, love and adoration dripping from each one. Teasing only really present in the context of simple goodness. With, of course, that one magnetising exception. There is no resisting the impulse to poke at it. Apologies, Clive.]
Ooh, tell me more about the near perishing.
[Surprising development: Verso is most intrigued by the story of misadventure. But it's also a side of Clive he hasn't really grown familiar with, yet. Sure, he's willing to endanger himself, but there's something particularly endearing about him going to such limits for a flower. And Verso wants to know more about all the thinks it speaks of his heart.
That's hardly the only element to the story, though, so he casts Clive another soft glance and tosses a request his way, too.]
And the neighbour. Sounds like they meant a lot to you.
[ Narrator voice: "Monoco will not help allay Clive's fears any."
But, well. For now, the story of how Clive nearly broke his neck for a flower. He remembers it well, because he got scolded heartily for it before being wrapped in the kind of embrace he'd never received from anyone else before; his neighbor and dearly departed spiritual uncle, Rodney. Clive is as happy to talk about him as he is by the kiss to his hand (let it never be said that Clive isn't easy to please). ]
He did. He was our father's oldest friend－ almost a brother to him. I heard he and my father and uncle were quite the terrible trio when they were children.
[ "Sir Rodney," Joshua chuckles. "I spent much of my time as a boy watching him trounce Clive on our yard."
A snort. ] I trounced him back. Occasionally. [ With no actual indignation. He continues: ] ...He was meant to go with our father on his expedition, but Father insisted that he stay behind to watch over us in his absence.
[ With the promise that he'd be back by the next year, when Rodney would have to face his Gommage. Clive knows he doesn't have to speak on that part of the story. Before things can get solemn, Joshua segues neatly back into the topic of Clive's accident, which he relays with no small amount of affection-laced amusement:
"So he did. And, well, because Clive wanted the biggest flower to give to Sir Rodney in honor of his hard work and commitment, he tried to pluck a beautiful bloom growing on a vine halfway up a three-story apartment building.
[In his absence. Verso's smile softens a bit at the implication and at the memories that accompany it. Most Expeditioners harbour no intentions of returning to Lumiere without the Paintress' head to show for their efforts, but Elwin had been different. Like a storybook king who refused to ever truly leave his people. A man who fulfilled his self-assigned duties understanding that they could lead to his death, but still expecting to return home.
In that sense, Verso supposes the manner of his death was a small mercy. He never knew the taste of failure.
Rodney – sorry, Sir Rodney – doesn't strike a familiar chord with Verso. Then again, it wouldn't have; after what happened to the 58s, Verso had kept his distanced from the next few Expeditions. Hell, he'd kept his distance from everything he could. But no matter how these thoughts plague his mind, he manages to keep them from darkening his expression beyond a flicker of the light in his eyes and a single deep breath, inhale, exhale, gone.
Not that it matters: Joshua tells the rest of the story and Verso winces at the mental image he pieces together of a little bright-eyed boy, wearing a determined frown as he looks up the length of a building. He wonders how many flowers he'd passed by along the way, just as beautiful but not nearly as big, and therefore not nearly good enough.]
Don't tell me he tried to climb the vine.
[Or do. Verso isn't actually sure what the alternatives are, or if any of them could be considered better. He just knows he likes this story, likes how just hearing it makes him feel a sense of being ordinary, a sense of belonging in earnest ways that he can't shrug off as being a benefit of his utility to others. Likes the way it brightens up the brother's too, one's fire feeding the other, the other's fire feeding the one, the warmth they carry crackling with the hearth, effusing into the cold, stark room.]
[ "He", as if the Clive from his childhood is a completely separate entity from the Clive of now, which― well. Holds, to some extent. There are times when Clive feels completely divorced from his pre-Ifrit life, when he'd still believed himself to be an ordinary human with some unique quirks; then, there are times he still feels ten again, curled on a grimy floor and wondering what he'd done to be so wretched.
That said, the particular memory they're speaking of now evokes neither distance nor self-effacement. Just the sort of wistfulness for days long gone, and for good men taken from them far too soon. ]
He even got close enough to tangle his finger around the stem of the flower in question, but overestimated his ability to pluck and balance at the same time.
[ With his free hand, he mimes a fall: fingers outstretched towards the ceiling, followed by a splat onto the couch cushion. Again, Joshua hides his smile behind a hand, though his voice shakes audibly when he speaks.
"He was lucky he fell on top of some bushes instead of on pavement. We laugh about it now, but at the time, I truly thought Clive had perished― he didn't move for a good minute or so, as I recall."
Clive hums. ]
Perishing would have been preferable to the tongue-lashing Sir Rodney gave me afterwards.
[It's almost sad how the story provides another reminder that life is nothing like fairytales: the flower remained in place on the building, fated to shed its own petals down on emptier streets than those it had bloomed above rather than being vaulted to a greater purpose. Insofar as being plucked to one's death to join in on another's can be considered greater, anyway.
Life isn't all bad, though; Verso laughs at the theatrics of Clive's hand, the clouds of the previous stage of their conversation shifting to someplace beyond his notice. He's known for a while that this sweet, shaggy, doofus of a man is someone who he'd like to grow old with – a thought he'll stubbornly harbour regardless of whether the Canvas has a future or not – but moments like these have his fool heart excited for possibilities he's long dismissed and the kind of life he's long denied.
He's so fucking glad Clive didn't perish. He's so damned grateful that he still has so much spirit, so much heart, so much love.]
Near-death experience aside... As far as last moments go, I'd say you gave him a good one.
[Terrifying, sure, but to have had that impact on a mistreated, neglected boy who only wanted someone to tell him that he was doing good... Verso can only imagine the pride and the overwhelm he might have felt, understanding the mark he'd left on the world, hoping it might shape itself into a greater legacy than any of them would have dreamed.]
We could all only be so lucky as to be so loved, right?
[It's Joshua's turn to hum now, a little softer as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Then: "That's my brother for you. His heart's long been the strongest thing about him."]
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flamebrand) wrote2024-09-08 02:07 pm
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What comes afterward gives him a bit of pause, though, the loose smile he wears tightening into something more contemplative. That picture he'd been holding in his mind of Clive falters a little at how he seems to have taken Joshua's teasing to heart. Verso bops his shoulder with his own, a gesture of you doofus, every bit as fond as his laughter had been moments earlier.]
Like I said, you're not that hard to see through. I knew. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing it, but...
[A sigh, soft and inward, as he collects his thoughts. Thank fucking goodness that the manor is large enough to afford him a little more time.]
You know that feeling you get when you're with someone and neither of you are saying anything but you just... you know you're on the same wavelength?
[How long has it been since he'd felt that way? I love yous can come into question. They certainly had with Julie, who still said it even after her doubts had begun to fester into a lethal rot. Verso doesn't know the last time she said it and truly, truly meant it, and he thinks he hates that feeling more than he would have if she'd stop saying it longer ago. But the utter simplicity of knowing, of feeling Clive's chroma imbue it indelibly into his own, that he can trust absolutely.]
That's how it felt, and I liked it every bit as much. So, there's nothing to apologise for.
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...he has. Not in the sense of shared love, but in shared understanding. Shared purpose. Cid, sitting by an open window in his solar, breathing smoke towards the direction of the Monolith; Clive, watching the older man in profile, feeling his thunder-like anger simmering under that calm exterior.
So. A pause, here, mid-step. Clive notes that he doesn't actually know where the library is (Joshua has likely been awake long enough to do some exploring), but he stop their journey for a moment to digest that nudge and that sigh, the way Verso looks at him and seems to look not through him, but into him. ]
...I understand. Sometimes, something doesn't need to be said for it to be the truth of things.
[ As they both well know. Sometimes it's these unspoken truths that are the most devastating of all, and they seem to always be surrounded by it; the air is thick with it, the beauty of this world is founded on it. ]
It's only that I thought I should earn the right to tell you. ...But I suppose that was a foolish presumption on my part.
[ A small smile, as he presses a je t'aime against Verso's temple. (A not-so-small part of him wonders when the last time Verso had felt that way about someone was. The same wavelength. Alicia? Clea? The woman he loved and lost?) ]
...Now, do you want any actual ammunition, or do you feel prepared?
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So, a smile of his own instead of the frown that threatens dominance.]
Very.
[Foolish, he means, though he doesn't actually mean it at all. It felt like a good moment for a little tease is all, something lighthearted to clear away this latest burst of encroaching shadows. None of this is hard, at least, with firelight flickering a hot blue in Clive's eyes, with the warmth of his breath and the gentleness of his lips osmosing love into Verso's pulse. A contented hum follows, shifting into a laugh in its final moments, a je t'aime in its own right.
It's silly how he feels almost conspiratorial and nostalgic as a result. But it makes sense, too; the feeling hearkens back to all those times when he'd rally his siblings against their parents, all their little whispers eventually making way for laughter.
Naturally, then:]
Oh, I want the ammunition. Far be it from me to turn down an advantage.
[It's not a competition, Verso!!!]
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Clive wouldn't know, though. He still doesn't know who 'Verso' was before this, and what kind of foundation the un-painted Verso provides, inextricable from this Verso's context. All Clive can say with some measure of certainty is that, no matter the miasma of uncertainty that his Verso carries within him, Clive finds it all radiantly, imperfectly, perfect.
Maybe that's an unspoken reality that Verso can feel without Clive putting it into words, too. It seems a little too heavy for the latter, anyway. He squeezes their linked fingers, thumb brushing along the back of Verso's now less-injured hand. ]
It's hard to know who to root for, here.
[ A hum, almost a chuckle. Clive's eyes soften, as he reaches into his memory for something to offer Verso as a harmless lens through which he can see Joshua a bit more clearly. ]
But, hm. Joshua and I... well, we both liked birds as a child. We'd only seen them in books our Father gave us, but Joshua seemed so taken by them that I went out and made a rocking horse in the shape of a bird for him.
He loved it― named it Ambrosia. Mother bade me get rid of it one day after Joshua fell off and scraped his knee, but I hid it away somewhere secret. ...I wonder if it's still where I left it.
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[Verso's totally fine with keeping any wins to himself, anyways, because he'll be keeping any feelings of losing to himself. Whee and whoo, perfectly balanced. Esquie would be proud.
With the hand still holding onto Clive's, he gestures them onward towards the library and starts moving again, steps a little slower than before so that their arrival doesn't interrupt Clive's story. A cosy story to offset all the awful ones he's shared about their childhood. Which soon inspires another fantasy to slip into Verso's willing mind, one where they have a little workshop at the back of their operahouse, one that smells of fresh wood with floors that are never clean and finished and unfinished projects alike stocked on shelves and overflowing from handmade chests. Rustic and imperfect, not a trace of black and gold in sight.
It's foolish to harbour these dreams, Verso knows, but so too is it foolish to hold them at a distance. Another duality, another conflict, but one that he chooses to power himself through, at least.]
I'm noticing a theme here.
[Ambrosia. A firebird with healing properties. There's a prickly thought about tainted Chroma and how many pieces they carry of the artists who made them, but, again, not the time, not the place.]
We can add trying to find it to our agenda, if we ever get to Lumiere. Dust it off, bring it back for Joshua as a gift. At the very least, I want to see your craftsmanship for myself.
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It's a sweet memory. Not dulled, even, by the eventual fate of that rocking-bird, sequestered in Clive's hiding hut where he lamented being a son his mother couldn't love. Just two siblings with fanciful dreams and a pocket of uncomplicated time to be children.
Not marred, either, by the association that Verso points out. From what little Clive has heard from Joshua about the Nevron that Joshua houses, it seems far less volatile than Ifrit: almost the other side of Ifrit's violent coin, even. Protective, nurturing, healing. To temper Ifrit's worst impulses? To rebuild after Ifrit first razes everything to the ground? Clive still isn't sure. But it's another reason why Clive should stay away from his brother for a bit, he supposes― to delay anything catastrophic that might happen if their Nevrons ever resonate too closely with one another.
That's not something he wants to burden Verso with. So, as they make their way down the hall again, overseen by vistas of scenery they've seen and are yet to see, Clive shifts the gears in his mind. ]
Then I'll take you to my secret hiding spot. I've never let anyone in there besides myself. [ Not even his brother. Especially not his brother. ] If my memory serves me correctly, there are a few other trinkets that I would be happy to give you as well.
[ His old training sword, for one. If Verso would even want it.
The scent of toast and eggs gets stronger; they must be getting close. ] Maybe I'll carve you a wooden train.
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[There's more he wants to say, more he wants to ask, like whether there's anything Clive would want to bring back for himself, but he can't keep monopolising Clive's time – he doesn't want to – while they're feet away from Joshua, and the air smells like food, real food, and everything reminds him of what domesticity feels like, that ordinary day-to-day kind of existence he's denied himself for the better part of seven decades. That Clive's been denied over the years, too.
Letting go of Clive's hands, Verso pushes open the doors to the library with the ease of someone well-accustomed to the weight of them, to the ease with which their hinges turn. Joshua sits waiting by the fireplace, a tray of sandwiches set by the flames to keep them warm.]
Knock-knock.
[Said so long after the point of appropriateness that Verso's already guided Clive halfway into the room and Joshua's already pulled away from the bookshelves, turning to face them, his eyes bright with an enthusiastic kind of overwhelm, his hands empty only for the fact that he couldn't decide which book to take.
"How does anyone decide what to read here?" he asks as he grabs the tray of sandwiches and moves it over to the table by the couch. He's already positioned one of the chairs nearby but doesn't sit in it yet, instead standing behind it with his hands resting on its back. "Or eat, for that matter. Who's keeping the kitchens so well-stocked?"]
Good question.
[Verso offers with an apologetic smile and a shrug as he takes a seat on the couch. If he's worried at all about the food, it doesn't show. The Dessendres may not have many limits, but they tend to consider themselves above underhanded methods like poisoning, so... One day, Verso will learn what Renoir had done to Simon and he'll understand that he doesn't only destroy people from afar. But as far as he knows now, only his own father has exhibited that kind of brutality.]
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Verso settles on the couch, and Clive hovers for a bit near the table until Joshua smiles and gestures for him to sit by Verso instead of poising near him looking for invisible problems. The request isn't immediately obliged, and Clive offers a quick: ] Did you sleep well? [ To which he receives a warm and convincing "like a log― I haven't slept on a proper mattress in an age."
Another graceful-yet-insistent wave from Joshua later, and Clive plops himself down, making the couch cushions bounce under his weight. And, since Verso hasn't immediately alerted the both of them to the food in the manor being unfit for consumption, Clive finally listens to the screaming in his stomach (right on cue, it rumbles) and reaches for one of the very nicely-made croque madames to give him something to do as his beloved brother and beloved lover bracket him from the side and the front.
He takes a bite, munches, and swallows. ] Are there any other doors leading into this manor? Preferably ones closer to the Station, in case Joshua ever feels unwell and needs a warmer place to rest.
[ "Clive", Joshua sighs. "No fussing over breakfast, please." ]
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Unfortunately, no. This is the closest one by far.
[Later, Verso will let Clive know about all the winter wear that's stored away in the attic, relics from a reality when the Dessendres would regularly travel to the Swiss Alps, hoping that the thought of bundling Joshua up in the finest Parisian downs and furs will help salve some of his worries. But he can already imagine Joshua's objections to that, too, so he keeps it to himself for now.]
But – [An all-important pause so he can emphasise the point he's about to make by literally pointing at Joshua.] – the Station isn't your only option. There's always the Gestral Village. You won't get to take advantage of the Grandis' knowledge and, uh, Monoco's not exactly welcomed there so he wouldn't be able to join you, but it is a lot warmer and it does have its own manor entrance.
[Upside: there are Gestrals everywhere. Downside: there are Gestrals everywhere. Verso chose to build his home in the forest surrounding it for a reason, though, so it's a possibility he offers in earnest. And one that Joshua chews on in lieu of taking a bit of his own sandwich. He doesn't look convinced but, perhaps in a gesture to give Clive some room to big brother him, he asks, "What say you, Clive?"]
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[ On one hand, being inside a village that has withstood the test of the Continent's time would put Clive at ease; on the other, the Gestrals are charming (a dog person assessment) but not very good at... tending to people. Or mindfulness. Or not picking fights.
The first piece of sandwich-toast gets demolished in a matter of seconds. There are two more, presumably one for seconds and the other for Joshua, but Clive politely sits and licks crumbs off of his fingers to allow Verso the chance to eat first if he wants. Force of habit. ]
This manor doesn't present its own set of problems, does it?
[ It seems to be neutral territory, given what they've been able to get away with thus far, but... it's still Dessendre territory, and the fear there is that Joshua will somehow come face-to-face with someone like Clea again. She hadn't seemed to rely on the manor to jump from place to place, but still.
Joshua taps at his chin with an index, and gives voice to that concern. "I assume that this place was 'painted' by the family you spoke of last night?" ]
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Which is perfect, since Clive goes on to ask a question that flips Verso's stomach a little, and Joshua goes on to follow suit. Maybe one day he'll be able to think about tackling the mountainous truths he's still keeping silenced and not feel that too-familiar twinge of guilt-laced dread, but not without putting a more honest attempt into dealing with everything that had happened with Julie and the others. It's nothing he can't pretend like he isn't feeling, though, so he lets out a whistle of air and an appropriately uncomfortable laugh, he thinks, given the subject matter. Breakfast fussing, bad. Breakfast drilling Verso, good. He gets it now.]
Yes and no. It was only painted by one of them – Renoir. The Paintress and... my family don't have access. At least I don't think they do. He wants nothing to do with his mirror, and Alicia wants nothing to do with this manor, so...
[It's family. It's complicated. Verso shakes his head, looks off into some distant corner, hates how it feels more familiar than the one in his mother's painted manor does.]
What I'm getting at is Renoir's the only other person I've seen here. Yeah, Clea could come by, but she hates everything here that was brought back from out there so it's not likely. And it doesn't matter, anyway. If she wants to find you, she will.
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Thankfully, Joshua seems to share Clive's moment of contrition. Instead of asking for elaboration, he cuts in with a gentle "I see," though it's obvious that half a night hasn't been entirely enough for him to wrap his mind around the entirety of the Dessendre family dynamics (hell, Clive still struggles with it); diplomatically, he adds "I'll think on the matter. The matter of the manor aside, both the Grandis and the Gestrals are fascinating in their own right― I feel spoiled for choice."
The smile that follows is sincere. The look of a bright young man who has always wanted to apply himself to the discovery of new and novel things. It helps Clive relax a bit and take the sandwich after a properly apologetic bow of his head. ]
As long as there's someone looking after you. Be it Verso's friend or a Gestral.
[ Narrator voice: "He will later find out that Monoco, too, is a Gestral." ]
You always did like to wander. Even when Mother or I would tell you to stay inside.
[ A glance, Verso's way. It doesn't seem like Alicia was the type to wander around needlessly, but maybe this is an Elder Brother Problem that he can share with Verso. ]
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Now, as for Clive, Verso could take the opportunity he unwittingly offers him and provide the clearly absent clarity about who – and what – Monoco is, exactly, but, again, that sounds a hell of a lot less fun than leaving everything to surprise, so he hides a mischievous smile behind his croque madame as he takes a slightly smaller bite than before and lets Clive believe that he's made an actual distinction there.
Alas, he can't quite relate to having a little sibling with wanderlust; Alicia was far more inclined to worry him by staying put. Honestly, there'll probably come a point when Clive ends up having to deal with Verso heading off somewhere to get up to fuck knows what. If he's lucky, it'll never involve lost limbs.
What he can relate to is the fondness, though, that little air of I love your brand of trouble. All the ways Alicia has bucked against their parents over the years have always made him feel a little proud, a little admiring of the way she was coming into her own, even if it was a somewhat stunted pace thanks to those very same parents. So:]
Alicia was a hider. And I know what you're thinking – how hard can it be to hide in a manor? – but she could find places I didn't know existed. Granted, she cheated...
[Being able to stop time definitely helped.
That said, Verso isn't without his own feelings of contrition. The man deserves to be grilled just as much as Clive and Joshua the truth, and he knows that. They shouldn't feel responsible for him facing the consequences of his own decisions. So:]
But seriously, guys, it's okay. You have questions, I have answers I've been hoarding like a dragon for over half a century. What you do want to know?
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It's charming, though. The thought of Verso on his hands and knees, getting more and more frantic as he starts to exhaust the items on his list of hiding places. It's only funny to Clive because he can relate, and so he raises a careful brow in a silent don't give my brother any ideas, as if his fully-grown adult sibling would be inclined to play hide-and-seek in a stranger's manor.
He might, if suggested. For the novelty of it, that is. Joshua catches that Look on Clive's face, and covers his mouth to hide his chuckle.
"A dragon, you say. How unfortunate for you, then, to have caught the eye of Lumiere's premier knight." Oh, the drama of it all. "I ask the dragon, then― what secrets would he like to share?"
Or, in other words, what would he be comfortable speaking about over breakfast? Clive hums his agreement, and nudges his knee against Verso's in solidarity. ]
If it's too early for all that, say so.
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But he shakes his head at Clive's offer and circles back to that look he'd given him just before, to the look Joshua had responded with in turn.]
I wouldn't try it in this manor. You never know where you'll end up – or what'll be waiting for you on the other side.
[It's like Nevron roulette! Verso wishes he knew if the layout of the manor doors across the Continent was deliberate, something Renoir had carefully planned for one reason or another, or if it had something to do with the Fracture, but speculations aren't truths so he keeps them to himself.]
Renoir is trapped under the Monolith, but he can cast an apparition of himself. A strong one that could easily kill you if he wanted. He doesn't, for the record, but get on his bad side and he won't hesitate.
[Which feels like a dismissive thing to say considering how many people Renoir has killed, year after year. And it is. But Verso understands Renoir on some level – after all, if it does come to be that the only way to save the Canvas is to destroy it, then he'll be doing the same thing, just in broader strokes – so he moves to elaborate.]
I'm not ignoring the Gommage. It's... different to him. Probably because he can distance himself from what he's doing. And I'm pretty sure that's the same reason he's left me alone all these years. Don't get me wrong, he doesn't see me as his son, but I don't think he has it in him to oppose me. Even if we both know things would be easier for everyone if I wasn't around. So. That's the long version of why I'm okay with you being here.
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"I... see. Much as I'd like to say that I don't understand, I think I would be much the same were I in 'Renoir's' predicament." Joshua finally ventures after a beat, obviously trying to comprehend all sides of the current matter at hand. "It's a difficult thing, to be impartial about family. Or about those who call themselves as such."
A prickle in Clive's chest, at that. He knows how horrible it must have been for Joshua to be in the middle of the storm that was their mother and him; in a sense, maybe Joshua relates far more to Verso than Clive ever could. The weight of expectation, the difficulties of playing mediator, the push and pull.
Clive keeps working at his sandwich, licking yolk from the flat of his thumb. ]
All the same, it doesn't change the fact that all of them have placed Verso in an unhappy spot.
[ The grim impartiality, the dogged determination to make him assume his place. Both sides of the equation are equally guilty, and Clive likes none of it. That, he can make plain without reservation.
(Joshua's eyes widen, and then narrow fondly. There he is, as always: his stupid, stubborn brother.) ]
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If nothing else, it helps keep him going when he doesn't feel like he can.
His lips thin at what Joshua says next, but there's something soft in his eyes, almost like overwhelm. Between the brothers, he's been met with more easy acceptance than he can remember, and not just of himself and of the truths he shares, but of the Dessendres as well. The tragedies of their stories. The love behind their evils.
Each man with a different approach, of course. A different perspective that feeds Verso's own. He might have laughed at Clive's interjection and how that calls those differences to attention if the mood were lighter, but instead he places what's left of his sandwich back on the tray and sinks against the couch, relaxing what he can of the tension he's sure that he's wearing in plain sight of the others.]
Maybe not. But I don't think any of them expected it to last as long as it has, either. I mean, it was supposed to end with the Fracture. And if the Paintress hadn't moved that piece of Lumiere across the Continent, it would have.
[Another frown, this one directed inward as he looks down at his hands. There's the slightest sheen of a burn still left on the ball of his palm, and he rubs his thumb across it.]
After spending all that time doing such awful things, how do you stop without feeling like everything you've done has been in vain? All those lives...
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...what? A dispassionate un-painting of the "false" Dessendres? And what would have happened to this world, this last fragment of the other Verso?
It puts the smallness of their existence into perspective, again. The ease with which Renoir could have obliterated them all, if not for the Paintress' white-knuckled grip on her fantasy. The helplessness of their situation, and how they only persist because of that grief-curled woman hunched in front of the tombstone marking her wrecked family. ]
Renoir thinks it a kindness, to erase us. [ Like plucking weeds. Clive turns his focus back towards Verso, at how he's fidgeting with his hand again, finding the one part of his palm that remains raw and aching, and seeing it feels like a bone lodged in his throat. ] And the Paintress only sees us as living shadows for her play.
[ And the rest of Verso's painted family... well. Lumiére is no longer their concern. The remains of his croque madame rests next to Verso's, and Clive folds his hands on his knees. ]
You've ever been the only one to fight for us, Verso. And even that...
[ "I'm tired", he'd said. Again, the back of Clive's throat itches with the sort of pain he can't reach. ]
...You've exhausted yourself. And now it's our turn to fight for you.
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Engaging in a battle of who should sacrifice themselves for whom – and whether the honourable knight and the bird of fire should rise in the name of the dragon whose slaying could save the world – feels like overstepping the already-crossed line of what makes for proper breakfast conversation, though, and so instead he wags his finger at Clive and quirks him a halved smile.]
What, and let you two swoop in and claim the glory after I've done most of the work?
[Completely unserious. There is no glory. There's precious little work for Verso to show for his efforts. It's a bit hard for him to leave it at that – goodness knows he has enough to question about whether he's ever truly fought for the Lumierans or if he's raised them like flags painted in his colours – but he can't very well sit by Clive's side and tell him that he isn't what he sees of himself only to maintain a staunch grip on his own negative self-image. So, instead:]
Don't worry about me. [An impossible request to make of Clive, he knows, but one he makes all the same.] There are worse things to be out here than exhausted.
[Which, he supposes, is why it's one of the few things he admits to being. That and the fact that it's really fucking obvious to anyone with eyes and the capacity to imagine what it might mean to live forever.]
But enough of that. [Mercy, mercy, he's very good at wallowing.] Seems only fair that since I answered your questions, I get one of mine answered so... Joshua, care to share a story about Clive as a boy?
[That's not a question, Verso!!!]
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He loves Verso. He wants the best for him, even if Verso doesn't seem to want the same for himself. "Don't worry about me" sits next to "I'm fine" in the ranking of Things Clive Doesn't Like Hearing, but he's also aware of the old adage of the pot and kettle; despite his kneejerk rejection of don't worry, Clive wants to be fair, and he knows he'd say the same if he were in Verso's place.
So. A little bit of brooding, as he lets his brother continue the conversation― about his boyhood, no less. He wonders what Joshua will offer about it, and huffs a brief laugh about where he starts.
"Only one? I think you would need a handful, to balance the scales." Softly, but warmly. Apologizing for the heavy nature of the questions they've made Verso answer, while offering something lighthearted in return. Joshua really is much better at this than Clive is. "Where to start, where to start... has Clive ever told you how fond he is of plays? He'd stay up all night acting out his favorite scenes from his production of choice."
(Sir Crandall of Camelot, you will always be famous.) "Or the time I begged him to take me outside of the house for my nameday... or the time he nearly perished trying to find the biggest flower to gift to our neighbor on the day of his Gommage."
A little laugh, as Joshua shakes his head. "I can't remember a time when my brother wasn't rushing about trying to do something for someone." ]
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For now, Verso lets out a laugh of his own, something soft and airy. It's sweet, the kinds of stories Joshua chooses to tell, love and adoration dripping from each one. Teasing only really present in the context of simple goodness. With, of course, that one magnetising exception. There is no resisting the impulse to poke at it. Apologies, Clive.]
Ooh, tell me more about the near perishing.
[Surprising development: Verso is most intrigued by the story of misadventure. But it's also a side of Clive he hasn't really grown familiar with, yet. Sure, he's willing to endanger himself, but there's something particularly endearing about him going to such limits for a flower. And Verso wants to know more about all the thinks it speaks of his heart.
That's hardly the only element to the story, though, so he casts Clive another soft glance and tosses a request his way, too.]
And the neighbour. Sounds like they meant a lot to you.
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But, well. For now, the story of how Clive nearly broke his neck for a flower. He remembers it well, because he got scolded heartily for it before being wrapped in the kind of embrace he'd never received from anyone else before; his neighbor and dearly departed spiritual uncle, Rodney. Clive is as happy to talk about him as he is by the kiss to his hand (let it never be said that Clive isn't easy to please). ]
He did. He was our father's oldest friend－ almost a brother to him. I heard he and my father and uncle were quite the terrible trio when they were children.
[ "Sir Rodney," Joshua chuckles. "I spent much of my time as a boy watching him trounce Clive on our yard."
A snort. ] I trounced him back. Occasionally. [ With no actual indignation. He continues: ] ...He was meant to go with our father on his expedition, but Father insisted that he stay behind to watch over us in his absence.
[ With the promise that he'd be back by the next year, when Rodney would have to face his Gommage. Clive knows he doesn't have to speak on that part of the story. Before things can get solemn, Joshua segues neatly back into the topic of Clive's accident, which he relays with no small amount of affection-laced amusement:
"So he did. And, well, because Clive wanted the biggest flower to give to Sir Rodney in honor of his hard work and commitment, he tried to pluck a beautiful bloom growing on a vine halfway up a three-story apartment building.
You can imagine how well that went." ]
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In that sense, Verso supposes the manner of his death was a small mercy. He never knew the taste of failure.
Rodney – sorry, Sir Rodney – doesn't strike a familiar chord with Verso. Then again, it wouldn't have; after what happened to the 58s, Verso had kept his distanced from the next few Expeditions. Hell, he'd kept his distance from everything he could. But no matter how these thoughts plague his mind, he manages to keep them from darkening his expression beyond a flicker of the light in his eyes and a single deep breath, inhale, exhale, gone.
Not that it matters: Joshua tells the rest of the story and Verso winces at the mental image he pieces together of a little bright-eyed boy, wearing a determined frown as he looks up the length of a building. He wonders how many flowers he'd passed by along the way, just as beautiful but not nearly as big, and therefore not nearly good enough.]
Don't tell me he tried to climb the vine.
[Or do. Verso isn't actually sure what the alternatives are, or if any of them could be considered better. He just knows he likes this story, likes how just hearing it makes him feel a sense of being ordinary, a sense of belonging in earnest ways that he can't shrug off as being a benefit of his utility to others. Likes the way it brightens up the brother's too, one's fire feeding the other, the other's fire feeding the one, the warmth they carry crackling with the hearth, effusing into the cold, stark room.]
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[ "He", as if the Clive from his childhood is a completely separate entity from the Clive of now, which― well. Holds, to some extent. There are times when Clive feels completely divorced from his pre-Ifrit life, when he'd still believed himself to be an ordinary human with some unique quirks; then, there are times he still feels ten again, curled on a grimy floor and wondering what he'd done to be so wretched.
That said, the particular memory they're speaking of now evokes neither distance nor self-effacement. Just the sort of wistfulness for days long gone, and for good men taken from them far too soon. ]
He even got close enough to tangle his finger around the stem of the flower in question, but overestimated his ability to pluck and balance at the same time.
[ With his free hand, he mimes a fall: fingers outstretched towards the ceiling, followed by a splat onto the couch cushion. Again, Joshua hides his smile behind a hand, though his voice shakes audibly when he speaks.
"He was lucky he fell on top of some bushes instead of on pavement. We laugh about it now, but at the time, I truly thought Clive had perished― he didn't move for a good minute or so, as I recall."
Clive hums. ]
Perishing would have been preferable to the tongue-lashing Sir Rodney gave me afterwards.
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Life isn't all bad, though; Verso laughs at the theatrics of Clive's hand, the clouds of the previous stage of their conversation shifting to someplace beyond his notice. He's known for a while that this sweet, shaggy, doofus of a man is someone who he'd like to grow old with – a thought he'll stubbornly harbour regardless of whether the Canvas has a future or not – but moments like these have his fool heart excited for possibilities he's long dismissed and the kind of life he's long denied.
He's so fucking glad Clive didn't perish. He's so damned grateful that he still has so much spirit, so much heart, so much love.]
Near-death experience aside... As far as last moments go, I'd say you gave him a good one.
[Terrifying, sure, but to have had that impact on a mistreated, neglected boy who only wanted someone to tell him that he was doing good... Verso can only imagine the pride and the overwhelm he might have felt, understanding the mark he'd left on the world, hoping it might shape itself into a greater legacy than any of them would have dreamed.]
We could all only be so lucky as to be so loved, right?
[It's Joshua's turn to hum now, a little softer as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Then: "That's my brother for you. His heart's long been the strongest thing about him."]
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