stonethrow | (no subject)

Maelle—

( he starts, missing entirely the shut the fuck up right now dessendre sibling language, but he recognizes that this is something that maelle should not be saying things like that, even if it's toward her brother.

though he does steal a glance at verso.

he seems to deflate a little at the (rather impolite) question. )

We — had different ideas about family. ( anyway!!! ) Now, what's important, Maelle, is to always be respectful to others. Especially when they have differing opinions.

[ Verso tries to hide his laugh in his cup of tea, but only succeeds in making hot liquid splash out of it and into his lap with the force of his exhale. ]

Ah— [ Fuck. He dabs at his trousers with a napkin while Maelle giggles. ] Sorry, it's not—

[ He wasn't laughing at Gustave. ...Well, all right, he sort of was, but it wasn't ill-natured. He'd found the impromptu life lesson charming. ]

I'm not laughing. [ The lie buzzer goes off. ] Or, well, I am, but... [ It's going to be hard to recover from this one. ] You're just— a very good teacher.

[ That was really cute, imparting a lesson on Maelle like that, with such earnestness. ]

( noco whines and wiggles around in verso's lap—all this commotion, when puppy just wants to lie down and chill on his favorite lap. gustave, for his part, isn't too certain about the comment (or the laugh). he feels, rightfully, on the spot, but it probably has more to do with the fact that he's still quite sore about breaking up with sophie. )

I suppose so.

( teacher is not his primary function, after all, and he still isn't certain that it's a title he can wield with pride.

but, maelle seems to be getting his lessons, and the dessendre parents seem to be pleased with the results so far. )

...perhaps we could talk about something else. Like those paintings you saw, Maelle?

[ Ah, shit. He thinks he might have offended Gustave with the laughter, when it wasn't meant to; it had just been so... wholesome. Said with such sincerity. He's not used to hearing things like that in the Dessendre home.

But if there's any awkwardness, Maelle smooths it away by talking at length about the art they'd gotten to see— Liberty Leading the People, The Coronation of Napoleon, The Raft of the Medusa. She goes on until Clea and Maman return home, and Verso can hear Clea calling, "Alicia! You left your Sherlock Holmes drivel behind!" as they walk up the path to the front door.

Like the voracious reader that she is, Maelle bounds down the porch to go retrieve her book. It'll only be moments before Maman sees that he's home, and then his dance card will be full for the rest of the day catching up with her. So, as Maelle flees the scene, leaving her half-eaten pastry on the table, Verso takes the opportunity to lean in and say, ] Sorry. I didn't mean to make— you've been great for Maelle. I haven't seen her this happy all year.

[ "Mon trésor!" Aline exclaims, and then he's straightening up, offering Gustave a thin-lipped smile before standing to meet his mother at the steps, hugging and kissing her while Noco prances around their feet. ]

Maman.

[ "You're going to catch your death out here," she scolds. In the near distance, he can hear Maelle arguing with Clea: Sherlock Holmes is real literature! ]

I've been kept warm by good company.

Edited 2025-12-20 04:29 (UTC)

( sciel and lune have told him before, that he is quite useless when it comes to keeping emotion from his face when he is upset or otherwise feeling sore about something. that his inability to coherently express himself (or stand up for himself) is perhaps one of the reasons why his engagement with sophie floundered so. it's easy to keep maelle from noticing (though she hardly ever makes him feel inadequate, to be fair), but her brother seems quite... perceptive.

by the time maelle is halfway through her description of the paintings, gustave has all but forgotten the matter, instead focusing on how she's improved describing in detail. it's not a big deal, perhaps, but a few months ago she wouldn't talk as much as now.

all this to say that it surprises gustave a bit, in a mortified kind of way, when, once left alone, though briefly, verso apologizes. gustave is ready to tell him something in return, but then there is madam dessendre.

gustave straightens up from his chair, bows his head lightly. )

Madam. ( he says, after she turns to see him, once verso ascertains that he is the 'good company'. his interactions with madam dessendre are not plenty, and while nothing but kind, it's clear to gustave that she rather let her husband be the one who talks with him.

understanding how their arrival changes the current dynamic, gustave adds. ) I'll head back to my quarters, if you'll excuse me.

You are, monsieur. Furthering your research?

—ah, yes.

( he adds as much, softly, then nods again, with a light smile, and hesitates for a moment at the table before placing the tea pot and cups onto the tray, along with the pastries. earn himself a small trip to the kitchens to breathe, remove the anxiety he has since felt brewing since verso's apology. )

I will let Amelié know that you have arrived.

Merci.

( and with that, it's only the dessendres. )

[ Gustave leaves both the room and the conversation; Verso doesn't even have the chance to ask Maman anything about him, because she's quickly hurrying him inside to talk about what he's been up to at the Conservatory (studying hard), does he have any friends from school in the area (a few, they might catch up over break), is he still seeing that girl (no, Maman). He's always loved being the recipient of Aline's light, having it shine down on him. They talk for hours without noticing the time pass, and without noticing that Maelle slips away halfway through, feeling ignored.

It's late evening before Verso returns to his room and realizes that, with the excitement of Maelle's arrival, the model train had been left behind. A good fifteen minutes passes between the realization and his step back out into the hallway; he unbuttons an extra button on his pajama shirt, rumples his collar just right, and picks at his hair until it looks suitably rakish and tousled.

Only then does he rap on Gustave's guest room door with the back of his knuckles, posing with a performatively languid lean against the doorway when Gustave comes to answer his knock.

Smoothly: ] Bonsoir.

( verso may well delight in basking in his mother's attentions, but the result of that is one quite upset young girl, whom, after her older sister's badgering about her precious book, feels too defeated to try and helm some amount of strength at the very obvious favoritism. and what ought maelle do, but go to find gustave? knocking politely in defeat instead of bursting inside like she always would.

it feels above what he is allowed to do, to try and mend maelle's bruised heart; to sit beside her at the edge of his bed and listen to her, as she weeps mournfully about wanting love that she doesn't feel she ever receives. it's a lucky thing that he is an older brother, but emma had never been this soft-hearted. gustave tries his best and urges maelle to tell him about her book, and before long they are reading one of the short stories together. she asks gustave read, too, as sherlock holmes, as they uncover the mystery within the pages. it helps, he thinks, and soon enough maelle is chipper anew. while he works on his projects, she lies on his bed (not an unusual thing) and continues reading—until nightfall, her eyes, closing, too in sleep, all while gustave is too distracted with his own thoughts and the work he is engrossed in. no one came looking for her, he realizes, upon the knock at his door and taking a look at the time. perhaps it means that monsieur renoir is off in one of his longer trips outside the capital.

still, he rises from his chair, and heads to the door. he does not expect to see verso, but mostly because he is still such a new and unfamiliar presence in the home for all that gustave has been here. )

Bonsoir.

( he echoes, looking away from the man (all that hard work to make himself look some particular way—) and toward his bed, where maelle sleeps. is he here to get her? )

My apologies, I lost track of the time.

( lest this somehow be maelle's fault in some way. )

Edited 2025-12-20 18:45 (UTC)

[ Apologies—? Verso follows Gustave's gaze to a sleeping Maelle, and— ]

Oh.

[ Oh, he feels terrible. He had noticed that Maelle had disappeared from their conversation at some point, but he hadn't realized that she'd come here. And why would she, if not because she'd felt excluded? Unwanted? His mood sinks in an instant. ]

I didn't realize she was here, [ he admits, shamefully. ]

...I came for the train.

[ But that feels incredibly fucking shitty of him, now. ]

( in verso's defense, he could have lied and said he had come for maelle. at least he's honest. that being said, gustave realizes that he shouldn't have expected verso to know that his little sister would have been here—he is not privy to the new routines of the young girl now with gustave as someone she can go to.

so, he steps back into his room and grabs at the train. it has been sitting on the windowsill, keeping it out of the way of gustave's work. when he hands it back, it's quite cold to the touch. though the room isn't cold, there's a small sliver of space between the window and the wall that allows the winter air to stream in. thankfully, the hearth in the corner of the room with the fire warms up the room quite significantly.

gustave remains holding the train, even as verso holds on to it. )

I am not here to judge, monsieur.

( the cracks in the family are obvious for him, who has spent quite a few months here. )

It is not the first time Maelle hides away here. ( the young girl stirs, tucked under the blankets, but remains under the heavy influence of sleep, still. he lets go of the train. ) Don't worry. I will return her to her room when I turn in for the night.

( a bit of a usual routine, seems like.

but lest verso think that gustave is ushering him away (how rude of him, if so), he asks, )

Are you retiring for the night yourself? I imagine traveling here and keeping to your mother's company must have been tiring.

[ The tinplate steel of the little model train is chilly against his fingers, and he jumps a little, surprised. His eyes drift to the splinter-thin opening between the window and the wall, and he wonders if he should bring Gustave a blanket to stuff in the crevice. Aline and Renoir wouldn't have thought of it during the summer months when Gustave started working here, and he gets the feeling that Gustave simply puts up with it without complaining now that it's an issue. ]

Hm?

[ He comes back into awareness at the tail end of Gustave's sentence. Something about his mother's company being tiring— ]

Oh. I'm the one who tires her out, I think. All that needless worrying.

[ She's convinced he's going to get himself into all sorts of trouble at the Conservatory. It kills her that he's gone, he knows, but surely every child has to strike out on their own sometime. He can't end up like Clea, still managing the household when she's old enough to have her own.

A beat. ]

You're, uh. [ He looks down at their fingers, centimeters away on the little toy train. ] Still holding on.

—sorry.

( gustave is holding the model train with his left hand, prosthetic locked in place. he has to manually peel his fingers off with his right hand, moving the joints about as if massaging the metal. )

It is harder to move in the cold.

( it is a marvel of engineering, his arm, surprisingly complex and functional despite the times. to be able to wear it like a second arm, flex fingers, rotate his mechanical wrist, despite the vague connections to where it meets flesh. a gift, from his lovely apprentices; they had disguised it as an entirely different project, picking at his brain with questions and suggestions, all while gustave had been bed-ridden after his accident, sickly and demotivated.

his gaze lingers on maelle. his apprentices are only a little older than her, and despite their life filled with less luxuries and opportunities, it is not as crippled with limitations as the young girl's is. )

Did you know she's an exceptional poet? It surprises me that her vocabulary is so vast.

[ He did know. Well, sort of. Maelle has shown him her poetry a few times, and he's never been anything but encouraging, but she just as often hides it away. Says it's private or it's not ready. Verso thinks of his little sister choosing Gustave to confide her poetry in, just as she'd chosen Gustave to seek comfort with tonight, and he feels a surge of jealousy.

It's ugly. He smothers the feeling and replaces it with guilt instead. ]

I'm not surprised at all. She's had her nose in a book since the moment she could read.

[ Always ahead of her peers. Ahead of where Verso was at her age, certainly. She's incredibly intelligent for such a little girl. ]

—I think the fictional characters are kinder to her than people in real life.

[ Sweet Maelle, always an outsider. She'd been an unexpected addition to their family of four, much younger than Clea and Verso, who'd been bonded so closely by growing up together. Then she'd started school, and she'd been so bookish and shy, and she'd never really found someone she'd rather spend time with who wasn't fictional. ]

...Anyway. [ Mon dieu, this whole thing has gone horrifically off-track. He'd wanted to come in, take his train, maybe look dashingly handsome while doing it. ] Thanks for taking care of her. I can take her to her room.

Fiction generally is.

( kinder, but it can be dangerous, too, to find too constant of an escape within the dreams of the imaginary. just as gustave had said, he is not here to judge (nor critique, really); his sense of protectiveness over maelle stems from his being an older brother himself, and how earnest he is about his young apprentices back home. it is an intrinsic part of him (for better or for worse, as sophie would remind him) to care for those who will become the legacy of those who succumb to the most certain inevitability of life.

when verso takes a turn to retiring properly, and taking maelle with him, gustave stops to consider the mood. it feels like he might have said something unkind without realizing.

(also, verso seems the kind that needs socializing.)

an obstinate request spills forth, )

Would you mind if I came with? I could do with a short break to stretch my legs.

( he's been hunched over his work for a few hours now. perhaps carrying maelle back to her room, in other occasions, forced him to take such a break. )

I'm considering stealing some hot chocolate from the kitchens, to warm up a bit. ...if you'd like to be an accomplice.

[ The corner of Verso's mouth curls up, faintly but surely. Even with the unpleasant swell of jealousy, he doesn't mind Gustave coming with. How could he? Gustave is fascinating, a real erudite academic, and he probably has a lot of interesting things to say, plus he'd really like to get to know the person Maelle has been gushing about for months, and—

Who is he kidding? It's because Gustave is cute. ]

Planning a heist right under Amélie's nose, huh? [ He laughs, pocketing the train. It's heavy enough that the roomy pocket of his pajama pants sags slightly. ] I should warn my parents that they've hired an inveterate criminal.

[ Joking!! He's joking. Carefully, Verso takes the book from Maelle's hands and sets it beside her, gently slipping his hands underneath her body and hoisting her up into his arms. She's grown since he last did this, and he feels a pang of bittersweetness at the realization that he missed watching that happen.

Softly, so as not to wake her: ] Grab her book, will you? We can drop her off first, and then you can entice me into a life of crime.

( it's a good thing gustave catches on to verso's sense of humor quite easily, finding nor rush of panic at the possibility of the dessendre joke accusing him of minor theft to his parents. there's only but a smile at the thought, as gustave makes space for verso to pick up his sister. while verso does so, he sets his glasses down on the table and grabs for the little lamp object that verso had picked up in his earlier intrusion in gustave's room.

(though verso might think that maelle is growing far too quickly, she still is rather small in juxtaposition with her much taller brother; she looks tiny, fragile even, as her breathing comes out in even breaths between her lips.)

grabbing the book, he leads the way out, into the dark hallways of the dessendre home. after closing his door, and before darkness can encroach upon them and make their travels difficult, gustave raises the hand holding the little lamp—from it, a glow emits, much like a candle would. it's faint and warm, but lights up a surprising amount. )

Shall we?

( indulge in a little life of crime? it sure feels like they're thieves in the dark, with one little girl tagging along, asleep in her brother's arms. )

[ Ah, so that's what the little device does. Or maybe it's just part of it, and there's more to it than that; Verso's no engineer, and it's difficult for him to tell what something like that does just by looking. All the same, he gives the object an appreciative nod, complimenting Gustave's engineering without actually saying anything. ]

We shall, [ is all he whispers in response before padding down the hall to Maelle's room. He fumbles to open the door with Maelle still in his arms, then walks her to the bed to gently lay her down on the mattress.

Momentarily, he sits beside her, the bed dipping under his weight. He strokes her little cheek with his thumb, affectionate. ]

Good night, Maelle.

[ In response, she cuddles up against the pillow and murmurs, "Night, Gustave."

She's just tired, he reasons, and she's not used to him being home anymore. It's probably been Gustave walking her back to her room all these evenings that he's been away. Still, the words feel like an icy dagger to the heart, and he can't hide his disappointment as he stands up and shuts the door behind him. ]

—Kitchen's this way.

[ He probably already knows. ]

Allez, on y va.

( gustave had been standing by the doorway, allowing the rightful brother be in charge of tucking maelle in bed. he doesn't miss that strange look of some sort of sordid emotion on verso's face, but it would be rude to make a comment on it right this moment. an emphatic as he may be, gustave is not very good at putting the best words forth to breach a subject.

so, to the kitchen they go, with gustave's little lamp lighting the way.

they make it without even rousing the dogs, asleep by the fireplace in the main hall, and they find the kitchen deserted. it feels plenty cramped, though, and gustave can imagine that there is a lot of dough resting for the morning's breakfast, as well as whatever other food implementations for the upcoming holiday gala.

setting the lamp down on the counter, he figures they might as well continue this nightly rendezvous with proper mood lighting for the occasion of two not-so-thieves sneaking in the night. the hot chocolate gets prepared rather quickly by gustave, and he's handing over a cup to verso, setting it down on the counter for him to take. gustave himself finds a stool to sit on.

he motions at the lamp, since he's more comfortable in bringing up technical stuff as conversation rather than small talk... )

I'm not settled on the name, but I'm leaning towards 'Lumina Converter'. I know such ideas are a thing of the past in the bigger cities ( —almost a fairytale-like notion, he thinks— ) but where I'm from, there are dangers in the woods, in the darkness. This blight... ( he hums quietly for a moment, eyes thoughtful on the surface of his drink; sure, he is working on something to make transportation easier in the face of a developing nation, but he works too, hard, toward one small, forgotten village's perils. it sounds silly to try to explain to a man of the city proper.

he writes letters to lune on a weekly-basis, and she keeps him apprised of any troubles. why not just leave, all of them? that much wouldn't deter the foreign darkness from encroaching further inland, its torment chasing after them on the same day, every year, without fail.

a glance up at verso, trying to make note of his expression, likely confused. ) Sorry, that was a strange tangent. I've been told that I'm not very good at small talk.

[ Verso's sat on the counter as Gustave talks, legs dangling as he curls his hands around his mug of Gustave-prepared hot chocolate. There's a casual ownership to the comfortable way he sits, different to Gustave's careful perch on his stool. He is a little confused by the tangent, but he's not displeased by it. It's probably the most he's heard Gustave talk at one time all day. Clearly, it's a passion project. ]

Don't worry. You can get lots of practice when you pass me in the halls.

[ Teasing, again. He hopes they'll do more than just small talk. ]

"Ça va?" "Ça va."

[ He smiles, boyish. ]

I liked your strange tangent. [ Yes, it was a strange tangent. But not a boring one. ] It's impressive that you're able to build these things. The last thing I built was a sign for the treehouse that says no sisters allowed.

( something eases in gustave—he feels in his chest, that constricted mess unspooling. and then, he's laughing softly, verso's teasing managing to not afflict him this time. rather, it lands well. gustave reckons this is what company around people his age ought to be like this: easy and with some amount of teasing. he's missed that, and the people who would usually turn the taciturn engineer into a more relaxed human (catherine, lucien—) have not been around since, well, the accident.

he shakes his head slightly, though mirth remains on his face. )

Necessity is the mother of invention, as they say. I am sure it was quite the sign.

( where gustave is from, everyone's either a fighter or an inventor or a politician. it's a bit of a cursed trifecta, severely lacking in the arts, but it is born of necessity rather than an actual desire. luckily for gustave, he has the brains in order to fit and enjoy his role. )

Though I imagine your ability with the piano is nothing to scoff at, monsieur. I wouldn't be able to play a single melody, I'm sure.

[ Gustave hasn't even heard him play yet, and he's already complimenting his skill. Verso wonders if he's only going on the presence of the piano and his enrollment at the Conservatory, or if there's more to it. Maybe someone talked up his playing—? Not Maman or Papa; they'd sooner talk about what a gifted artist he is. He doubts Clea has spoken to Gustave at all save for maybe a few clipped exchanges. She's always busy with one thing or another—even Verso has hardly spoken to her since getting back. It must have been Maelle, then. She'd always loved listening to Verso play. When she was a little girl, she'd come into his room and lie in his bed, listening to his lullabies coming from the study until she fell asleep. ]

Ah, now I see why Maelle is so fond of you. Flatterer.

[ Verso grins into his mug, getting a hot chocolate moustache to match his existing one. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, self-conscious. ]

But I'm sure that isn't true. Anyone can learn piano with the right teacher, and you've already got a good base to start with—

[ He gestures toward Gustave's hands with his mug. ]

An engineer's fingers must be quite... [ Hm. Maybe he's making this weird. ] Dexterous.

[ He takes another sip. ]

( he's making this weird. )

The Dessendre name is not without its many accolades following it, you realize.

( so, it's not so much trying (or being) a flatterer so much as this being a statistical fact. gustave needs not listen to verso play the piano to know that he must be very good at it, and to be accepted by the conservatory? well, one can hardly guess wrong there.

he does raise his left hand, showing off the 'dexterity' of his metal fingers—somewhat painfully slow. )

Not the hand one would use to play the piano. Like you saw earlier, it locks up quite a bit from time to time.

( plus, he really has no interest in learning to play the piano lol... )

[ Why wouldn't he have any interest in learning the piano, the greatest thing ever??? C'mon, Gustave.

But luckily, his mention of the mechanical hand distracts Verso from trying to persuade him over to pianism (for now). He sets the mug down beside him, hands braced beside him on the counter so that he can lean forward a little and examine the joints. He's sure Gustave has already thought of every possible way that he could improve it, and that some musician who's only seen it for the first time today won't be able to offer any advice of substance, but still— ]

Is it the cold?

[ His eyes flick from Gustave's hand to his face, questioning. ]

I was thinking that we should stuff something in the gap under your window to stop the draft. Or you could borrow some of my gloves—my mother buys new ones every winter, and there aren't enough days in the year to wear them all.

I do happen to like the draft...

( it's like keeping the window open without needing to open it at all. besides, gustave, who fixed the leak in his adjoining bathroom wouldn't bother to fix something simpler such as the gap between window and sill? it's kind of verso to think of how to best manage gustave's comfortability.

he leans back, taking a sip of his hot cocoa, and sets it back down. )

It's quite alright, really. ( how to explain he's pretty weird ) It isn't negatively impacting my life.

( so much for piano playing )

Yeah, okay, [ he says, trying not to sound disappointed that Gustave doesn't want him to come help him with his draft problem. It wouldn't have put him out at all, and it would have been a good way to ingratiate himself.

He leans back, too, out of Gustave's personal bubble. ]

Well, there goes my plan to swoop in and fix everything to get on your good side.

[ His voice has the lilt of playfulness, although that's pretty much exactly what his plan actually was. ]

( like most of the dessendre family, gustave doesn't doubt that verso has a way with words. while most of his family can be serious and to the point, he seems more well-versed in injecting humor into his way of speech. )

You are under the wrong impression that things pertaining to my person require fixing.

( in equal (or similar) lilt of playfulness. )

I do not imagine there is reason for you to try and get on my good side. I'm quite impartial. The adult company has been nice, though.

( figures he doesn't get much of that around here. )