[ To Verso’s credit, he doesn’t bask smugly in that compliment (although it does warm something in his chest, pleased, proud). He ruins it a little a second later, by lifting his head only slightly to try a sip of the wine; he chokes and coughs as it almost goes down his windpipe, and then props himself further up on an elbow to drink it properly. From where he sits, he lets his gaze wander, openly admiring the curve of Sciel’s ass, the turn of her calf. It’s still a nice view.
He could tell her down to the exact year how long it’s been since he had a significant relationship (sixty-seven years). But there’s a thoughtful expression crinkling his brow, thinking back and doing the math, trying to remember the last time he slept with someone. ]
A few years, [ Verso says, musing. ] Perhaps about ten.
[ Was it Olivier on 42? He can’t even remember. The names and expeditions have started to blur together, and that’s a grim thought: that years from now, Sciel might just be another hazy recollection, another body, dead like all the rest of them. He doesn’t like the idea.
And as gunshy as he is to share most personal information, it’s probably unfair to be completely aloof after having been balls-deep in her only a few minutes ago. And so this part seems safe enough to admit: ]
It was more common earlier. Everyone’s very game for trysts and flings when they’re staring down the end of the world, but— I lost interest, after a while. [ Lost interest in most things. That apathetic fugue, making him hole up in that shitty shack and isolate himself from the Grandis and gestrals and Esquie and even Monoco.
With a ghost of humour in his voice, behind the edge of that wine-glass: ] Bit harder to socialise out here, can’t just pick up someone from the nearest bar —
[ There's no attempt to mask the little laugh that he earns as the wine nearly escapes him. And there's no quip about the clear sweep of his gaze down her body, though that tugs the corners of her mouth up further, pleased.
Sciel also doesn't comment directly on the amount of time since he'd last slept with someone, merely nodding as he opens up his history. There's certainly no judgment to be passed one way or the other: their lives are all very complicated, and his most of all. Whether he'd felt it easier to go all this time without involving himself physically with Expeditioners or if he'd sought out their company every year, it really isn't anyone else's to condemn. ]
I can understand that. [ She does finally say, of the idea that people might be more eager for something like this when any day could be their last. It's very much her philosophy, having found him attractive and having found the opportunity, and she's glad for it all, even if this ends up the first and last time they're able to meet this way. ] ...From both sides, really. [ There's more of a pause as she looks back at him, smile fading into something more somber before she continues, gently: ] It...wears you down, I'm sure.
[ Even if they're only flings, they probably hadn't meant nothing. So to then see those people die, or Gommage...
Taking him up on his wisp of humour as he bemoans the lack of social opportunity, Sciel shrugs her free shoulder. ] Well, if this Expedition doesn't work out, then that can be your next project, yeah? Build a bar in the Gestral Village. God knows any Expeditioners coming through will appreciate it. I wish I'd had something to drink mixed by a handsome, immortal man when I first got there.
[ The only relief she'd had from the knowledge that she might be the last living 33 had been an endless stream of arena fights. Quelle tristesse! ]
[ Verso considers that suggestion, bemused and imagining it. ]
Near their new theater, maybe. I could teach them how to build a still, so we don’t have to rely on the dwindling reserves on the Continent. I’d wipe down the counters and be a very charismatic listening ear. [ He could invent colourful tiki drinks in charming carved wooden mugs; the gestrals’ decor already lent itself towards it. He could roll up his sleeves and wear shorts and sleep in and hone the art of absurd cocktail mixology.
And that’d be one way to drown out the remaining years in a fugue of alcohol and casual sex. Not the best idea. But also probably not the worst. ]
How long has it been for you? [ he asks after a tentative moment, shooting Sciel a look. Cautious, like applying faint pressure on a wound he wasn’t sure had scabbed over enough yet. He’d considered avoiding the topic in case it ghosted too close to dead-husband-shaped grief, but that had always been the nature of their give-and-take and story-sharing, hadn’t it? Tit for tat. If we’re going to share, let’s share. ]
[ He indulges her and she grins, rolling her head to the side to rest on her propped-up hand as she peers back at him. ]
There you go! Backup plan successfully worked out. [ It's a shame it's a hypothetical that would only come to fruition in a situation where she's certainly already dead, because it sounds like a place she very much wants to visit. ] Just keep it in mind. Always good to have something to work toward.
[ Because whether they defeat the Paintress or fail, there will be an after for him. If this is the first Expedition he's traveled with in a while and it goes badly, he may return to his pseudo-retirement. And...it's nice to think there might be something good for him, in that scenario, rather than just another stretch of isolation.
His question gently extricates her from pleasant hopes from the future to physical encounters of varying qualities from the past, and she hums thoughtfully. Sciel senses the hesitancy in his voice (which makes her think immediately of the delicate way he'd handled her scar), but makes it clear with her usual, airy attitude that he hasn't crossed any lines. ]
Mm, night before our departure, actually. [ Sciel, who'd by that point in the night housed several bottles of wine, had managed a quick encounter with Catherine. They were both drunk and mourning Sophie and buzzing with anticipation for the tomorrow to come, and the whole thing been both rough and fairly satisfying. ] Lots of emotions running high. Lots to drink, too.
[ Not that she regrets it. The only negative association she has with the whole affair is that Catherine had ended up another casualty of the Nevrons not long after the beach.
Her face sobers a little, turning more contemplative. ]
...It was a while, after Pierre. [ Without even knowing about her experience in the water or the resulting loss, Verso can surely understand why there was a gap. ] But...after that, I needed the distractions in the last few years. The silences could be...too loud.
[ It'd helped, picking up teaching. But then she'd go home to their flat (one she was unable to abandon, no matter how much it hurt), and the ghosts would threaten to suffocate her. ]
[ Verso is so habitually cagey, more likely to cherry-pick the details he shares with the rest of them, only peeling off the slivers that feel palatable and like they still paint an acceptable picture of him. They could get dark and true and honest, but not too honest. Not tripping into any details which hit on the real heart of him.
But he’s feeling warm and loose-limbed and pleasant and a little tipsy, and his guard’s down. He takes another sip of the wine, glancing down at Sciel on the picnic blanket. (It’s so terribly dangerous, letting himself get attached to any of them—) ]
I fear I’m a creature of extremes. All-or-nothing. I would go through dry spells where I can’t bear the thought of getting close to anyone, and then— well, to put it indelicately, I’d seek any bed. Wanting the distractions, as you put it. Needing to have a warm body beside you, a voice in the darkness, a way to get out of your own head for a while.
[ Like a small child seeking comfort in someone else, hiding under the covers from the Lampmaster, all over again. ]
[ Sciel is far from drunk (a consequence of being the kind of person who can down multiple bottles on her own in one evening), but shares in some of that warmth, that pleasant comfort. She's a creature of honesty and openness in almost all cases, and so it comes easy to her to just...engage in this back and forth with Verso, sharing some of the more intimate details of their past with each other. It all comes naturally to her, and alongside that is the benefit of their mystery man feeling like he can peel back one or two of those layers with her in return.
She mirrors his taking another sip, watching him from her spot on the blanket, peering over the rim of her glass. ]
Exactly. [ Sciel affirms, lowering the drink. ] That about sums it up. Sometimes... [ Here she sighs, casting her attention out across the grass that lies ahead of her, stretching into the tree line and beyond. ] ...drinking or fighting just don't do enough.
[ Because she'd done those, too, of course. Trying to get out of her own head and into a bottle, or into training for the Expedition with an intensity that should've kept her mind occupied as her body was. And they'd often done the trick, but not always.
There is no exact replacement for this particular physicality. Idly, she shifts so she can reach out a hand to trace along the toned curves of his nearest arm, knowing the odds that this might end up as having been her last fling before the end. ]
I'm not glad you needed to escape anything like that, but...it's nice to talk to someone who gets it.
[ Better that they're on the same page. Once or twice, her partners had ended up wanting more than she was able to give, and things had ended more of a mess than the one she'd been trying to leave behind. ]
Isn’t that what it’s like on an Expedition, though? You all get it. You’re all in the same boat— quite literally.
[ Then again, most of her Expedition’s already dead by now, so. Whoops.
Verso still remembers the camaraderie of Zero, before it all fell apart: they were on a dire mission, but they were at least on a mission together. Part of him has felt like an outsider ever since; even when he tagged along with any given Expedition, even if Maelle gifted him with an armband to try to make him feel like one of the group, he still wasn’t one of them. They’ve been welcoming him in, but there’s perpetually that slight invisible barrier between them, the wall of all the things he wasn’t saying.
(How much of that was him getting in his own head about it, though? He knew about the lies and omissions, and either that made him imagine the distance, or maybe they could subconsciously tell there was something subtly wrong. Even when Lune was being friendly nowadays, she sometimes frowned at him in a way which made him panic that the woman could probably see right through him.)
The trail of Sciel’s fingertips along his arm is delightfully ticklish, and he drains the rest of his glass so he can roll over and lie down next to her, elbow-to-elbow. He wordlessly slides over the plate, so they could finally start digging into some nourishment after their exercise. ]
Oh, no. [ Sciel is quick to refute, her voice light. Unbothered. ] Well — yeah, we're all in the same boat, but people are different as night and day. Just because we're staring down the likely end of our lives doesn't mean everyone's interested in the same distractions. Or any distractions at all.
[ Though Lune has, since the Expedition began, rescinded her having called friends 'distractions,' they'd left it at that. Sciel has no intention of pushing, and Lune is singularly focused on their mission, particularly now with Gustave gone. If ever the other woman does want to step outside of their dire quest for an hour to lose herself in simple physicality, Sciel will be there.
For now, though, there's at least one other person at camp on the same wavelength, which returns to her original point. ]
So...yeah. There's a lot of shared experience there, and shared perspective on some things, but not everything.
[ She offers a bit of a shrug as she takes the offered plate, picking at the cheese and crackers, making the occasional contented noise in the face of yet another rare indulgence. ]
You've really set the bar high. [ Sciel sighs, draining her second glass and setting it aside so it rests alongside the now near-empty plate. ] When tomorrow night I find myself eating rations dressed in my full uniform, I'll be so disappointed.
Did you ever hear about Sixty’s approach? [ Verso muses, crunching through another cracker. It was twenty-seven years ago, but some records might’ve survived at the Academy. ] They went about their expedition entirely nude, and they got astonishingly far across the Continent. Perhaps our group could steal a page out of their book.
[ Monoco would probably be more than game for it; the gestral barely adhered to social standards as-is. Maelle and Lune would be mortified. At least it’s a very funny mental image to consider.
And. Sciel probably hadn’t meant to dangle an implicit question there — the woman tends to says exactly what she means — but Verso soon finds his thoughts meandering towards it regardless. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. What then? ]
For the record. If you do find yourself in need of a similar distraction again, along the way— [ he starts, uncommonly hesitant but trying to say it outright. ] Then I’m available.
[ In their dwindling available time before they reach the Monolith and it presumably all goes to hell in a handbasket, he could think of worse diversions than winding down in the evening with Sciel. Sex wore at the muscles in a way which wasn’t combat and getting your arse handed to you by Nevrons. It tended to help him sleep; he’ll probably crash like a stone later tonight, after they get washed up and slink their way back to camp. ]
[ Sixty. Sciel probably wouldn't have been able to distinguish them from the others (to be fair, Gustave has fangirled about a lot of past Expeditions over the course of their friendship) except for the fact that they had been...well. ]
I remember. [ And she laughs, shaking her head hopelessly at the mental image. ] Hard to believe they managed as much as they did. But...even with my complaints, I think we're going about it the right way. I'm sure they had some nasty cuts where you don't want them.
[ Lune doesn't wear shoes, but that's one thing. To be completely naked and traipse all over the mountains gives Sciel a little chill, in spite of the pleasant night.
While she finishes the last bite of a particularly good morsel (a cracked laden with jam, a nibble of cheese placed on top), Verso goes quiet. Once he speaks up again, making his continued interest known, her preserves-sweet lip curls. ]
Very good to know. [ Comes the reply, her voice light. Because he's putting himself out there, though, and the whole subject has the potential to come with its own complications, she adds: ] I think it helps, and I'm definitely interested, if there's opportunity. But if you change your mind, then no hard feelings.
[ Keeping it casual is the name of the game. The way to keep a distraction, as he says, from taking root and becoming another item on a list of things to mourn.
With that mutual intention now voiced, Sciel stretches a little, inhaling and exhaling in a satisfied breath before starting to shift, flipping over and drawing herself into a seated position on the blanket. ]
Whenever you're ready. [ There's a little jerk of her head toward the river: the necessary and final step of their very enjoyable evening. And though the idea is to wash away the evidence of their little tryst, the memory itself will help carry her through some of the inevitable difficulties to come...and hopefully to the next, similar rendezvous, too. ]
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no subject
He could tell her down to the exact year how long it’s been since he had a significant relationship (sixty-seven years). But there’s a thoughtful expression crinkling his brow, thinking back and doing the math, trying to remember the last time he slept with someone. ]
A few years, [ Verso says, musing. ] Perhaps about ten.
[ Was it Olivier on 42? He can’t even remember. The names and expeditions have started to blur together, and that’s a grim thought: that years from now, Sciel might just be another hazy recollection, another body, dead like all the rest of them. He doesn’t like the idea.
And as gunshy as he is to share most personal information, it’s probably unfair to be completely aloof after having been balls-deep in her only a few minutes ago. And so this part seems safe enough to admit: ]
It was more common earlier. Everyone’s very game for trysts and flings when they’re staring down the end of the world, but— I lost interest, after a while. [ Lost interest in most things. That apathetic fugue, making him hole up in that shitty shack and isolate himself from the Grandis and gestrals and Esquie and even Monoco.
With a ghost of humour in his voice, behind the edge of that wine-glass: ] Bit harder to socialise out here, can’t just pick up someone from the nearest bar —
no subject
Sciel also doesn't comment directly on the amount of time since he'd last slept with someone, merely nodding as he opens up his history. There's certainly no judgment to be passed one way or the other: their lives are all very complicated, and his most of all. Whether he'd felt it easier to go all this time without involving himself physically with Expeditioners or if he'd sought out their company every year, it really isn't anyone else's to condemn. ]
I can understand that. [ She does finally say, of the idea that people might be more eager for something like this when any day could be their last. It's very much her philosophy, having found him attractive and having found the opportunity, and she's glad for it all, even if this ends up the first and last time they're able to meet this way. ] ...From both sides, really. [ There's more of a pause as she looks back at him, smile fading into something more somber before she continues, gently: ] It...wears you down, I'm sure.
[ Even if they're only flings, they probably hadn't meant nothing. So to then see those people die, or Gommage...
Taking him up on his wisp of humour as he bemoans the lack of social opportunity, Sciel shrugs her free shoulder. ] Well, if this Expedition doesn't work out, then that can be your next project, yeah? Build a bar in the Gestral Village. God knows any Expeditioners coming through will appreciate it. I wish I'd had something to drink mixed by a handsome, immortal man when I first got there.
[ The only relief she'd had from the knowledge that she might be the last living 33 had been an endless stream of arena fights. Quelle tristesse! ]
no subject
Near their new theater, maybe. I could teach them how to build a still, so we don’t have to rely on the dwindling reserves on the Continent. I’d wipe down the counters and be a very charismatic listening ear. [ He could invent colourful tiki drinks in charming carved wooden mugs; the gestrals’ decor already lent itself towards it. He could roll up his sleeves and wear shorts and sleep in and hone the art of absurd cocktail mixology.
And that’d be one way to drown out the remaining years in a fugue of alcohol and casual sex. Not the best idea. But also probably not the worst. ]
How long has it been for you? [ he asks after a tentative moment, shooting Sciel a look. Cautious, like applying faint pressure on a wound he wasn’t sure had scabbed over enough yet. He’d considered avoiding the topic in case it ghosted too close to dead-husband-shaped grief, but that had always been the nature of their give-and-take and story-sharing, hadn’t it? Tit for tat. If we’re going to share, let’s share. ]
no subject
There you go! Backup plan successfully worked out. [ It's a shame it's a hypothetical that would only come to fruition in a situation where she's certainly already dead, because it sounds like a place she very much wants to visit. ] Just keep it in mind. Always good to have something to work toward.
[ Because whether they defeat the Paintress or fail, there will be an after for him. If this is the first Expedition he's traveled with in a while and it goes badly, he may return to his pseudo-retirement. And...it's nice to think there might be something good for him, in that scenario, rather than just another stretch of isolation.
His question gently extricates her from pleasant hopes from the future to physical encounters of varying qualities from the past, and she hums thoughtfully. Sciel senses the hesitancy in his voice (which makes her think immediately of the delicate way he'd handled her scar), but makes it clear with her usual, airy attitude that he hasn't crossed any lines. ]
Mm, night before our departure, actually. [ Sciel, who'd by that point in the night housed several bottles of wine, had managed a quick encounter with Catherine. They were both drunk and mourning Sophie and buzzing with anticipation for the tomorrow to come, and the whole thing been both rough and fairly satisfying. ] Lots of emotions running high. Lots to drink, too.
[ Not that she regrets it. The only negative association she has with the whole affair is that Catherine had ended up another casualty of the Nevrons not long after the beach.
Her face sobers a little, turning more contemplative. ]
...It was a while, after Pierre. [ Without even knowing about her experience in the water or the resulting loss, Verso can surely understand why there was a gap. ] But...after that, I needed the distractions in the last few years. The silences could be...too loud.
[ It'd helped, picking up teaching. But then she'd go home to their flat (one she was unable to abandon, no matter how much it hurt), and the ghosts would threaten to suffocate her. ]
no subject
[ Verso is so habitually cagey, more likely to cherry-pick the details he shares with the rest of them, only peeling off the slivers that feel palatable and like they still paint an acceptable picture of him. They could get dark and true and honest, but not too honest. Not tripping into any details which hit on the real heart of him.
But he’s feeling warm and loose-limbed and pleasant and a little tipsy, and his guard’s down. He takes another sip of the wine, glancing down at Sciel on the picnic blanket. (It’s so terribly dangerous, letting himself get attached to any of them—) ]
I fear I’m a creature of extremes. All-or-nothing. I would go through dry spells where I can’t bear the thought of getting close to anyone, and then— well, to put it indelicately, I’d seek any bed. Wanting the distractions, as you put it. Needing to have a warm body beside you, a voice in the darkness, a way to get out of your own head for a while.
[ Like a small child seeking comfort in someone else, hiding under the covers from the Lampmaster, all over again. ]
no subject
She mirrors his taking another sip, watching him from her spot on the blanket, peering over the rim of her glass. ]
Exactly. [ Sciel affirms, lowering the drink. ] That about sums it up. Sometimes... [ Here she sighs, casting her attention out across the grass that lies ahead of her, stretching into the tree line and beyond. ] ...drinking or fighting just don't do enough.
[ Because she'd done those, too, of course. Trying to get out of her own head and into a bottle, or into training for the Expedition with an intensity that should've kept her mind occupied as her body was. And they'd often done the trick, but not always.
There is no exact replacement for this particular physicality. Idly, she shifts so she can reach out a hand to trace along the toned curves of his nearest arm, knowing the odds that this might end up as having been her last fling before the end. ]
I'm not glad you needed to escape anything like that, but...it's nice to talk to someone who gets it.
[ Better that they're on the same page. Once or twice, her partners had ended up wanting more than she was able to give, and things had ended more of a mess than the one she'd been trying to leave behind. ]
no subject
[ Then again, most of her Expedition’s already dead by now, so. Whoops.
Verso still remembers the camaraderie of Zero, before it all fell apart: they were on a dire mission, but they were at least on a mission together. Part of him has felt like an outsider ever since; even when he tagged along with any given Expedition, even if Maelle gifted him with an armband to try to make him feel like one of the group, he still wasn’t one of them. They’ve been welcoming him in, but there’s perpetually that slight invisible barrier between them, the wall of all the things he wasn’t saying.
(How much of that was him getting in his own head about it, though? He knew about the lies and omissions, and either that made him imagine the distance, or maybe they could subconsciously tell there was something subtly wrong. Even when Lune was being friendly nowadays, she sometimes frowned at him in a way which made him panic that the woman could probably see right through him.)
The trail of Sciel’s fingertips along his arm is delightfully ticklish, and he drains the rest of his glass so he can roll over and lie down next to her, elbow-to-elbow. He wordlessly slides over the plate, so they could finally start digging into some nourishment after their exercise. ]
no subject
[ Though Lune has, since the Expedition began, rescinded her having called friends 'distractions,' they'd left it at that. Sciel has no intention of pushing, and Lune is singularly focused on their mission, particularly now with Gustave gone. If ever the other woman does want to step outside of their dire quest for an hour to lose herself in simple physicality, Sciel will be there.
For now, though, there's at least one other person at camp on the same wavelength, which returns to her original point. ]
So...yeah. There's a lot of shared experience there, and shared perspective on some things, but not everything.
[ She offers a bit of a shrug as she takes the offered plate, picking at the cheese and crackers, making the occasional contented noise in the face of yet another rare indulgence. ]
You've really set the bar high. [ Sciel sighs, draining her second glass and setting it aside so it rests alongside the now near-empty plate. ] When tomorrow night I find myself eating rations dressed in my full uniform, I'll be so disappointed.
yours to 🎀?
[ Monoco would probably be more than game for it; the gestral barely adhered to social standards as-is. Maelle and Lune would be mortified. At least it’s a very funny mental image to consider.
And. Sciel probably hadn’t meant to dangle an implicit question there — the woman tends to says exactly what she means — but Verso soon finds his thoughts meandering towards it regardless. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. What then? ]
For the record. If you do find yourself in need of a similar distraction again, along the way— [ he starts, uncommonly hesitant but trying to say it outright. ] Then I’m available.
[ In their dwindling available time before they reach the Monolith and it presumably all goes to hell in a handbasket, he could think of worse diversions than winding down in the evening with Sciel. Sex wore at the muscles in a way which wasn’t combat and getting your arse handed to you by Nevrons. It tended to help him sleep; he’ll probably crash like a stone later tonight, after they get washed up and slink their way back to camp. ]
salutes
I remember. [ And she laughs, shaking her head hopelessly at the mental image. ] Hard to believe they managed as much as they did. But...even with my complaints, I think we're going about it the right way. I'm sure they had some nasty cuts where you don't want them.
[ Lune doesn't wear shoes, but that's one thing. To be completely naked and traipse all over the mountains gives Sciel a little chill, in spite of the pleasant night.
While she finishes the last bite of a particularly good morsel (a cracked laden with jam, a nibble of cheese placed on top), Verso goes quiet. Once he speaks up again, making his continued interest known, her preserves-sweet lip curls. ]
Very good to know. [ Comes the reply, her voice light. Because he's putting himself out there, though, and the whole subject has the potential to come with its own complications, she adds: ] I think it helps, and I'm definitely interested, if there's opportunity. But if you change your mind, then no hard feelings.
[ Keeping it casual is the name of the game. The way to keep a distraction, as he says, from taking root and becoming another item on a list of things to mourn.
With that mutual intention now voiced, Sciel stretches a little, inhaling and exhaling in a satisfied breath before starting to shift, flipping over and drawing herself into a seated position on the blanket. ]
Whenever you're ready. [ There's a little jerk of her head toward the river: the necessary and final step of their very enjoyable evening. And though the idea is to wash away the evidence of their little tryst, the memory itself will help carry her through some of the inevitable difficulties to come...and hopefully to the next, similar rendezvous, too. ]