๐ณ๐๐๐๐๐-๐๐๐ ๐'๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ฬ๐: ๐๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐ [ He can hear Maelle screaming, begging, her fists pounding impotently on the glowing barrier of her cage. He can feel his own heart beating, rapid and terrified in his chest. He feels strangely off-balance, his left arm a diminished stump once again, the familiar weight of his sword now dragging him to the right. It doesn't matter, none of it matters, only Maelle, only protecting her. He raises his sword. He pushes himself into a run.
(For those who come after.)
His eyes open.
There's no flurry of petals and ash, no blaze of chroma, and for a moment Gustave blinks in the light, eyes squinting and watering against it. After the dimness of the caves, the brightness feels like an assault.
He's on his knees, braced on his shaking right arm, no longer on unforgiving rock but on something more lenient: sand, maybe. Dirt. Something drips from him, pattering into the earth beneath him, and he shifts back to set his right hand over the wound still open in his chest. Another yawns a little higher, more central, but his mind shies away from it, away from the memory of heat and light and a sudden impenetrable blackness.
He's still bleeding โ his uniform is saturated with it โ but the terrible weakness of before is gone. If he has to, he thinks, he could push onward.
...Which is good, because before that thought completes itself, the ground beneath him shakes and something very big that is much too close opens what is probably an inconveniently large mouth and roars. He blinks, trying to shunt away exhaustion, and sets his hand down to brace himself as he gets unsteadily to his feet. His fingers brush something and he looks down, stares for a moment at the metal arm lying there in the earth.
As if in a dream, Gustave reaches to pick the thing up, attaching it with a familiar motion to the stump of his left arm. It, too, feels not quite right, stiff and dull, but at least he has it for whatever's coming. He stands, reaching his right hand for the familiar grip of his sword, feeling it coalesce into his palm as he turns to observe the thing in here with him, and... fuck. It's big.
Big, and metal, and with two many legs along with a stinging tail arching high up over its back. It's like no Nevron he's ever seen. ]
Putain.
[ He's in no shape to fight this thing, but it seems like he's not going to get that choice. There's a shift of motion at his side: someone else. ]
รa m'รฉnerve. [ Muttered as he lifts his left hand and calls his pistol into existence in a golden, glowing swirl of chroma. ]
Ready?
๐ต๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐ฉ [ There's an air of resignation to the way Gustave looks out over the course ahead. No grappling attachments, no climbing holds, just platforms and ropes and other aggravating obstacles floating a dizzying height over the ground.
The Gestrals would love it. He's less of a fan, especially injured and sick as he is. ]
What do I get if I make it to the end? Another swimsuit?
[ He's good on that, thanks. ]
๐ณ'๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ ๐๐ฬ๐๐๐: ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐๐ก๐๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐ ๐ [ He's tired, and hurt, and heartsick, and walking through the woods feels almost like he could turn and see Maelle at his side, Lune and Sciel behind him, all of them getting heavy-eyed, ready to make camp. But he can't find any of them no matter how hard he looks: there were no familiar red ponytails in the bustling crowds; no slyly amused voice coming out of nowhere to berate him for wandering off alone. Lune isn't here this time to pull him out of his head, and he sinks further and further into it as he moves forward.
The house, too, is unfamiliar, but he feels a dull pang of grief and longing as he looks up at it, hearing almost as if she were there Maelle's curious delight at the sight. She'd probably love this whole strange place, almost as much as he hates it.
Inside, he follows a metallic porter, barely caring where he's going, only knowing he needs to rest. Now and then he stumbles, knocking accidentally into another patron as they pass in the halls, and he lifts his blood-stained hand in apology. ]
Sorry, sorry.
[ Later, in the room, he finds that despite his terrible muffling exhaustion, he can't sleep. Over and over again he sees Maelle, tears streaking her face, her voice high-pitched in horror. When the knockings start, he's all too ready to roll to his feet and head out into the hall to investigate, pausing when he comes across another curious patron. ]
Do you have any idea what that was?
๐ฌ๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ฬ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฬ๐๐: ๐ค๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ [ pm or hmu @ repeatandfade to plot! ]
gustave | clair obscur: expedition 33 (cw: blood, dissociation. Act 1 spoilers within!)
๐ณ๐๐๐๐๐-๐๐๐ ๐'๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ฬ๐: ๐๐๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ โ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐
[ He can hear Maelle screaming, begging, her fists pounding impotently on the glowing barrier of her cage. He can feel his own heart beating, rapid and terrified in his chest. He feels strangely off-balance, his left arm a diminished stump once again, the familiar weight of his sword now dragging him to the right. It doesn't matter, none of it matters, only Maelle, only protecting her. He raises his sword. He pushes himself into a run.
(For those who come after.)
His eyes open.
There's no flurry of petals and ash, no blaze of chroma, and for a moment Gustave blinks in the light, eyes squinting and watering against it. After the dimness of the caves, the brightness feels like an assault.
He's on his knees, braced on his shaking right arm, no longer on unforgiving rock but on something more lenient: sand, maybe. Dirt. Something drips from him, pattering into the earth beneath him, and he shifts back to set his right hand over the wound still open in his chest. Another yawns a little higher, more central, but his mind shies away from it, away from the memory of heat and light and a sudden impenetrable blackness.
He's still bleeding โ his uniform is saturated with it โ but the terrible weakness of before is gone. If he has to, he thinks, he could push onward.
...Which is good, because before that thought completes itself, the ground beneath him shakes and something very big that is much too close opens what is probably an inconveniently large mouth and roars. He blinks, trying to shunt away exhaustion, and sets his hand down to brace himself as he gets unsteadily to his feet. His fingers brush something and he looks down, stares for a moment at the metal arm lying there in the earth.
As if in a dream, Gustave reaches to pick the thing up, attaching it with a familiar motion to the stump of his left arm. It, too, feels not quite right, stiff and dull, but at least he has it for whatever's coming. He stands, reaching his right hand for the familiar grip of his sword, feeling it coalesce into his palm as he turns to observe the thing in here with him, and... fuck. It's big.
Big, and metal, and with two many legs along with a stinging tail arching high up over its back. It's like no Nevron he's ever seen. ]
Putain.
[ He's in no shape to fight this thing, but it seems like he's not going to get that choice. There's a shift of motion at his side: someone else. ]
รa m'รฉnerve. [ Muttered as he lifts his left hand and calls his pistol into existence in a golden, glowing swirl of chroma. ]
Ready?
๐ต๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐ฉ
[ There's an air of resignation to the way Gustave looks out over the course ahead. No grappling attachments, no climbing holds, just platforms and ropes and other aggravating obstacles floating a dizzying height over the ground.
The Gestrals would love it. He's less of a fan, especially injured and sick as he is. ]
What do I get if I make it to the end? Another swimsuit?
[ He's good on that, thanks. ]
๐ณ'๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ ๐๐ฬ๐๐๐: ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐๐ก๐๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐ ๐
[ He's tired, and hurt, and heartsick, and walking through the woods feels almost like he could turn and see Maelle at his side, Lune and Sciel behind him, all of them getting heavy-eyed, ready to make camp. But he can't find any of them no matter how hard he looks: there were no familiar red ponytails in the bustling crowds; no slyly amused voice coming out of nowhere to berate him for wandering off alone. Lune isn't here this time to pull him out of his head, and he sinks further and further into it as he moves forward.
The house, too, is unfamiliar, but he feels a dull pang of grief and longing as he looks up at it, hearing almost as if she were there Maelle's curious delight at the sight. She'd probably love this whole strange place, almost as much as he hates it.
Inside, he follows a metallic porter, barely caring where he's going, only knowing he needs to rest. Now and then he stumbles, knocking accidentally into another patron as they pass in the halls, and he lifts his blood-stained hand in apology. ]
Sorry, sorry.
[ Later, in the room, he finds that despite his terrible muffling exhaustion, he can't sleep. Over and over again he sees Maelle, tears streaking her face, her voice high-pitched in horror. When the knockings start, he's all too ready to roll to his feet and head out into the hall to investigate, pausing when he comes across another curious patron. ]
Do you have any idea what that was?
๐ฌ๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ฬ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฬ๐๐: ๐ค๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ [ pm or hmu @