Je Peindrai toujours

The sharp snap of the cane upon the floor makes him jolt, reflexive and startled, and pale blues snap up to his father’s but only briefly linger. “ —— I don’t hate you. “ And that’s muttered under his breath, low but genuine; briefly, his fingers falter from where they have been busy stuffing his packs full. Briefly, that seems like all he’ll say, but there’s still thoughts leaving open traces; this is not easy or simple and never has been.

“ How long has it been since the Fracture? Twenty years? Thirty? “ He doesn’t even know, not off the top of his head; the years have started to drift by, slipping from his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “ I’m older than you were. When it happened, I mean. Older than you were when we made the first Expedition. I’m not a child anymore. I’m not your little boy. I’m old and I’m tired and, ” he breathes in a sharp breath through his teeth, zipping up his bag, “ I’m stuck living this —— “

He closes his eyes briefly, letting that surge of emotion fire, resettle; when he reopens them, his jaw tightens. “ You don’t understand what it’s like. You , ” and he lets the bag go, turning and stepping towards his father: his eyes blazing, wounded, “ got your family. You got a life. You got to get married and have children. You got to get older. I get to stand here and know that I won’t get to have any of that, that I won’t get to have my own life. "

But oh, he's not done yet: " And. And. I’m left with the fucking memories of the dead bastard who remembers making this place, so all I see when I look at it is a childhood I didn’t even fucking have covered in bodies and blood, and every day I’m reminded that if I had never existed, everyone here would be better off even if they didn’t exist. ”

Anger rises up and mixes with a grief that is unbearable. Every day he is painted with the knowledge of this family, of the grief that tears apart the real Dessendre family. They are on the verge of a second destruction and all Verso can see is his own depression and no one else's pain. Far be it for him to call Renoir selfish and unwilling to listen.

❝My family is currently in ruins with my son wanting to leave.❞ Teeth grit as his grip tightens. Knuckles whiten as he grips the head of the cane as hard as he can. ❝I want my son. I want my family. I want us to return to our home and carry on with our lives.❞

❝I cannot lose you-I refuse to lose my son. Come home and see reason.❞ A plea, masked with grit and determination. Covered up by anger, by the pain of a grief that was not his, painted into the core of his being. Renoir clutches with the only thing he has-love for his family and Aline. Nothing else matters. Lumiere could burn. All he needs is them. Without them, he is nothing.

He needs his family, needs to protect them. A fierce desire to shield them, to keep them from harm. That too is painted into him by her. Verso's words cannot reach beneath the power that move him, the feelings Aline painted him with.

Perhaps they will never see eye to eye.

Gustave sighs softly, squaring his shoulders as he looks at Renoir. "As is to be expected. How could he expect to share this information and be received with anything but suspicion and anger?" Gustave crosses his arms across his chest, pursing his lips as he rocks from side to side, thoughtful. He didn't really have an answer - nothing about this situation was clear or easy to piece through.

He furrows his brow further, another piece of the puzzle, Renoir and Verso are family, the Paintress his mother. Verso wants to destroy the canvas, Renoir wants to save it. The cycle of grief rampant through their home - tearing tracks through families outside of their own and Gustave rocks back onto his heels.

Their world is shaped and formed at the whims of people dealing with their grief with power so far beyond what Gustave understands and he feels like someone has pulled the rug from beneath him, tipping him off his feet so his stomach lurches. He's not a religious man - he's a man of science and never has been religious. But there's something about all this information that's shaking regardless.

However, they don't see it that way because of Aline. Because she is attached to it in her grief. It is all she has left of her son. Destroying it won't bring him back. Lingering in it won't bring him back. No one wins when grief is involved. They are all human and they all are losing here.

Renoir does feel for them. Lumiere was caught in the crossfire. He was caught in the crossfire too. Aline painted him to be what she felt she needed. He was saddled with a burden no one should bare. As was Verso too painted with an unfair expectation.

Renoir understands all too well, perhaps the most out of all of them next to Verso. Verso is the one who truly knows everything. He understands this pain better than anyone.