#fantombe

POST-SHADOW. Lara returns to society at large, stepping into her title.

@fantombe. maelle & verso dessendre.

" i won't allow you to die. trust in that. " @fantombe

she was quiet, her gaze on verso bordering on SOFT. they'd come so far, they were so... SO close. she'd been gommaged once already, learned the true nature of their world, felt both VINDICATED and ashamed. lune was right when it came to her gut, her distrust, her suspicions... but she wished that she wasn't. she wished that SO much was different.

after all, was her life just... nothing? she wasn't real so did she not MATTER? verso's words echoed in her mind, the corner of her mouth twitching and almost pulling into a smile before it fell. "can someone truly DIE if they were never alive in the first place?" she found herself asking, although lune wasn't quite sure if she wanted the answer or not. hand flexed out in front of her as she looked down at the scars that marred her skin. were they not real? the memories that were attached to them, were those not real either?

"i... want to trust you," came her quiet admission, eyes flickering back to the man. she felt so VULNERABLE now -- she felt so... small. his family akin to GODS walking amongst mortals in this canvas, leaving lune to wonder if at any moment they could all just change their minds and snap lumiere out of existence. it made her sick.

"and i did. trust you, i mean. merde -- i was so STUPID..." hand moved, covering her mouth as a self deprecating laugh escaped her lips. it would all be so funny if it weren't so tragic. hand fell, revealing a bottom lip that trembled for just a second before lune managed to compose herself.

he doesn't want to call this a habit, but @fantombe is far more a man of action than he is of words and Gustave meets those he can halfway; that's morphed into sparring, a dance that favors the sounds of fists meeting a rival body and pained grunts over actual words. He can't say he doesn't appreciate it there is, after all, physical recovery to be made and the exercise is good but Gustave sees proof of something boiling underneath the surface and only coming alive when the moon and the Monolith are their only witnesses. [ Talking to Verso normally isn't difficult if you keep your expectations low and never dig any deeper than what he presents at a surface level, but his eyes say more than he himself ever will. Gustave has watched a flame come alive in Verso's eyes ... and oftentimes, he sees it when their eyes meet. ]

one, two, three, four: Gustave has made note of some of Verso's patterns, noticed how there's a rhythm even to the steps he takes and how he weaves and wefts his feet into astonishing footwork. He knows now how to counter the left - right - left combination of jabs and hop when Verso's right foot so much as even twitches. It's progress, it's a dance, it's practice. Gustave, though, has engaged in enough physical training to know when his opponent has given and Verso has relit that flame in his eyes. Gustave falters, and all hell seems to break loose.

“ Vers ”

Verso advances, his movements as fast as the light he seems to command, and the first indication that things are as fucked as Gustave suspects is a fist colliding with his chest. There's barely any time to even process the wind escaping his lungs before he's pressed against solid rock, the back of his head scraping painfully over dirt and stone. His only reaction is to reach out and forward until his hand collides with cloth and flesh Verso's collar, he's going to kill me, he can't he wouldn't and Gustave grips it far tighter than he should.

there's nothing but silence after that, a beast looming over them just as easily as Verso is looming over him. It's interrupted only by their heavy and labored breathing, Gustave's seemingly louder by comparison, fueled by the panic of self - defense. Pinned against the rock wall, with an arm and body weight keeping him in place, Gustave has no choice but to meet Verso's eyes and the fire in them again. It would eat Gustave alive if it could; of that, there is no doubt, but it lives in a gaze and in that gaze it will remain. Caged. Contained.

he will never be able to imagine what Verso has gone through, what lives in the man's heart, but he will never have a monopoly on survival and suffering. He doesn't know what goes through Verso's mind whenever their eyes meet, but it won't take him. Gustave also knows a thing or two about endurance.

“ So ... ” he glances down at Verso's arm, then back up at him. “ Are you done ... with whatever the fuck your problem is tonight? ”

POINTING BACK!!!! POINTING BAACK!!!

Settled as she was in front of the fire , Lara could see the color variations in the chroma — the gentle shift from green to purple as she let it swirl in her cupped hands, to blue , back to silver. It was beautiful , she supposed , in the way all destructive things were . Her palms stung wherever it touched her , leaving red marks along her knuckles and the base of her wrist , but she couldn’t bring herself to let it spill past her fingers . 

Idly, she thought of Verso . He’d mentioned something about using chroma on himself at some point , but she couldn’t recall his exact choice of words . Judging by Monoco’s occasional disapproving grunts , he’d likely warned against it .

❝ How does this work , exactly ? ❞ Lara wasn’t sure she grasped the general concept of chroma yet , but she’d seen what it was capable of . If she wanted to survive the Nevrons , perhaps learning to use it —in whatever capacity she could— would prove valuable . ❝ It feels … alive , almost . ❞  ( @fantombe ❤︎ )

↪ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆 . ( accepting! ) › @fantombe.

A wellspring of adrenaline opened in her chest,        occluding the more functional parts of her brain with razor-edged precision.         She moved sideways from the door,        one hand grappling for purchase at the edge of the sink;         more shaken by his sudden appearance than the intrinsic faux-pas of it.         Habit overriding due process.        A lack of oversight on her part,         likely spurred on by jet-lag and exhaustion        —        the need for a shower,     to feel human again,       eclipsing whatever part of her brain was responsible for turning keys. 

❝No,     I’m— …        I caught an earlier flight.❞           Her voice softened as she tore the towel from its hook,        wrapping it twice around her chest.       A show of modesty for Verso alone;       her field rarely allowed for feelings of discomfort after all,      and undressing in front of strangers had never quite bothered her.         Fleeting glances were just that,        and modesty mattered little were human lives were concerned.        Verso,     however,     was no stranger.      ❝I should have called…❞

But he had sounded exhausted on the phone.        One word from her,      and he might have sacrificed his rest to meet her at the airport.      She’d figured she could just as easily take a cab across Montpellier      —      maybe apologize over breakfast,        explain the reason behind her lie.       At no point had she planned for meeting him halfway out of the shower at three in the morning.          ❝I’m done,     you can—…        I’m sorry.❞

His presence twisted into the knife-edge of her despair,   a warmth that settled syrupy-sweet behind her ribcage.  Lara found little solace in it    —      angled as she was for another loss,  her mind focused solely on the way he held her suitcase,  still a few feet from where she paced.  Standing between her and the weight of her choices,  once again.  There was a sense of irony in it,  she supposed;  his insistence to steer her away from the edge.  Something entirely paradoxical about the way he understood her so effortlessly,  while never once seeing the havoc he wreaked on her heart.

❝I’ll miss my flight.❞      Anger and despair coalesced into something akin to defeat,  her voice straining against the burden of it.  A mind on the verge of emotional collapse,  half-feral in its misery,  yet proving softer for him still    —     affection dangling from the tip of her tongue whether she wanted it to or not.  She took a step forward,  then circled back again,  uncertain if she should put more or less distance between them.   Unsure if she wanted to talk at all.           ❝I’m leaving,    Verso.   Why won’t you let me go?❞

She hovered by the water’s edge,  feeling somewhat fragmented against the setting sun.  The need to reach out to him overshadowed all conscious thought,  yet she kept herself anchored in place;   burning every detail of his face into the recesses of her mind,  just in case.      ❝It was so easy for you last time.❞      Not entirely fair,    she knew,   but he’d asked;  she had to presume he wanted the truth.       ❝I can’t keep … waiting,  for the other shoe to drop.  You’ll leave and I’ll still be here,  misguided and in love with you.❞ //     @fantombe ❤︎