The Artsy Pumpkin

(All you need to know for this bit: Lumière is a vast, powerful and technological-advanced empire, whose mastery of chroma has made them the de facto rulers of the Continent. Their vassal-state Galatea has unexpectedly been invaded by a fearsome clan of roaming barbarians: the Nevrons, led by King Renoir and his son Verso, who have been wandering the Continent since the Monolith erupted and blanketed their homeland with ash two decades ago. Gustave, the young Archconsul of Lumière, has been sent by the Senate to deal with the situation… and he will, in his own way.)

“What’s to stop us from just killing you, then?” Verso couldn’t stop himself from asking, even as his father bristled at the Archconsul’s blithely dismissive words. “It would be easy. You’re unarmed, and your bodyguards are too far to save you.” If Gustave was at all shocked by Verso’s threat, he certainly didn’t show it. “Oh, they are not here to protect me,” he said, waving vaguely. “It’s just a matter of protocol. The Archconsul goes nowhere outside of Lumière without Expeditioners, it’s the law. But to answer your earlier question, nothing.” “Nothing,” Verso repeated, baffled and — thoroughly against his will — rather charmed by the sheer gumption of this infuriatingly arrogant and yet strangely compelling slip of a man. As soft as spring moss and yet somehow as strong as bronze, he was, and Verso couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around that. “Nothing!” Gustave laughed, his brown eyes dancing. “Except that it wouldn’t do you any good, because while I am Lumière, Lumière is not me.” He shrugged. “My sister would become Archconsul after me, as is proper, and elections would be held to fill her current post. But none of you would live to see it, because you would all be dead. All of you, down to the last one, until the word Nevron had been stamped out from the Great Book of History itself.” Though Verso didn’t fully understand what Gustave had just said — some words had been Lumieran, which Verso didn’t speak — the meaning behind his little speech was perfectly clear. Lay a finger on me, and die. “Ah,” Verso said, swallowing hard. “Indeed,” Gustave said, meeting his gaze steadily, not an ounce of fear or trepidation in his brown eyes. Though he wore no crown, Verso thought, shaken and awe-struck, there could be no mistaking him for anything other than what he truly was: the most powerful man alive, leader of the biggest and largest Empire the world has ever known, ruler of all that he surveyed.

Gustave can remember the smashing impact of his fist against Verso's face; he can remember the wheezing sounds as they fought for breath mid-fight, his face obscured by his black mask while Verso's scarred grin was on full display.

He'd know the sound of that voice anywhere; he'd recognise the wild beat of Verso's heart even in a crowd.

With this, Gustave hopes, he has an advantage.

He knows what Verso was doing last night - but Verso doesn't have the luxury of knowing the man behind the mask.

"Take a seat," Gustave asks, with a gesture towards the chair on the other side of the desk. "We need to discuss some of the updates on your case. It's - "

"Are you alright?" Verso interrupts.

"Pardon?"

"Your face," Verso answers. "Hell of a bruise."

Gustave's hand travels towards it instinctively. The red sunglasses that protect his blind eyes conveniently help to hide the worst of the damage - but not enough. There are bruises left behind by Verso's fists, and a cut on his cheekbone that might leave a scar if Gustave's unlucky.

It's nothing compared to the ache in his side every time he breathes; there's a bruise so deep across his ribs that Gustave would swear he can feel the imprint of Verso's boot in it.

But Verso can't know about that. He can't.

"Ah," Gustave says. "Right. The bruise. It probably looks worse than it is…" This part should be second-nature by now, but Gustave's never been an easy liar. The words clog his throat. "Just an accident. I, uh - I walked into a door."

"Must've been a nasty door," Verso observes calmly.

"My own fault," Gustave says. Really, he should have been more on top of it - he should have fought harder, blocked faster, and shut Verso down before he could even think of getting another hit in. But he's never met anyone that can keep up with him the way that Verso can. "It won't happen again."

There's a heavy, eager pause - it hangs in the air, and Gustave can't stop himself from thinking about last night. He can't stop thinking about Verso's grim determination and the gun in his hand; he can't stop himself from calculating what Verso would have done if Gustave hadn't been there to stop him.

Verso had been out for blood. Without Gustave slowing him down, he would've found it.

He would have taken the vengeance he's been seeking all this time.

"Gustave," Verso prompts. His hand lands on Gustave's desk, horribly gentle compared to the damage that Gustave now knows he can inflict. Verso pushes some of Gustave's own files towards him, carefully printed in braille that Verso can't understand. "My case. You said there's an update?"

Gustave takes in a shaky breath and tries to make himself focus: the case. They're wrapping Verso's vengeance in legalase; he's hounding the Writers Council with paperwork and hoping that, one day, the stack of papers left behind will balance out the damage they've inflicted onto the Dessendres and those Verso cares about.

As his fingertips shuffle through the file, he can't stop thinking of the confident click of Verso's gun being loaded. He can't stop thinking that, if he's not careful, that's exactly what Verso's revenge will sound like.

"An update," he confirms - shifting focus, sinking back into the mind-set of the lawyer he's supposed to be.

He tries to leave his clenched fists and the taste of blood behind on the dark, desperate rooftop where they'd fought.

But for their whole meeting, he can feel Verso's gaze soaking in the bruises on his face, and the busted knuckles of his hand - and, Gustave knows, that won't be the last time this case collapses into violence.

Worse than that.