#unheritage

[atlasveiled]

@unheritage asked: " There's a place for you. Here. "

"I know." Rook admitted softly for the first time, holding out the next tool Gustave would need for him to take. He'd always bit back before this, denied it, but perhaps with less then a year before he'd be leaving Rook felt that he owed Gustave at least this truth. "I think sometimes I want it to be enough but... I can't breathe here, Gustave. This city is suffocating me."

[etoilesfantome]

" So... You like uh -- Music? Better? " @unheritage

Those pale, intense eyes flick up, a little surprised. " Monoco mention my nighttime serenades? " It's in jest, but also kind of not — and one can see something more at-ease pour into his bearing.

" I studied music at the Conservatory. Before the Fracture. " He exhales a short little laugh, mostly air, but it's got some elements of fond memory. Old memory. " Piano, mostly. I never was much of an artist like most my family. But music —— music, I loved. " A crooked smile comes, and a brow raises as he studies Gustave with some interest. " Were you a musician? "

[littlehoundthings]

@unheritage: please? ... pretty please?

"....Gustave, You can't just use your big puppy dog eyes every time you want somethin' from me!"

[etoilesfantome]

bites him

[paintedxghost]

@unheritage replied to your post “"Next I'm going to hear how no one likes barbe à...”:

I'd love some barbe à papa.

​Excellent. Someone with sense. Would you like to go get some?

[peindrenoir]

❝  I do not believe we've met. ❞ Renoir is quiet, collected as his gaze is locked upon Gustave. Familiar, they interacted when he was the Curator, however, they have yet to truly meet in a sense until now. ❝  Perhaps you do not recognize me as when we initially interacted I took a different form. ❞

He wonders how much Maelle divulged to her adoptive brother and how much she kept to herself. Renoir would likely soon find out. Regardless, he seeks more to keep an eye on Alicia's condition in this world as Maelle than anything else.

❝  I believe we first interacted within the flying water's manor. ❞ Lips quirk up into a smile. ❝  I was not much for conversation then. ❞

@unheritage / starter call.

[h-a-unted]

[temple] - Sender holds a gun to receiver's temple. - @unheritage's gustave to verso, for reasons

He shouldn't be smiling, he should not be taunting the man to shoot with the smirk that forms so easily, but he can't help it.

"Careful with that weapon, you wouldn't want to accidentally shoot me, would you?" Oh, he knows he tempts fate, tempts the man... But that is honestly what he wants. The thrill, the race of his heart, the reactions on the canvas of Gustave's face.

He wants to see how far it can go. How far they both can go with each other, regardless of the feeling driving them. He shrugs slightly, keeps his hands up, shoulder-length.

"I mean no harm. You are aware of this, yes? So, what's got you so riled up? We could be civil and just... talk about it."

[danslabime]

i am broken into fractions.

@unheritage

The world outside the abyss is —— too bright. Scalding around the edges, blazing into the corners of eyes with a cheerful ferocity that he’s forgotten. The stars feel like pinpricks; the rustle of the trees and moonlight piercing through the canopy seems like spotlights. 

He feels —— myopic. Blinking against the light, how everything seems to be moving quickly: too quickly. The painted over monstrousity sits there, one hand gripped tight upon the broad Chroma-scarred blade —— shoved into the earth, more support than threat — as though it’s the one thing holding him from falling into perdition. 

" … "

—— broken. Into fractions. 

Those words resonate. 

Clea —— not his Clea, not the Clea he knew —— gave him some of the power of the Painters. The power to remove those from the Canvas. The power to fall Titans. The power to ——

Fractions. Break people into fractions. Break himself into ——

The sound he makes isn’t a human one, not truly. It’s a terrible thing, and he’s not sure if it comes from lungs or bone. But it’s a sound, an exhale, a gruff, a breath of a laugh? What’s laughter, lost to the abyss? 

Hm. 

It’s not a cruel thing, and he’s aware enough to be frustrated that the mess of his mind makes it difficult to form response. Too many years buried, lost, broken. He moves: the lost arm on his left side drips chroma like molten gold, like Midas-touched gore. It’s a slight shift, a roll of weight; his regard of Gustave is hard to read with those dark, dark empty eyes.

" —— you. —— me. " A wrench of his mouth in frustration, scarred cracked features pulling; he breathes. Does he need to breathe? He doesn’t remember, but he does it anyway. His voice sounds like grinding stone. " Us both, I think. "