Determination sets his resolve, because Gustave couldn't waver now. Too many times, he had let himself stand in his own way — the beach, between the roots, seeing that message, just so, so many times — and he had felt that dull melancholy drag him out to sea. He'd found purpose again in protecting Maelle, in doing whatever he could to make sure that she would be able to go home, and that purpose is working for him here.
He's nervous, because who wouldn't be, but he's curious, too. As curious as she seems to be about him. A spike of anxiety shoots through him as he's well and truly caught between the coils, knowing that there was no backing out now. This was what he'd asked for, so he tries to focus on the bargain instead of the trap.
"I'll admit," and he chuckles softly, jittery, "that I've never had the occasion to make a deal with these kinds of stakes. It's usually a little bit of labour for a nicer set of tools, you know. Things like that." Gustave is rambling a little, as he does. "My creativity goes into my projects really. If I had my drafts, I'd be happy to show you."
His thoughts trail off as he's squeezed.
"Have I—?" Gustave's eyebrows knit together, pieces falling into place around him. "I wanted to find the Paintress," he replies weakly, the gears turning furiously in his head. "After everyone we lost, I thought I wanted to face her." The suspicion that had been building, the hesitation, Renoir's demands... Gustave didn't know that it was rage, but it might have been close enough, as close as a man like him could get. The righteous kind that burned through men like dying stars, and it would burn through him too, but he'd burned out once already and he didn't fear death. "I've been desperate," Gustave admits, his gentle, easy expression giving away to something harder, lines etching into his face. "And I'm willing to do anything to protect the ones I love," and he knows this isn't exactly what she's asked, but Gustave rarely finds his point without wandering to get there,
"I don't— My life isn't worth more than theirs. If he's a threat to them..." It's clear Gustave isn't a man who makes threats, he's a guardian, plain and simple, and violence doesn't come naturally to him, not even the words for it. "If I'm angry, it's for them."
continuing the warning: clair obscur expedition 33 spoilers!!
He's nervous, because who wouldn't be, but he's curious, too. As curious as she seems to be about him. A spike of anxiety shoots through him as he's well and truly caught between the coils, knowing that there was no backing out now. This was what he'd asked for, so he tries to focus on the bargain instead of the trap.
"I'll admit," and he chuckles softly, jittery, "that I've never had the occasion to make a deal with these kinds of stakes. It's usually a little bit of labour for a nicer set of tools, you know. Things like that." Gustave is rambling a little, as he does. "My creativity goes into my projects really. If I had my drafts, I'd be happy to show you."
His thoughts trail off as he's squeezed.
"Have I—?" Gustave's eyebrows knit together, pieces falling into place around him. "I wanted to find the Paintress," he replies weakly, the gears turning furiously in his head. "After everyone we lost, I thought I wanted to face her." The suspicion that had been building, the hesitation, Renoir's demands... Gustave didn't know that it was rage, but it might have been close enough, as close as a man like him could get. The righteous kind that burned through men like dying stars, and it would burn through him too, but he'd burned out once already and he didn't fear death. "I've been desperate," Gustave admits, his gentle, easy expression giving away to something harder, lines etching into his face. "And I'm willing to do anything to protect the ones I love," and he knows this isn't exactly what she's asked, but Gustave rarely finds his point without wandering to get there,
"I don't— My life isn't worth more than theirs. If he's a threat to them..." It's clear Gustave isn't a man who makes threats, he's a guardian, plain and simple, and violence doesn't come naturally to him, not even the words for it. "If I'm angry, it's for them."