Chapter Text
Manon rubbed the sleep from her eyes and took a long drink from her mug. She wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, to pick up the novel she’d fallen asleep reading last night until sleep took her once again. She knew that Henri would join her after only a few minutes of being ignored, that the sweet dog would tuck himself against Manon’s shoulder and drift right off too.
But at the moment, Henri was circling her ankles like a shark. On her way to the door, Manon’s gaze raked over the pile of unfinished capes she’d brought home two nights ago, intending to finish mending the embroidery on them on her day off. She stared at them, the golden threads almost mocking her from where they sat in a crumpled heap.
Those days, Manon struggled to see the point in perfectionism. It was baked into her soul to not let a single piece leave her custody until not a single thread was out of place. The Continent was a place of death and mourning just as much as it was a fantastical land of fairytales. Each arc and line would be perfect, a harmony of patterns and pictos and charms for luck and protection and whatever else she could weave in to give them even a second longer to live.
She owed them that much, at least.
The cool morning air of early spring nipped Manon’s nose and cheeks as she stepped outside. Henri was on his longer lead this time. She only needed to keep watch while he did his business. Then she’d will it away and out of the grass before anyone could step on it or complain. Besides, it was good for him to run around a little bit when he didn’t need to be glued to Manon’s side. Would pets ever face the gommage, if the monolith still ticked slowly down at such low numbers? Would there even be a Lumière left by then? Manon’s face scrunched in distaste. She hated the thought of humans disappearing into clouds of petals. But for some reason, the idea of an innocent cat or dog getting swept away by that horrid being they called God was much, much worse.
Henri trotted over and nuzzled Manon’s outstretched hand. Her eyes focused and refocused on the little park. Lumière never truly slept, but the hour was late enough now that most of the city’s residents had begun their commutes for the day. Manon chewed the inside of her cheek. She wondered if they talked on their journeys, if the new chroma-fueled carriages were as loud as they looked. Every so often, if one was close enough to her on the street, she could feel the slightest touch of vibration in the air from them. They looked like they would be loud. People, not so much.
Not this time of year, in any case. Manon looked over the rooftops of the lower city.
The monolith still read “34”, but not for much longer.
In another month, the gommage would come and go.
Another Expedition would come and go.
Manon would be allowed a week, perhaps two, of rest, before the up-and-coming crew would begin to trickle in for their own fittings and consultations.
She wondered how many of her works still existed on the Continent, or if they’d all been turned to ash in the shadow of the Paintress.
There had certainly been some very interesting theories slung around over the years on how to dethrone her. Manon recalled one of her first Expeditions, nearly twenty years prior. She’d barely been an apprentice at the time, and her mentor had explained that one of the women had talked ceaselessly about a giant wheel to traverse the Continent. Her mentor, Henri (after whom the dog had been named), hadn’t known most of the signs to describe the conversation, and it took nearly an hour and several poor attempts at diagrams for Manon to understand what was going on.
Those early days had been a struggle. Manon was not a singularity in Lumière, but it was still deeply uncommon to be born without an entire sense and with no natural affinity for wielding the magic required to “fix” anything. She’d spent long hours committing every swipe and twitch of Henri’s needles to memory as they danced over the fabric. In turn, he’d held her small hands and guided her fingers along until garments came to life and samplers bloomed. Few others cared to even make an attempt to connect to the little girl who could not speak or hear her own name when called.
Henri had a wife, Manon remembered as much. She had been the first to hold Manon’s hand over her throat when she spoke. Manon had jerked away the first time, startled at the sensation of speech under her fingertips. Henri’s wife had a kind smile. Manon couldn’t hear it, but she could see the woman speaking slowly, patiently, teaching her to read the shapes of people’s mouths when they spoke. Manon had only just managed to eke out what she’d hoped was “maman” when the woman faded into red petals.
The next year, Henri joined his wife in oblivion, leaving the silence of Manon’s world even heavier. Henri had once said that the only thing stopping him from joining an expedition was Manon and his desire to spend his last year of life with her.
She’d been able to cry out for her papa on the day that Henri was taken.
It weighed her heart and filled it with sorrow that she’d not acknowledged them as her family sooner.
Motion caught the corner of her vision, and Manon turned to the source, and her heart drooped like a failed souffle.
Manon returned the wave, earning a smile from Sophie.
-Hello! You look well. Have you been sleeping better?
Manon forced herself to smile. Yes, she had been sleeping better. But the bar was so incredibly low as of late that it barely made a difference.
-Yes, somewhat. She tucked Henri’s lead between her knees, freeing her hands. The fluffy dog knew better than to run off.
Sophie had managed to close the distance between them in the few seconds it took for a reply to form. She was one of the few people in Lumière that Manon permitted any kind of affection from.
The hug was more welcomed than Manon cared to admit (because that would mean unpacking too many emotions so early in the morning), and she did not pull away when Sophie offered a kiss to each cheek. If anything, the woman’s calm joy was infectious. Manon didn’t have the heart to brush her aside today.
Sophie had deft hands, expressive and articulate. Manon’s only complaint would’ve been how overly formal her signs were. She wondered what she actually sounded like. Was she a formal woman, like her signs? Or was she more carefree in her words? Manon had seen her writings in the Gazette before. No doubt she was eloquent, at the very least. It would be painfully slow, but perhaps Manon could coax more of her natural cadence out if they spoke through paper? She’d wondered that, too. But Sophie was persistent, if nothing else, in her endeavors to make those around her feel welcome and cared for. And so, upon discovering that there was a deaf seamstress in Robert’s shop, Sophie had taken it upon herself to learn as many signs as she could. Over the years, she truly had come to master it.
-Manon?
Manon blinked a few times. She’d been so wrapped up in her own head -again- that she’d missed an entire chunk of the conversation.
It must’ve shown on her face. Sophie gave a gentle nod and resumed her signs.
-Robert told me you have started using silver threads as well. An interesting choice.
Ah, yes. It certainly had been an interesting choice to start deviating from the traditional golds of the Expedition’s uniforms. Every member was allowed some degree of creative freedom in their uniform, but certain things always remained the same. Their capes. The colors and fabrics available. Their style of shoe (with only one exception, that Manon could recall). The armbands. Items like that were often made in batches by younger apprentices and then any flaws were worked out by seniors. But in the last batch that Manon had gotten her hands on, she’d made corrections in silver thread, not gold. It was a decision that she could not, no matter how hard she tried, explain or justify.
-It…felt right, to break tradition a little bit, Manon explained, a blush warming her cheeks. It wasn’t a lie, but she wasn’t sure it was the truth, either.
Eighteen expeditions had come through her corner of the shop, and never again after they set sail. The monolith still stood. The Paintress still painted her numbers each year.
Perhaps a bit of silver thread would upset the strange cycle enough to make a difference.
Manon worried her lip between her teeth. She didn’t feel like talking about it anymore. As if sensing her mounting discomfort, Henri nuzzled her in the stomach and leaned on her leg. It was breakfast time.
-I’m sorry, Soph. I have a lot to do today. I’m glad we saw each other. And truly, she was. In a few months, Sophie would be no more. She’d don a beautiful, overflowing necklace of flowers, then she too would fade into nothingness. She would leave behind a truly wonderful legacy, and an even more horrible void.
Sophie’s smile never fully faded. She gave Manon’s hand a gentle squeeze.
-Promise to take care of yourself.
Instead of replying, Manon simply knocked her fist over her heart in an imitation of the Expeditioner’s salute.
Tomorrow comes, they all said.
But at what cost?
***
Manon’s fingers moved as easily as breathing. They knew the feeling of every single needle and pin and clip, and could find even the slightest errors in cloth or embroidery. She flicked the needle through another torn weft, then right back into the delicate icon of the cursed Paintress. The icon baffled her to no end. Surely, there had once been a reason to include her visage. But after so many years, Manon hated that it remained. It was a curse to live under the Paintress’s hand. It was even more so a curse to wear an icon of one’s enemy at one’s back.
And so, a single strand of silver wove its way into her golden halo.
In a way, Manon was thankful that her time was coming soon. The Expeditions grew younger as the enlistment age now trickled into the teens. Expedition 33 had a sixteen year old on its roster. Eventually, the entire expedition would be that young.
Or younger.
Manon rolled the numbers over and over in her head. Her shoulders were pulled nearly to her ears and her fingers ached.
The young woman had nearly a decade left to live. A decade that countless others would kill to have to their name. Manon knew the girl well. It hadn’t come as a shock when her face appeared on fitting day. Manon had not received a complete order slip for her uniform, which had given her a tinge of hope that she had decided to duck out at the last minute and stay behind.
Maelle had shown up the following week for the second fitting and turned in a list of custom requests, just like the rest of her group. No overcoat. She claimed it restricted movement. Long pants, more fitted in the calves. She said that the shorter ones made her look too short. Silver closures on her thick undershirt, and more silver here and there. Just to shake things up.
Manon had given her a quizzical look.
She made the requested adjustments without argument.
Manon snipped the thread right above the knot and stabbed her needle into a cushion. Her knuckles popped and ached. Her wrists were stiff. There had once been a time when thirty was young. Manon wondered if thirty had still felt old, even when it was barely a mark of midlife. She popped each joint carefully, enjoying the fleeting relief while it lasted.
She thought about the woman whose ticket had sharply objected to the notion of shoes and socks, even spares to keep on hand just in case. Lune, Manon recalled the name on the paper. A rather frightening woman, from what she knew, in both intellect and sheer determination on the battlefield.
If she had a proper voice, Manon would’ve tried to talk some sense into her, at least about the merits of keeping extra socks on hand.
Somehow, that whole debacle bothered her more than the idea of outfitting a sixteen year old for a suicide mission.
This year’s group looked promising, and Manon recognized quite a few of them for their contributions to Lumière.
Madame Marieanne, a schoolteacher with plans to bring back samples of the flora and soil to see if anything could be used to help boost Lumière’s excuses for crops. She’d been the original mastermind behind the aquafarms.
Manon remembered visiting them and being awed at the technology. Sophie had been there, too. At the time, she had been seeing a rather handsome young man, who was sadly plagued with enough social anxiety for an entire city. Manon had managed to exchange pleasantries with him a few times in those days, and then more later on.
His name was Gustave, or so she had managed to parse from his horrid handwriting. But his reputation preceded him, much to his general dismay. Manon had learned more than she ever cared to from Maelle -his daughter-sister-ward-whatever- when the girl came by to visit. And even more from Lune.
Somehow, Manon had found herself being the go-to person for just about half of this year’s expedition whenever they needed to vent.
She imagined it was because she couldn’t hear a damn thing they said, and that the culprits eventually just talked themselves in circles until they arrived at some sort of conclusion.
Manon was fine with that.
There was Sciel, who had once slipped and complimented Manon on being a “fantastic listener” before realizing what she’d said and apologizing profusely for the next several days. Manon had shrugged it off. It wasn’t the first time, and she doubted it would be the last.
Several others had asked why she just didn’t use a picto or lumina to restore her hearing. Each time, Manon had explained that, simply put, she’d been born like that and intended to die like that, too. It was too much effort to explain that she had all of the magical talents of an old shoe, and didn’t care enough to hear to bend over backwards trying to learn how to.
A flicker of light caught her attention seconds before a dusty blue suit appeared in front of her workstation.
Manon looked up.
For reasons unknown to her, Gustave had taken it upon himself to force her into taking lunch breaks at appropriate times. Robert has theorized once that it was just as much for Gustave’s sake. From what she knew, the man was horrid at taking care of himself. No doubt that there was some sort of external influence involved. Maybe he just needed an anchor to keep himself accountable?
He waved awkwardly. Manon pursed her lips, nodding.
Fine.
Manon was just as terrible at remembering her own health. She had a hard time seeing the point to it when she’d be dead in two years, no matter what she did. It was still longer than Gustave, who had a month and a few days before setting sail for Expedition 33. She could spare an hour for lunch.
-Fuck you.
Manon made a face. The poor man seemed so genuinely unaware.
-...thank you? She corrected slowly, trying to squeak out the word as well.
Gustave’s expression turned to one of horror. “What?”
-You said “fuck you”, not “thank you”. Manon repeated each sign a couple of times, showing how subtle the difference was. A smile played at the corner of her lips. It was such a common error, and Gustave was one of the few people who’d decided to try to meet Manon halfway on communicating. She suspected that Sophie had had a hand in it. But for all that he tried, his hands stumbled as much as his words (or so she’d been told).
He hung his head in resignation, and likely a great deal of embarrassment. Manon felt a laugh bubble up in her throat. She patted his arm gently as she stood.
-Same place as always?
Gustave nodded, seeming to have given up on signing for the moment.
The boulangerie just around the corner from the tailor’s shop had become their go-to for lunch. Gustave took the lead as usual, ordering for the both of them. Manon all but melted into the bistro chair, coffee in hand and a plate of little pastries and finger sandwiches between them. Henri had his own little bowl of food where he lounged under the table. She took a moment to appreciate the man in front of her. Gustave was always one sneeze away from utter disarray, though he pulled it off well. Manon supposed he was handsome, in the same way that a scruffy puppy covered in dust was cute. She wasn’t sure who had fumbled harder, Sophie or Gustave.
Gustave made sure he had her attention fully before starting in on the conversation.
“How has the shop been? Busy?”
Manon let out an exaggerated sigh. There was a month left until the Expedition left.
-About as busy as your Lumina lab.
“That’s terrible.”
-It could be worse. The weeks after the Expeditions set sail were always the hardest. In the wake of the gommage, it always seemed like the numbers on the monolith shone brighter, almost taunting. All of Lumière was in mourning. Then, slowly, a new group of enlistees would begin to trickle into the shop.
Robert’s gommage was coming up. Next season, Manon would be in charge. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
Gustave just nodded and bit into one of the sandwiches. She knew he understood.
-Tell me about your lab. Are the trials going well?
His eyes lit up a little, and Manon settled even further back into the chair, eager to learn the latest gossip and results of his experimentations.
The converter was working well under test conditions, he said. Far better than they had projected, even. Lune has been bouncing around the lab just as much as he was, making sure that everything was in order for the older apprentices to continue their work after they departed. She was excited for the Expedition, too. She’d been rattling off folklore about Gestrials and Gradis and anything else she could think of all week. Manon had read many of the same stories as a child. The prospect excited her, too. But they were little more than fairytales.
-It sounds like a lot of fun. And she meant it. Manon saw the people around her, laughing and sharing stories and generally enjoying each other’s company at work and felt her heart sick into her socks. She knew she was not included. It would be hard to participate, even if she was. Some days, she wondered what it would be like for her days to be full of conversation.
Gustave nodded, smiling.
-I still can’t believe that you’re letting Maelle go with you.
He almost looked guilty. “She’s outgrown Lumière. It would be worse if she stayed. And she’s already made up her mind.”
-She’s so young.
“Yes, but she’s made up her mind.”
Manon acquiesced. It would be hard to watch her friends sail off to their doom. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Henri put his head on her thigh and she silently thanked him for the little reassurance. The sweet guide dog would be her only companion soon.
-Look after each other. I…promise me you’ll come back. All of you.
When she set her hand back down, Gustave laced their fingers together. There had never been anything even remotely close to romantic between them, only a comfortable friendship. But they both enjoyed physical displays of affection and comfort, and for Manon, it was especially meaningful.
Actions spoke for themselves. A hug or a held hand had no language barrier.
Gustave nodded towards the half-finished plate, and she knew what he meant. She’d barely eaten since they arrived.
Again, Manon surrendered, picking up a small fruit tart and eating half of it in one bite.
The rest of their lunch was peaceful, with only a few more threads of conversation while they finished their food.
With the meal done and their breaks ending soon, Manon hooked her arm through Gustave’s. She insisted on walking him back to the lab since he’d come and fetched her, despite his protests. Henri knew the way, as did Manon, she reasoned. They would be perfectly fine.
The Academy building stood a head and a half above the rest of the district, adorned in livery that spoke of the upcoming Expedition. Students and Expeditioners had begun to trickle back in when Manon and Gustave reached the steps.
She looped Henri’s lead around her wrist and used Gustave's shoulders as leverage to plant a little kiss to his cheek, a gesture he returned with a light kiss to her battered fingertips. A prayer for the face that held such warmth, and a blessing for the hands that made their uniforms.
Manon thought it a true shame that he’d not managed to find a girlfriend since his split with Sophie. But he had Maelle, and his apprentices, to look after and to receive his affections.
He would’ve made a fantastic father.
Manon shrugged off the thought. She had been on Sohpie’s side during that debacle.
There was one last thing to tend to before they said their goodbyes for the day.
Manon tapped her shoulders with a pleading look, earning her an amused head shake.
“Go on, turn around.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and back up against Gustave’s chest. His arms circled around hers and she felt him bed slightly at the knees. He patted her bicep twice -a question- and Manon nodded eagerly. A second later, her feet left the ground and her spine popped like an old machine when he gave her a little shake. A week of stress and being hunched over her workstation bled from her joints with a pained groan. She felt two inches taller when Gustave set her back on the ground. Manon let her shoulders drop, inhaling deep as he shifted his hold and cracked her upper back.
-Oh bless you. Thank you, Manon signed when she turned around to face him. She rolled her shoulders out and signed, content. Then she held out her own hands to him.
Gustave rested his flesh hand on hers and let Manon work out the knots in his palm and fingers. She could feel the joints popping back into place and the muscles relaxing. With a final squeeze, Manon released his hand.
-Thank you, too.
He got it right that time, at least.
Manon grinned.
“Be safe.” She hoped the syllables had come out right.
The smile she received from Gustve was infectious.
-I’ll do my best. Tomorrow?
Manon nodded, and with that, they parted ways.
***
André’s eyes were a truly wondrous shade of blue. They glowed like ice in the sun, carried the weight of the world in the dark, and held every single thing he felt in clear view. He was gentle, kind. But never afraid of confronting wrongs or stepping up to any challenge. The memory of his skin on hers was burned into Manon’s memory like a brand. He held her like she was the most precious gem in the world.
So naturally, he’d gone off on Expedition 34, rather than spend his final year with Manon. Regardless, she’d put more care into his uniform than she ever had for anyone else. She’d stitched her initials into his cloak, right over his heart. André, upon noticing it, had pressed a gentle kiss to the threads, then to her forehead.
Part of her resented him. Hated him, even, for it. For the first few months, Manon had held onto hope that his ship would return to the harbor, with him aboard. Then two turned into three, and three turned into six, and six months turned into eleven. The gommage was three weeks away now, and the monolith still shone over the sea. Perhaps there was still hope that he would return. That perhaps the Expedition would still be successful, and that no one would fade into petals this year.
Manon scowled into her coffee. To hold out hope at this stage was delusion, pure and simple. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall into another trap like that.
She’d tied off the last thread on the last armband in her pile right before Gustave showed up for lunch. He looked worse today, like he hadn’t slept in several nights, and his words seemed to hold the same weight that was on his shoulders.
-Alright. Out with it.
He’s brow lifted in question. “With what?”
-You look like shit.
Gustave was many things, but so was Manon. An unstoppable force and an immovable object. Manon was part of the same social circle as he was; he was surrounded by immovable objects.
Manon steepled her fingers together and gave him a withering look, waiting for him to crack.
It didn’t take long.
-The nightmares are back.
The question was, which nightmares? The memory of the fire that cost him his arm? The way Maelle laid in her bed like a corpse when she’d been deathly ill a few years prior? Nonexistent memories spawning from anxieties about the upcoming expedition?
Manon’s expression stayed the same until he relented.
-I keep seeing things. I don’t think they’re my memories. It’s the fire from the lab, but…different. Maelle is there. I can hear her screams. Mine. It burns differently.
She sat on his words for a moment, playing absently with a slip of silver cord that she had pocketed on their way out. The threads were beginning to fray and unravel at the ends, and Manon thought about how fitting it was for their situations.
-You’re scared for Maelle, aren’t you? That you won’t be able to keep her safe on the Continent.
Gustave bobbed his head, somewhere between a nod and shake. It was an admission, whether he knew it or not. André had the same tells when he was trying to hide something. Possibly a byproduct of growing up with Gustave. Or vice versa. She didn’t know. He’d been a steady presence at her side during the farewells for 34, a gentle arm around her shoulders as André’s vessel sailed out of sight. They’d both had friends leave that day, on top of the ones they’d lost the night before. They’d had a passive friendship before that night, but after that, they’d started talking more. At some point, the lunch dates had started, although calling them dates wasn’t entirely accurate. Manon still thought that Lune was behind it.
-I am, yes.
Henri, having finished his treat, decided to bother Gustave this time. The man had a soft spot for the dog, she knew. Manon watched him as he found the spot behind Henri’s ears that made his tail wag even harder. A smile slowly crept onto Gustave’s face. At least for now, he seemed at peace.
***
Luciele was a determined woman, drawn to adventure and the unknowns. She’d celebrated her enlistment with a weekend-long bender, and Manon had never been more thankful for her inability to hear. She’d seen plenty, but the pubs were so crammed with drunk people that she assumed it was the loudest place ever to exist. Luciele had made the mistake of betting Sciel who could out-drink who. Both of them ended up deathly hungover, even with Lune’s help. There had not been a clear winner that night.
She still had no idea why she had even been invited. Of all of those present, all of them were either Expeditioners or at the Academy in some way. Manon had been the only odd man out. A very drunk Lucien had drug her into a hug and started rambling about something that Gustave translated to “why would we leave out our favorite tailor?” Manon had just existed with them after that. No one there had more than a couple years left to live. No sense in not enjoying the time while they had it.
Manon had known Luciele for a long time. They’d been in the same orphanage, despite the five years that separated them. She’d been a sister figure to Manon, until they were taken in by their new families. They’d been distant after that, taking likings to wildly different careers. Luciele started teaching hand-to-hand combat at the academy as soon as she was old enough, while Manon -a skilled swordsman in her own right- had leaned into a gentler skillset.
Luciele’s uniform had lots of pockets, with loose-fitted pants and tops to allow a wide range of motion. She’d asked for extra padding in the knees and elbows. Manon had gladly obliged.
She wouldn’t be shocked if Luciele had been killed early in her expedition after trying to take on a Nevron by herself, just for the thrill of it. Manon hoped so. It was how she would’ve wanted to go.
This year’s expedition would depart in less than two weeks. Already, the red and white flowers had begun to make their annual appearances. Gustave appeared less throughout the week, no doubt just as busy preparing for the coming upheaval that the gommage brought. Finalizing experiment logs and finishing laying the groundwork for older apprentices in the same way that Manon had been following Robert around like she was his shadow, readying herself to take his place. Sophie had come in earlier in the week with Gustave’s three youngest apprentices in tow, requesting a couple of final tweaks to his uniform. There had also been a note Gustave himself was not allowed to know about it. Manon, in her usual manner, had been more than happy to carry it out, but she’d been stopped. Sophie had smiled in a way that was almost sad as she explained that she and the boys would be the ones making the alterations. The request had just been a formality so that the uniform could be removed from the inventory early.
Manon was still happy to allow it. Gustave had done so much for them, it was lovely that the four of them wanted to do something in return. She retried the bundle from the store room and passed it to the boys before drawing Sophie into a hug. They stayed like that for a while, swaying slightly. Manon wasn’t ready to see her fade away. Sophie was her only friend in the shop, even though she barely spent any time at work there anymore. She’d been involved in so many projects lately, it was a wonder she even had the time to pick up hours at the shop. Manon squeezed her friend tightly. How many more times would she be able to do so?
Sophie kissed her cheek, and Manon returned the gesture. Sophie would be a difficult loss to grapple with, for much of Lumière.
The four of them made their way out of the shop, leaving Manon alone with a new kind of silence. Robert was supposed to go over the books one more time with her later that afternoon, even though she already had them memorized six ways from Sunday. Maybe she’d shove him out of the shop first thing in the morning, tell him to spend his last week with his family. Manon had worked at the shop for nineteen years. She knew how to handle herself.
She turned on her heel and made her way to Robert’s office. Manon would start moving her things in soon. If she even cared that much.
Gustave brought Maelle along to their lunch date that afternoon. She was a welcome burst of energy in the increasingly depressive afternoons. Once, Maelle had tried to talk them into going on a “proper” date. Both Manon and Gustave had declined to entertain the idea, preferring to remain friends. There was nothing else there, nor did there need to be. Maelle left them alone after that, but still spent more than a reasonable amount of time bothering Manon at the shop. She found that she didn’t mind her presence at all, and had even gotten her to sit still long enough for Manon to teach her a few basic stitches so that she could mend her clothes while on the Continent.
Maelle elected to sit next to her that day, leaving Gustave alone with Henri on the other side of the table.
-You must be excited for the expedition. Manon still didn’t agree with Gustave’s choice to let her go, but it wasn’t her place to interject opinion.
-I am! Lune’s been telling so many stories about all of the creatures we might find. We learn about Nevrons a lot in classes, but she knows so much more.
Manon smiled around the berry she was chewing on.
Lune had always fascinated her. The woman was brilliant and brimming with logic and reason, always ready with textbook-perfect answers and citations to back up everything. But behind the scholar’s mask she wore was a woman filled with childlike wonder and excitement. Manon hoped that the Continent was indeed full of all of the mythical creatures that Lune dreamed of, that she’d get to see real Gestrals, maybe even come face to face with Esquie himself. Even more, Manon hoped that she would return with stories of her own.
“Please, spare me from any more of those stories,” Gustave said, wilting around the edges. She didn’t see Maelle’s response, but she very clearly saw the resignation on the poor man’s face.
“We’ll talk about that later.”
Manon cocked her head to the side, curious.
-Talk about what?
Gustave took a long drink from his cup.
-Maelle is being…Maelle.
Manon felt a grin pull at her lips. She understood.
The girl decided to lean into Manon’s side and rest her head on her shoulder and, without thinking twice, Manon draped her arm around her. She saw Gustave’s eyes soften, and for a moment, she let herself believe that this was what it was like to have a family of her own. To have a daughter that delighted in her parents’ affection. To have a husband look at his wife and daughter with unbridled love and admiration. The family pet snoozing nearby. Manon held Maelle tight to her side. She’d seen the girl grow up and turn into a wonderful young woman under Gustave’s guidance.
He would’ve been an amazing husband and father.
They spent the rest of the day together. In a rare spark of daring, Manon accepted Maelle’s plea for a duel in the park. Manon took the offered epee from Gustave, who put his hands up in surrender and stepped to the side to moderate the bout. They found a relatively flat spot of ground, and made ready. Epee was not a weapon that Maelle was very comfortable with, but Manon refused to let her wield anything else. The girl needed to get out of her comfort zone in fights.
Epee, in Manon’s eyes, was a perfect challenge for her. Slower than any other sword and more precise, it would force Maelle to think about her strategy and footwork more than her speed and brutality. More than once, Manon had watched her sacrifice footwork for a killing stroke, which had inevitably led to her loss in the fight. This time, Manon was determined to make sure she didn’t do the same thing again.
They saluted each other, Gustave, and their imaginary audience, and settled into their stances. In the corner of her eye, Manon saw Gustave’s signal to start the match.
She rolled her shoulder and flicked her blade tauntingly. Maelle almost immediately took the bait, surging forward with her blade raised.
Manon dropped into a low crouch and landed a hit on the girl’s toes.
Maelle immediately pulled back, likely at her guardian’s command of “halt”.
She cast a sidelong glance at Gustave, who flashed a “1-0” sign at them both. Maelle scowled.
She tucked her blade into the crook of her arm.
-Rage has no place here. Focus.
Gustave’s signal to ready came again.
Maelle tried another approach. Manon’s blade jabbed into her hip.
2-0…
***
Manon apologized for the grotesque beating by allowing Maelle to take Henri home for the rest of the afternoon. Sweating, out of breath, and grinning, Manon plopped into the grass beside Gustave. The match had lasted the better part of half an hour, ten times longer than what was the standard. She blew out a long puff of air and slumped against her friend. She could feel the shake of his shoulders that meant laughing as his arm came to rest around her shoulders. He was a comfortable pillow, and more than once they’d found themselves passed out on one or the other’s sofa, abandoned work cluttering the space around them.
Gustave rested his head on hers. There was something in the way his hand drifted along her arm, the way his fingers curled and uncurled around the sweat-damp fabric of her sleeve. Manon concluded that it was reality catching up all too quickly. There were less than two weeks until so many of their colleagues would vanish, and then the rest would depart for the Continent.
Manon patted his leg and pulled away enough for them to talk.
-You’re stuck in your head, aren’t you?
Gustave made a noncommittal gesture.
-Maelle is going to miss you, I think.
-Just Maelle? Manon folded her hands in her lap.
He looked so, so incredibly guilty. Then, his ears flushed pink and his head dipped. It was about as close to an admission as she was going to get.
Manon leaned over until they made eye-contact again, smiling sadly.
-It goes both ways. Your Expedition…you all are the only ones I have left.
Her own confession lingered in the space between them. It was true enough. The next two years would be incredibly lonely. There was Emma, of course, but even she would be gone before Manon.
It was truly terrible to be the youngest of a doomed grouping.
“You could still come with us.”
Manon pressed her lips into a thin line. They’d had the same conversation before. It had seeped into conversations she’d had with others in 33. Each time, Manon could only remind them of her realities. She could not hear oncoming danger, nor cries for help. Her martial skills were impressive enough as a hobbyist, enough that she could instruct the youngest students at the Academy, but her weapon of choice was not practical for battle.
Not to mention she was wholly incapable of wielding any sort of the magic that the rest of the Expeditioners could.
No. Manon would not see the Continent in this life.
She shook her head, brushing a few rogue strands of hair out of Gustave’s face. He knew her answer just as well. Asking was futile.
-You could still stay.
It was an equally futile question. Gustave would not stay, even if he wanted to more than anything. Because that would mean leaving Maelle to fend for herself, sending her off to die alone.
Less than two weeks.
In the deepest corners of her heart, she thought of André. Of Luciele and Marrion and Jean-Paul.
There was still time.
***
Four days remained until the gommage, and the monolith still stood like a looming angel of death, waiting for its yearly offering. Manon sequestered herself in her apartment, making every last adjustment and repair to the last of the uniforms. Henri dozed at her feet, blissfully unaware of the doomed world in which he lived. Soon, she’d need to find a new home for him, preferably a family with young children who could take care of him until his own time came. Perhaps he would do well at an orphanage. Henri was a mellow dog most of the time, and Manon could picture recently orphaned children clinging to him as they cried. That would be the best fit, she thought.
She reached the end of her thread sooner than she thought she would, only realizing it when there was no resistance against her needle. Manon looked down at the pair of arm bands on her lap.
One, slightly smaller than the other, intended for the wiry arms of a teenager, and the other meant for the well-built arm of a man who’d never shied from manual labor.
Both of them were sprinkled heavily with silver thread. The few pictos that Manon had ever managed to learn were stitched in fine silver on the insides of both.
Good health. Good fortune. Peace of heart.
Wealth of love.
Very carefully, she secured the threads and held them to her heart, repeating the blessings over and over to herself.
They would be safe.
Manon could no longer hope for André’s return. Perhaps, after 33 departed, she would see to the establishment of a new set of memorials for those who had given the precious last months of their lives to lay the trail for those who came after. The current one was…lackluster, if that.
Sixty-seven expeditions, and none had ever managed to complete their mission. The people of Lumière had begun to care less. To see those who volunteered as fools. Emma could make all of the passionate speeches she wanted about Lumière fighting alongside the Expeditions, but they were lies. She had to know that by now. Everyone had to know that by now. There were precious few who genuinely supported the Expeditions anymore.
Manon, to her eternal dismay, was one of them.
The very least she could do was make sure that they were comfortable.
The small weight of Henri’s head on her thigh snapped her out of her thoughts. The uniforms were finished. She only had a handful of armbands left. Everything would get packed up neatly in the morning, ready to be collected by the Expeditioners. Sophie would be waiting for the armband, too.
Manon set the golden wraps aside and scratched the pup behind his ears in just the right spot to earn a violent wag of his tail. He was a sweet creature, perfectly trained to guide her through the sometimes-crushing silence of life, and a sturdy companion. She’d try to talk -actually talk- to him sometimes, knowing that there would never be any judgement in Henri’s big, stupid eyes.
The apartment was less lonely with him around, too.
She missed André dearly in moments like this. He’d been able to hear the music from the old gramophone that sat collecting dust in the corner, had guided her through clumsy, sweet dances. If she pressed her fingers to his throat, she could feel him humming the melodies in time with their movement. Sometimes, André would sing, too. When he did, she’d put her head on his chest and let the vibrato translate itself into something akin to sound. Manon thought that he would have a lovely voice.
She’d never know.
She thought the same of Gustave, who was too kind for his own good, and painfully brimming with anxiety. Manon had watched him try to hold conversations for years, and it always looked like he struggled to finish half of his sentences. It was endearing, frankly.
Once, Manon had asked him to dance. He’d been terrible at it, and they’d ended up nearly collapsing in a fit of laughter at how messy the whole attempt had been. She’d insisted on touching his chest and throat anyways, just to feel his laughter. There was no doubt that Gustave had a wonderful voice, too. He spoke so much with just his eyes that talking barely seemed necessary.
Manon resolved to seek him out in the morning.
***
The gommage was in less than a day away.
Manon had convinced Gustave to leave his workshop for the night with the promise of wine and chocolates.
Which was how they ended up on the beach, half-drunk and shifting between skipping stones on the calm waters and chucking rocks as hard as they could at the monolith (all while attempting to remain upright). She had to admit, if there was anything Gustave was good at, it was throwing rocks so hard and so far that they might actually reach the Paintress.
And he was handsome as hell, all disheveled in the moonlight. Manon kept that thought tucked away in a neatly ordered corner of her thoughts. She could appreciate his appearance, but that didn’t mean she had any intention of doing anything about it. He truly wasn’t her type at all.
Manon saw his mouth moving, but he was facing just enough away that she couldn’t make out a damn thing.
She tossed a pebble at his head. When he spun around, she stuck her tongue out at him.
-Can’t hear you, âne.
“Sorry”, Gustave sat -fell- in the space next to her. “I forget sometimes.”
Manon rolled her eyes and plucked another berry from the basket, popping it in her mouth.
-I’m going to miss this.
Gustave refilled both glasses. They were near the end of their second bottle, and it was sure to hit soon.
Manon took hers, tapped the rim against his, and downed half of it in one go. She’d had two goals in coaxing him out. The first was to spend a final night alone with her dearest friend, to enjoy a last moment of peace perhaps even fun before the somber farewell festival held in the hours after the gommage petals had settled. No one ever had fun at those. The second was to get absolutely piss drunk and hopefully forget about the whole thing. Neither of them were usually that sort of drinker, the hangovers weren’t worth it in their eyes, but tonight there could be an exception.
Afterall, it was probably for the best that Gustave not be sober while his love drifted into petals and ash right in front of him.
Manon sure as hell hadn’t been.
She scooted to Gustave’s other side, where the basket was not in her way, and settled so that her head could rest on his legs. She stared into the expanse of ocean and sky, toward the awful monolith that still shone with that taunting “34”. Gustave carded his fingers through her hair lazily. His rhythm was languid and irregular, a prominent sign of impending drunkenness, but it was a welcome comfort either way.
André was not coming home.
The pair stayed like that until well into the night, three bottles of wine and half a bottle of absinthe deep before they decided to try and make it home. Gustave lived closer to the harbor, and he insisted on dragging Manon home. There was no way, he signed messily, that he was letting either of them try to get anywhere alone. Damn the consequence named Maelle.
Manon had absolutely no recollection of how they got home in one piece. Nor could she recall why she found herself curled around Gustave in the morning. But it seemed that he couldn’t remember a damn thing either. However, they were able to safely conclude that their friendship (and dignity) were still intact. Still, lingering at the edge of his bed, Manon thought that maybe she could get away with a kiss.
***
The streets were well and full of flowers and streamers. They were also full of people wearing necklaces of red and white flowers. Manon had done her due diligence, making sure that her flowers for Sophie and Richard were tucked neatly in their necklaces. She’d hugged Richard quickly, assured him that the shop was in good hands, and shooed him away to be with his family. Sophie, she’d held even tighter and gave a kiss on the cheek, which was reciprocated. They lingered a moment longer than perhaps was necessary, but Sophie had scarcely few hours left to live and Manon had not yet made peace with that.
When they parted, Sophie looked almost sad.
-Live well, mon cher ami.
Manon bit back tears, not for the first time that day.
Speaking felt like a gargantuan task.
“For you…all…yes.”
And she would honor that.
The sun waned and the sky darkened. Manon’s apartment was cast in unholy shadows as the Paintress woke from her slumber. Henri whined and nuzzled her as Manon clutched the only portrait she had of herself and André to her chest.
She could not hear her sobs as the minutes ticked down. She didn’t know how loud she screamed when she felt the shift in the world at the loss of dozens more souls. But Manon could feel it. Grief tore through her throat like a searing iron, sharp and cruel and unyielding. She hurt. It echoed in her bones and into the very core of her being, rattling every last thread that held her together. Threads that now threatened to snap.
Soon, she would be alone in the world.
Manon cried until her body could produce no more tears, and even then, she laid on the floor of her bedroom, body still shaking with silent wails. Henri had tried his best to soothe her, kneading on her shoulders, nudging his way under her arm, laying fully on top of her like a blanket. But nothing worked. Manon petted his snout absently, trying not to think of the way that the world had hollowed itself out again.
How could she not?
Henri perked up suddenly, running out of the room and back in a moment later. He nipped her arm gently, just enough to get her attention. Once she finally looked up, it took Manon a moment to process what he was alerting to.
Someone was at her door.
She briefly considered making sure she was presentable, but almost immediately pushed the thought aside. It was gommage day. No one cared.
Manon wrapped André’s favorite robe around herself and padded to the door. She moved mechanically, like a puppet on too-stiff strings, unable to parse who in the world would be bothering with her at such a time.
It was the lack of shoes that Manon noticed first.
Then the neatly fitted trousers that she’d recognize even if she was blind.
Lune.
-The party wouldn’t be the same without our beloved tailor.
Manon stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head.
Party? Was it that late already?
She peaked over Lune’s shoulder.
It was indeed that late.
-I’ve been the tailor for many Expeditions. And there are many more of us. Why me?
Instead of signing, Lune simply pulled her into a hug. The woman buried her face against Manon’s neck and squeezed.
This was why.
Nineteen Expeditions, Manon had seen come and go. Never once had she been so ingrained with one as she was with the crew of Expedition 33.
Somewhere, deep in her heart, Manon knew that she too would’ve put her name on that paper if she could.
Manon sunk into the hug. She’d spent the least amount of time out of everyone with Lune, but the connection was still there.
Lune was the first to break contact, freeing her hands.
-You carry all of those people in your needles and thread. Carry us, too.
She didn’t need to be asked a third time.
-I’ll get my shoes.
Manon allowed herself to be led to the harbor, Henri’s lead in one hand and Lune’s firmly laced with the other. That was something she was glad they all indulged her in. Manon’s need for physical contact was baked into her bones. Lune’s hands were warm and rough, solid against her skin. Maelle’s were small and hid an incredible amount of strength and determination. Sciel’s were sturdy and reassuring when they patted her shoulder and strong arms looped happily around Manon’s shoulders. Margot’s hands were more hesitant, but they were soft when she led Manon around the gardens. Gustave’s were unique, of course. His metal arm managed to be warm to the touch, but the weight of those fingers felt odd sometimes, and more than once Manon had fully recoiled like she’d been burned. She’d had to explain that it had only spooked her, that she had trouble processing the feathery sensation of its gentle electric current. Seeing the insecurity take over his eyes, Manon did what she could to soothe the worry. But it was his human hand that was the strangest to her.
The flesh of his human hand was soft. Incredibly so, for someone who had worked his whole life with his hands. Of all of the hands that had graced her skin, Gustave’s were the softest. They were a grounding presence on her shoulders or laced with her own fingers. They guided tenderly and in a way that was almost loving. Even the awkwardness of his signs was heartfelt.
Truly, Lumière was about to lose an incredible soul.
Lune and Manon had barely come into view of the expeditioners when glasses were being pressed into their hands and arms were being slung around their shoulders. Manon saw them talking about whatever it was that they were talking about, and from their swayed posture alone, assumed that they were slurring horribly already. No doubt the early departure would be torturous for them all.
Or, for most of them, at least.
Lune gave Manon’s shoulder a hearty pat before she was shoved off deeper into the foray. Only a select few of those present could actually talk to Manon, but she could mingle anyway. And besides, Henri loved the attention that he received from everyone.
It took a moment of scanning to find Gustave, who was unsurprisingly standing by himself off to the side of the others. He worried a nearly full glass between his hands, and Manon had a sneaking suspicion that it was still his first. She knew how horrid she’d felt that morning, after the indulgences of the previous night. No doubt he had been feeling it well into the early afternoon as well.
Drawing in a long breath, Manon patted Henri’s head and made her way over to the man.
There was a particular sorrow in his shoulders, one that Manon knew the feeling of far too well.
She was gentle with him.
Manon pressed her shoulder to his and let herself settle next to her beloved friend. Gustave’s unfocused gaze never left the monolith as he looped his human arm around her waist, hand settling on her hip. His thumb traced absent circles over the fabric of her jacket. It was comforting, likely for both of them. And so, she leaned into Gustave’s side and let herself reciprocate the gesture. Eventually, she’d have to get a good look at the finished product. He’d been unfairly handsome at all of his fittings, but something had always felt off. Manon was brimming with curiosity to see what changes Sophie and the boys had made. She could already tell some of them. The belt around his waist had been removed (it really hadn’t served a function in the first place), and his trousers seemed more snug at his hips, like they’d stay perfectly fine if his belt was damaged. Manon’s fingers trailed along his prosthetic, looking for any other information she could find. She found her mark when her fingers grazed the sleeve of his jacket. Manon played with the roll of the fabric, and found that it was too thin to be properly rolled up. Nor did it come undone when she tugged on it. Had they sewn them to be permanently rolled, without the bulk that would normally come with the preference?
Manon decided that she’d try to convince the boys to come around the shop more often. They had potential.
She was broken out of her thoughts when Gustave squeezed her hip. Their eyes met.
Graces, he’d been crying as much as Manon, if not more.
Manon held up a finger between them before taking his glass and her own and setting them gingerly on the dock. Henri sat, watchful, nearby. With her hands freed, Manon braced herself on his shoulders and pressed a meaningful kiss to his cheek.
-Are you alright?
Gustave took a long moment to process. She could see the gears in his head turning, debating on sparing her the truth or not. Not that she’d believe a damn word other than the truth. He was a horrid liar.
-I…I think I will be. But not yet.
Manon nodded solemnly.
-I know. Saying sorry won’t do much, will it?
He shook his head. “Did it when you lost André?”
The look in his eyes was complicated. It had been a question in so many ways. He wanted to know if she’d ever made peace, or at least been able to loosen her grip on the pain of his memory. He wanted to know if anyone else had offered her comfort. He wanted assurances that, perhaps someday, he’d be able to loosen his own grip on Sophie’s memory.
-No. But it was nice to know that people cared.
-She left with dignity…and left a wonderful legacy.
Gustave’s hands moved slowly, taking their time with the words. Some he was still only able to spell out. But he wouldn’t have to worry about that skill for much longer. Manon never knew how to express her gratitude to them for learning.
And all for a tailor.
The night went on.
When it came time for Emma’s speech, Gustave passed Manon a sheet of paper and gestured to the podium. Relaxed against her friend’s side and arm around his waist, she read along. It wasn’t hard to see where Gustave had influenced the words. There was too much hope in the ink for it to be purely his sister’s.
The night went on.
One by one, the Expeditioners wandered off, either for one last night home or to the ship to sleep off the wine. A few still lingered when Gustave decided it was time to take their leave. Maelle happily took Henri’s lead, and for a moment Manon considered sending the pup off with her. The thought was gone almost as soon as it came.
Gustave had yet to let go of Manon’s hand; part of her wondered if he was even aware that he was still clinging to her. Not that she minded in the slightest. He was currently her last tether to reality.
The night went on.
Maelle settled herself into the guest room of Manon’s apartment. She was curled up under an insane number of blankets and deeply asleep by the time her brother had changed into something more comfortable for sleep. Henri had chosen to sleep at the foot of Maelle’s nest, it seemed, bringing a small smile to Gustave’s face.
Manon had finally gotten the chance to look over his uniform. The silver threads still shone through the gold, which was a relief. As she turned the garment in her hands, Manon saw that both sleeves had, in fact, been altered and sewn in a way that made them look neatly rolled.
Using silver thread.
A sad smile crept onto her lips.
Gustave tapped her shoulder as he came to face her.
-So. Why silver?
Manon shrugged before carefully folding the jacket and setting it aside.
-I wish I had a good answer. It felt like rebellion. Maman and Papa always told me too, that every cloud has a silver lining.
The night went on.
Gustave and Manon shared her bed, content to drift off in each other’s hold.
For the first night in weeks, Manon’s sleep was peaceful.
***
Morning had come far too soon.
Gustave insisted on making a light breakfast while Manon fussed over last-minute touches to their uniforms. She took in the sight, committing the brush of every thread against her fingertips to memory.
Maelle had grown into a lovely young woman, radiating courage and determination. At her side, Gustave painted a portrait of strength and an almost boyish charm.
She had faith.
Together, with Henri in tow, they made their way to the harbor as a new sun began to rise.
The streets were still mostly empty. Fewer and fewer people made the effort to see off the Expedition each year. Manon had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, she could see where hope was waning and disillusion met with cold reality. The Expeditions felt increasingly futile. But on the other, she resented them for not at least honoring the sacrifices that the Expeditions made. And yet…
Death was still death. They would die anyway.
Manon had already pulled Maelle into a crushing embrace, making her swear to stay safe and always mind her footing. She agreed, a bit tearfully, before finding a burst of energy and launching herself onto the ship.
Goodbyes with Sciel and Lune and the others were less emotional, but their hugs still lingered a few moments too long and words did not come as easily. Even Alan had found her and given her knuckles a polite kiss, along with his thanks for the efforts of her and her shop.
And then there was Gustave, who seemed to be the last to board.
He stood on the pier, a tangle of emotion scrawled across his face like matted threads. Their eyes met, and Manon felt something snap in her heart. Her feet moved before she could think twice, closing the distance between them.
Manon cradled the back of his head and drew him in until their foreheads pressed together. It took only a moment for Gustave’s hands to come to rest on the back of her neck and between her shoulders. She let the tears flow freely, then.
“Promise…you’ll come…home.”
His response came in the form of a heavy kiss to her forehead seconds before pulling them flush in a desperate embrace. Manon felt him nod where his face was tucked against her neck, where her collar dampened from his own tears.
Manon did not want to let go.
Manon did not want to watch her last friends disappear into the horizon.
She would carry their memory no matter what.
***
“Expedition 33 Will Be The Destined Journey”
The newspaper remained tossed to the side of the table, beside a cup of coffee that was growing colder by the minute in the warm morning light.
The shop was quiet as Lumière mourned. It was the Somber season, where older children brought pieces of their parent’s wardrobe to be turned into new clothing or to be reshaped into stuffed animals. There was little chatter between the workstations, and if there was, it was nowhere near full of the same light that it would be after a month or two when the peoples’ wounds began to scab over again.
Manon stitched another scrap of fabric into the portfolio she brought out during fittings and consultations. It was the very specific duckcloth that a particularly young Expeditioner had requested for her tunic. Sturdy, durable, and it held color well. Manon included several samples with different dyes. The purple was her personal favorite. This year, she would dedicate a new slot to the embroidery patterns she’d honed over the past round of uniforms. In some, there was more silver than gold. A selection that just felt right to introduce formally into the strange pocket of fashion that Expedition uniforms lived in. There had been silver buttons and chains in the past, but nothing quite as embedded as silver thread. It was about time that the styles shifted a little.
Maelle was the name of the muse for that particular choice, so she recalled. Nothing about that ticket had been to the usual standard. Perhaps this would be the year that jackets started fading out of style, replaced with something more practical.
Their world was a fickle thing, but styles had remained the same for the better part of Manon’s three decades of life. It was becoming stagnant, she thought.
She could do nothing to change the damned fate of Lumière, but Manon could certainly make sure that her people were well dressed for their funerals.