( it's been a few hours, and gustave's general sense of being at peace in this place is nowhere to be found. he's constantly found in and around the blocks, calling out a couple of names, in intervals—maelle, lune, sciel—as if expecting to find someone. in fact, he needs to find them, and this 'maelle' with more insistence still. he knocks on doors of the different motels, annoyingly so, his left arm a dull metal echo against the furnishings of the place, until he's forcibly asked to please leave, he's disturbing others.
can one really be too mean to this desperate, sad-looking man? )
Merde...
( he grunts, as a sudden electric-sounding boom gives way to a power outage.
tiredly, he walks down the rest of the outer stairs down as tenants of the motel poke their heads out of their rooms and complain about the current state of affairs. the bile threatening to expel out of him upon his arrival feels like a constant in the pit of his stomach now, and he's sweating plenty under his expeditioner's coat. )
—hey, man. Nice arm.
( raising his gaze as he reaches the landing, a trio of hooligans approach him, eyeing his prosthetic arm. no such issues in lumiere, but here — well, it's not the first time someone has made a comment about his arm; some impressed, others interested in a way that he does not appreciate.
he grumbles, )
I don't have the time for this.
( or the emotional energy to respond accordingly. some help might be welcome, as gustave tries to assess the threat level of the trio. )
❧ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋꜱ
( it's been a few hours, and gustave's general sense of being at peace in this place is nowhere to be found. he's constantly found in and around the blocks, calling out a couple of names, in intervals—maelle, lune, sciel—as if expecting to find someone. in fact, he needs to find them, and this 'maelle' with more insistence still. he knocks on doors of the different motels, annoyingly so, his left arm a dull metal echo against the furnishings of the place, until he's forcibly asked to please leave, he's disturbing others.
can one really be too mean to this desperate, sad-looking man? )
Merde...
( he grunts, as a sudden electric-sounding boom gives way to a power outage.
tiredly, he walks down the rest of the outer stairs down as tenants of the motel poke their heads out of their rooms and complain about the current state of affairs. the bile threatening to expel out of him upon his arrival feels like a constant in the pit of his stomach now, and he's sweating plenty under his expeditioner's coat. )
—hey, man. Nice arm.
( raising his gaze as he reaches the landing, a trio of hooligans approach him, eyeing his prosthetic arm. no such issues in lumiere, but here — well, it's not the first time someone has made a comment about his arm; some impressed, others interested in a way that he does not appreciate.
he grumbles, )
I don't have the time for this.
( or the emotional energy to respond accordingly. some help might be welcome, as gustave tries to assess the threat level of the trio. )