[Mature] Knock, Knock

[Meraki]

Partly Cloudy
Afternoon, 36 Dentis, 2719
The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords

The night before had been busy, but Meraki restlessly slept for the handful of time he managed to stay lying down. He feverishly dreamt through the midday hours. When he woke, sweat drenched the wick’s freckled and scarred skin. Meraki didn’t wait to adjust to the coming evening though. For within seconds, he was up and about, and getting dressed. Then he left the little place that he’d hidden away to sleep.

There were things to do, after all, and he had no time to waste. He only had a few good hours before he had to get back to the place of his employ. So, he made his choice, and he headed through the neighborhoods to walk through Quarters Fords until he found a familiar looking house.

At the gate of the estate, Meraki hesitated for a few minutes before he finally moved past and down the small path lined by trees. The quiet house wasn’t so shadowed in the afternoon light, but it was as large as he remembered. His steps slowed while he approached the front door. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea… what if the golly answered the door? What if she were still angry at him for reading those books?

Meraki frowned. He picked up his feet, refused to act so hesitant, and made himself walk quicker. While he might have felt uncertain, he wouldn’t show it in any visible sense. The tsat reached the front door. He took a quick breath, then knocked lightly on it. He waited a minute or so, then knocked louder.

…and no answer. The wick leaned back and glanced over the house. Maybe they were out? Or away… He thought about the books inside the place. He could finish reading them if the- would they be able to even track them down if they got taken out of the- - no, no… he couldn’t do that. Meraki shook his head and stopped his survey of the exterior. While he felt the temptation, he liked to believe he knew better than that.

The young wick looked far worse than the last time he’d seen Aremu. His clothing had faded and stained with multiple washes of getting blood out… but the faint recollection of blood could never be entirely forgotten by the cheap material. His hands were bandaged in thin gauze, the beige-white dappled with rust-red stains. His bottom lip looked to be a terrible affair, scabbed over a wide split that had the middle stages of bruising around the swollen flesh. His temple had similar coloration of bruises dappled around his temple and cheek. His vest, like usual, was left open but hung heavier on his frame. Whatever injuries he hid under the clothes, was anyone’s guess. Rougher blood-speckled spots on his shirt, at the side of his lower back, made it obvious something had been there. Meraki tried to fix his hair some. The copper-blond strands were still messy from recently waking up. His eyes were swollen too, in red puffy and smoke-irritated exhaustion.

But he wanted to visit. For multiple reasons, some better than others. He wanted to see how Aremu was faring, now that there’d been some time for the injuries to heal – a good fifteen days or so worth – and… as he glanced at the house once again… maybe he could ask some questions of the other man. Maybe he could… maybe he could see if… he thought about the books again.

Meraki slammed his palm against the door this time, flatly knocking on it and he called, “Hello? Is anybody home? Aremu, you in there?” Stupid big houses. Even if they were home, they probably couldn’t even hear… Meraki glanced to the side, then rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this! He impatiently shuffled on the front step, then started to walk back down the path to leave. Maybe he'd try again tomorrow.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Afternoon, 36 Dentis, 2719
The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords

The cliffs south of the Rose rose slowly. Pale sand glittered in a wide swath of beach south of Redwine. Yellow grass-covered hills rose up above, shivering in the breeze. The sands narrowed as the waves crept in, until the beach was little more than a strip of sand, opening up here and there into inlets and coves where they reached to touch the steep cliffs. The cliffs grew sheerer and steeper, higher and higher overhead.

Aremu had walked along them; he had slipped his shoes off, at one point, bare feet pressing against the cold, wet sand rather than wet them. When the cliffs had risen high enough, when he was ready, he had taken off his heavy coat and bundled it into the branches of a scraggling tree which clung tenaciously to the side of the cliff and tucked his shoes in amongst it. The sweater beneath was worn and patched, and he shifted, bunching it up to the elbow on both sides with his hand and the stump of his wrist.

Aremu began to climb.

It hurt, at first. His ribs still ached; the mottled bruises had faded to a pale yellow, barely visible against the dark shade of his skin. The stretch of them against the rocks ached; scars, old and new, pulled at him, and threatened to drag him back down. Aremu climbed through them, and pushed onwards and upwards. He climbed; he found crevices with his fingertips and toes, and his wrist too. He pulled himself up, chasing a path up the steep, shaggy rock.

Aremu was shaking by the time he pulled himself over the edge of the cliff. It had been cold, when he started; he had felt the rough wind off the ocean like a knife through the heavy fabric of his sweater, and this with today the sunniest day of the last ten. By the top, he was hot beneath the thick cloth, and not only with soreness. He lay back in the grass, twisting his face, and let the sun wash over him between the shading of the clouds.

In time, Aremu could sit; his legs dangled off the edge off the cliff. He looked out over the seas, at distant dark skies, at patches of blue and white closer, all of them drifting in distant winds. He found the seam where the sea met the sky in the light; the darkness of the clouds shaded it, elsewhere, as if the sea itself had been turned purple-gray by distant storms.

Once – distantly – Aremu saw the glimmer of lightning at the top of the cloud, a flash of pale lavender against the dark gray clouds.

In time, he turned; in time, he began to descend. He had promised himself, Aremu thought, never to climb to a height which he could not descend. He held to it; shaking and grunting at the bottom, he held to it, and bare feet brushed the damp sand. He shuddered; he rested his head against the rock. He folded his coat of his arm; he took his shoes in his fingertips, and he began to walk, slowly, back along the long beach.

By the time he reached Quarter Fords again, Aremu had pulled the coat back over himself against the cold and laced his boots up with scratched hands. By the time he reached Quarter Fords again, the last of the trembling had stopped, and his mouth was full with a spiced lentil fritter, with two more tucked in paper in his pocket beneath his right wrist. He licked the last of the grease from his fingertips and opened the gate to the house.

“Meraki?” Aremu asked. He stopped short, raising his eyebrows, surprised at the sight of the other man turning on the path to walk away from the house. His eyebrows raised a little more at the state of him – the rough, bloody clothes, the cut on his lip, all the rest. A faint, worried frown pinched his forehead; he did not ask. “Good to see you,” Aremu said, instead, his gaze sweeping the other man once more.

[Meraki]

Meraki heard his name just as he turned to leave. He paused, looked at Aremu, then a slanted grin broke across his face. He nodded, though he wondered why the other man had seemed to be in the midst of… licking his fingers? He hadn’t caught sight of the fritter, of course, but he had seen the aftermath of it.

Though the words were polite, Meraki noticed the frown… he eased somewhat. His grin vanished. He cleared his throat, then nodded again and replied, “Nice of y’ to say. Y’ busy, kov? Thought maybe we could have a sit about, see how yer holdin’ up. If y’ had the time for it and all?”

He retrieved a cigarette case from an interior pocket in his vest, clicked it open, and placed a smoke between his lips. Meraki didn’t light it, yet. He offered, “I forget, do y’ smoke? Y’ want one?”

The wick stepped to the side of the path some and did a small gesture that he’d gotten out of the way so that Aremu could finish on his journey to the front door. He kept the cigarette case out, long enough to offer one if the other man wanted it. Either way, it returned to his vest quick enough. Meraki glanced over the other man’s coat… it looked like a warm coat. He needed a coat, he decided. Especially since every day made the chance for a heavy snow more and more likely.

Eager to converse and with no need to hide his thoughts about it, he mentioned, “That’s a nice coat y’ got there, Aremu. Where’d y’ get it from? I should get ones… and some gloves, too. Proper gloves, that is, that cover the fingertips. Oh, maybe a scarf... do y' know how cold it gets in the winter here in the harbor?”

Meraki shuffled in his stance and retrieved a matchbox from a pocket. He lit the cigarette, breathed in deep, while he waited for the man to either shoo him away or lead them inside. The wick’s dark green eyes continued to glance over the other man in survey of his clothing and appearance. He commented in a casual tone, “Y’ sure are lookin’ like you’ve fared better than meself past days, eh?” He winked, easily making mention of his own battered appearance for the both of them.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Afternoon, 36 Dentis, 2719
The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords

Aremu’s eyebrows lifted a little more, surprise on his face. He was not such a fool as to believe Meraki entirely, and the wick’s gesture towards the door unsettled him, however slightly. He had not really expected him to come back after his brief encounter with Niccolette. He doubted that Meraki was so worried about him as to brave the galdor’s potential fury just to sit down and chat; he wondered what the other man wanted or thought he did.

Meraki had saved his life. Aremu knew the weight of it; he felt it heavy on his shoulders, sinking all through him. Meraki had saved his life and cleaned his wounds, and in thanks had been hit himself, more than once, and – worse.

“Of course,” Aremu said; something in his face relaxed, slightly. “Come in.” He went past Meraki, holding at the door, reaching for the key hanging on a string around his neck. He knew better than to climb with a key in his pocket; it was an easy way to lose one’s key.

Aremu raised his eyebrows. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d had a cigarette, but he didn’t half mind them. “Sure,” he said. “Once we’re inside,” he amended; his hand was busy with the key already, and he didn’t quite want to juggle both the key and the cigarette. He knew Meraki smoked; he’d cleaned the remains of it off the carpet of Uzoji’s study, a week and a half earlier.

“The coat?” Aremu glanced down at himself. “It was – uh – a gift,” he said, smile fading slightly. He remembered Uzoji presenting it to him with a grin, new, a replacement for the old, patched coat that he had shivered in in the air, in the mountains of Hesse, in the steppes above Mugroba, in the streets of Vienda, for the better part of two years. Uzoji had said nothing; he’d grinned, settled the coat into Aremu’s hands, clasped him on her shoulder, and went off without a word. “From Vienda, I think,” Aremu said.

Aremu relaxed when Meraki acknowledged his own battered state. “You looked better when last we met,” he admitted, with a warm grin to answer the wink.

The air inside the house was warm, almost thick. There was no smell of smoke in the air, but it was warm enough that Aremu shrugged his coat off, sliding one arm then the other through the sleeves and hanging it on the coatstand next to the door, next to a slightly shorter men’s coat, a little broader in cut, with an almost invisible darn in the collar. He ran his fingers over the fabric of it and stepped to the side, letting Meraki come in before shutting the door behind them.

“This way,” he said. He led Meraki deeper into the house, past Uzoji’s study. The sense of warmth grew as they went down towards the further study, Niccolette’s. She was, Aremu judged, still meditating; the heat lasted afterwards, but not so intensely. He turned, and took Meraki through the scantly apportioned dining room, and into the warm, well-lit kitchen after it. The windows were shut, lightly curtained; a table sat in the center of the room, gleaming and well-kept.

Aremu fished the paper from his pocket and set it down on the table, his right arm settled against his side inside. “Hungry?” He asked. He eased the bag open with his fingers, revealing the two lentil and batter fritters still remaining. He went to the stove, and picked up the kettle which sat atop it, filling it with water and placing it on the heat; he grabbed a poker, and jostled the fire beneath, warming it to get the water heating.

The heat in the house was not coming from the stove; even through the dining room and the kitchen, they could feel her.

“It’s Niccolette,” Aremu said, after a moment. He sat down at the table and looked evenly at Meraki across it. “The heat,” he explained, both elbows resting on the table. His left hand covered the scarred stump of his right, but gently, evenly, not clenching at it.

He let that sit for a moment. “You’re all right?” Aremu lifted his eyebrows, lightly, looking the wick over once more.

[Meraki]

It wasn’t difficult to observe Aremu’s expressions, but it was a trick to figure out what they meant. The frown had been… displeasure or confusion at his presence - or maybe at his appearance, as Meraki was aware he looked unkempt and needed to clean. The surprise, however, that he saw clearly made him wonder what the other man thought of him. Did he not think that he would come by for a visit eventually? Meraki enjoyed it slightly, rather than get perturbed by a denial of expectations. Surprise suited him fine, and it didn’t last long either when Aremu agreed.

Meraki eyed the key when it was used. He nodded upon agreement for a smoke, and would retrieve his cigarette case again, for when they would be inside. The wick made mention of the coat. A gift? From the golly lady, assumed Meraki without thought about it. He took a deep drag of the cigarette, while he looked over the coat. Casually, he interjected, “Vienda! How ‘bout that.”

The mention of his own appearance, combined with the wink, seemed to land well when Aremu warmly grinned back. Good. Meraki liked that. The smile looked good on the other man.

They headed inside, and Meraki kept close at Aremu’s heels so that the door could be closed before too much cold air flooded into the hall. He glanced at the coatstand briefly, then looked around the hall again. Looked the same as the last time he’d walked through. He nodded when he was led deeper into the house, past the studies, and he felt the faint warmth. Instinctively, he drew his field in closer to his body and momentarily dampened it while they passed the room where the heat felt like it emanated from. The wick focused on this and his cigarette, smoking rather than talking, for the short journey from front door to dining room.

Meraki appreciated that the windows kept the sunlight out. It wasn’t so bright in the dining room, which he preferred. He lingered a short distance from the table rather than sitting down. It looked so clean. Meraki wondered if he should wash up in the bathroom first…

Hungry?


“Huh?” The wick looked up. He’d been staring at the polished dining table. He blinked a few times, as if confused, then he seemed to realize what had been asked when he saw the fritters. “Oh… if y’… yeah, if y’ don’t mind? What is it?”

Meraki moved closer to the bag, then plucked out one of the fritters to survey it. It felt greasy to his calloused fingers. He glanced about, picked up a small cup, then sat at one of the many chairs to choose from. His field gradually returned as he released the dampened suffocation of the monic particles. The wick sat so he could watch Aremu prepare the tea. Even without a coat, he felt hot enough that his skin took on a ruddy blush and a light sweat threatened to emerge.

“Nicco… oh, golly lady,” he murmured. He nodded and met the other man’s gaze. “Is she… she still mad or…”

He shook his head, unsure how to directly ask about that. Meraki licked at the fritter he’d grabbed, instead. Taking an experimental bite of the food, he glanced over when he heard the query as to whether he was all right.

Meraki slowly lowered the fritter. He swallowed the bite. In his other hand, he held the cigarette out and tapped the ash into the small cup that he’d retrieved. The tip of his tongue lightly cleared off the grease from the angry scab on his bottom lip.

“Sure,” he answered finally. “I’m alive, ent I? Can’t get much more all right than ‘at.”

He inclined his head, then took a long drag of his cigarette before he snapped his fingers. Meraki took out the cigarette case and box of matches, then set the items on the table between them. He nodded, then gestured for Aremu to help himself. Meraki didn’t know how easy or not it’d be to strike a match with only one hand, but he figured given that the man seemed able to move about and prepare tea and everything, that it wasn’t that difficult to figure out. He supposed he could give the lighter over… but he’d taken the lighter from this very house and he didn’t want to give it back.

“Got a job,” he mentioned. It was more like he got five jobs, and he kept one, but Aremu didn’t need to know that nonsense. “Don’t think it came up while you was knifin’ that guy, but do y’ gots a job?”

“Probably don’t need one, eh? Livin’ wit’ the golly like you is… ‘lest that’s yer job,” he commented with a slight twitch of a smile and an amused tone. Meraki lowered his gaze, focused between his cigarette and the fritter. He took a couple more bites and paid close attention to whatever response was given.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Afternoon, 36 Dentis, 2719
Kitchen, The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords

It’s Mugrobi food,” Aremu said with a grin for Meraki, watching him study the bag. “We call it tsoq’ud.” The fritters were rounded, with a circle in the middle; the outside was crispy, still warm and oily, and the inside soft and spongy, with the barest hint of a sour taste. Black peppercorns and crisp green curry leaves mingled scarce through it, cooked well through.

Aremu pushed his sleeves up, the right arm using his left hand, easily settling the worn sweater at his elbow. The left arm was trickier, but he had the knack of it; his wrist found the seam, and pushed gently, sliding around the other arm until it settled the shirt at his elbow. He didn’t force himself to watch Meraki while he did it; there was no need for that.

“I don’t think so,” Aremu said, thoughtful, in response to Meraki’s question about Niccolette. He did not let him off the hook, his gaze settling on the other man. “Just stay close to me,” he said, with the faintest crease of a smile on his lips, “and you should be fine.”

Aremu opened the cigarette case one-handed and took one out; he settled it at the edge of his lips. He opened the matchbox and drew out a match with two fingers; he settled it against the table, holding it still with the edge of his hand, and drew the match across it in a firm, even strike. The match tip glowed; he brought it to the edge of the cigarette, lighting the small twist of paper, and shook it out with an easy movement of his wrist. If it was hard for him, one-handed, he gave no sign; the movements were easy and practiced.

“Where’re you working?” Aremu asked, eyebrows lifting lightly. He took a drag on the cigarette, blowing smoke into the air. He wasn’t sure when last he’d had one; the smoke scratched at his throat, harsh and uneasy. Not so different from the Rose, Aremu thought, faintly bitter; he’d never intended to stay so long, this time, for all that he knew things were well in hand in Muluku still.

Aremu raised both eyebrows further, and grinned, suddenly, unable to hide it. He snorted; he cleared his throat into his hand, holding the cigarette away from his lips. It wasn’t such an outrageous assumption, given what the wick’d seen; Aremu couldn’t even quite bring himself to be offended by it.

“Maybe it is,” Aremu said, a little grimace flickering over his face and smoothing it out. “More of a qalqa than a job, I suppose,” he offered the Tek word with a distinctly Mugrobi sound to it, rolling through the consonants. He shrugged, glancing over his shoulder through the dining room, out to the distant hall. Heat bloomed still; he knew where she would be, sitting in the midst of a sea of candles, their flames flickering in and out with the rhythm of her breaths.

“Niccolette Ibutatu,” Aremu sounded out the full name, careful and deliberate, “owns a plantation in the Muluku Islands. I run it for her, mostly from there,” he took another drag of the cigarette, and let the smoke drift from his lips into the air. The water on the stove behind them was warming, slowly; the sound of it rumbling against the kettle crept through the air. “We grow sugarcane, coffee, and macadamia nuts.” There didn’t seem to be any point to hiding what he was, what he did – not, at least, when the spilling was only of his own secrets, and none of hers.

Aremu rose; he tucked the cigarette between his lips. He took a bowl into the pantry for a moment, and then he was back, with a small handful of large, round pale nuts, already roasted, in the bowl. He’d brought this batch back for Niccolette, left some here in the Rose and brought some to her in Vienda. He wondered if she’d eaten them, though he thought it more than likely he knew the answer already.

He set the bowl down on the table; he took the cigarette in the lower part of his hand and popped a nut into his mouth with his fingers. “You’re welcome to try them.” Aremu said. He was still decidedly hungry after the climb, hungrier than he’d been since the fight, as if the cold, brisk air and the vigorous aching had woken something inside him and brought it back. Even the cigarette didn’t seem to be helping, not much. He ate another nut himself and went back to the cigarette.

[Meraki]

Meraki wasn’t familiar with much cuisine. Not even Anaxi food interested him all that much, beyond whether it helped his body recover from injury and stopped him from feeling hungry. Nourishment was a matter of survival, not of luxury or recreation or culture. So, when he took out one of the fritters, and heard the explanation for the Mugrobi food called tsoq’ud, Meraki narrowed his dark green eyes as if suspicious about that. There were leaves and little black things in it and when he bit into it, it had a weird texture that he tried to compare to some Anaxi pastries.

As if to try and compensate for his lack of culinary knowledge, the tsat mentioned, “I used to work at a bakery shop. Lots of… food. Didn’t have these, though. Don’t think it’d be very popular in Brunnhold.”

He nodded along with the request to stay close. While Aremu might have been teasing him, he took it seriously. He didn’t want to be too lackadaisical when it came to the golly lady with her powerful field. Meraki focused on why he was here, and he glanced away while Aremu started up a cigarette. He took another bite of the tsoq’ud, then set it down directly on the table without a thought about doing so.

“Oh, I’m working at a… tavern, course. Docks too, some,” he answered and glanced back over, to inquire as to Aremu’s own work.

A slanted smile twitched on his lips when Aremu grinned in reaction to his provocative suggestion. He felt a sense of accomplishment from causing the amusement and quirked a brow in a playful mockery of confusion – as if he just didn’t know what was so damn funny about his question… but of course he knew. When the other man played along, both his brows raised and he said in a breathy voice, “Ah… aha!”

At the more serious response, he nodded and returned to smoking. Meraki picked at the fritter, pinched away some crumbs then popped them in his mouth. Niccolette Ibutatu, checked out as a golly name. He glanced over, listening closely, and making note of every word that Aremu mentioned. Plantation, Muluku Islands, sugarcane, coffee, macadamia nuts…

…which the Mugrobi soon left, and Meraki made do between smoking and nibbling at the fritter, until the man returned with a bowl filled with nuts. Meraki glanced at the bowl, then up at Aremu, and he couldn’t help a small snicker. Oh, gods, he wanted to make a joke but… no, no, that’d be too much for a visit. He got a feeling from Aremu, though, that the other man wouldn’t mind it so much. That he might even appreciate it. Especially with how they’d left things before Meraki fled the estate last time, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. He shouldn’t risk being wrong with the human, but then he wasn't in the Stacks anymore either.

So, best he could for the moment, he stayed quiet and busied himself with chewing more of the tsoq’ud.

Upon hearing the polite offer to try Aremu's nuts, though, Meraki snorted. A ruddy color rose on his freckled cheeks. He couldn’t help himself. The Anaxi wick gave in. He looked at the other man and chirped, “I come ‘round for a spot of tea, and y’ already sharin’ yer nuts with me? Aremu… please.”

If the other man found offense in it, he’d just try to play it off as the nonsense it was. Meraki reached over and coyly danced his fingertips over the small handful of large, round pale nuts. He plucked a couple out and then set the pair on the curve of his tongue. They soon disappeared when his tongue retreated to where it belonged, in his mouth. He placed the nuts along the inside of his cheek… not biting down on them, but rather, sucking on them.

Meraki kept his increasingly mischievous gaze fixed on Aremu, careful to watch any reactions that bled through. Once a moment had passed, though, he rolled the nuts back onto his tongue. He stuck out the tongue, then let them fall on the table. He smiled with a vaguely apologetic attitude, and admitted, “Too hard… I can’t chew something like that with…”

He hooked his index finger in one corner of his mouth, then pulled back to show Aremu the gaps where he missed his molars. There was only one set that lined up for chewing something as hard as a nut and Meraki didn’t like to use it anymore because the upper molar had a worrisome crack from years of overuse, the tooth being the only one he could use for such difficult foods.

The tsat leaned back in the chair and mentioned, “Thanks though. Yer right spoilin’ me.”

“So why you ent in Mu.. Muluku? Isles now?” asked Meraki casually.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Afternoon, 36 Dentis, 2719
Kitchen, The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords

Aremu wasn’t sure the explanation had helped Meraki much; he seemed as skeptical of the tsoq’ud after trying it as he had before.

“I don’t know much of baking,” Aremu said, with a friendly smile. “I’ve made, uh, the – your Anaxi-style bread, before, but we don’t have many ovens, in Mugroba. It’s too hot for most to want to trap so much more heat in their homes. Here…” he glanced sideways at the stove and the oven beneath it, and shivered, once, although it was still far from cold in the kitchen. “I can see why you’d want to.”

The longer he drew from the cigarette, the coarser the smoke seemed to feel. Aremu had never really smoked much of cigarettes; Efreet, a lover from many years ago, had been his introduction to what they called at Thul’Amat qinnab, and what he thought they called in Anaxas mostly ganja, although there were many names for it. He could still remember the taste of a mouthful of smoke.

He had smoked cigarettes some, then, and some, occasionally, during the days when the Eqe Aqawe still flew; he had never gone as far as buying his own tobacco, but had indulged, occasionally. He’d had a cigar or too, as well, although those had been more Uzoji’s fancy than his own, and he’d never much cared for the bitter bite of it.

Aremu had been lost in thought, the cigarette burning between his fingers. His gaze jerked up to Meraki at the younger man’s joke, and Aremu jerked, too; he laughed. It caught him off guard; it was half a laugh and half a snort, and he brought his hand up to his mouth to cover it, abruptly self-conscious.

Aremu watched Meraki take the nuts into his mouth with an amused, slightly crooked grin. His eyebrows lifted slightly as the other man went on, and he shifted – only once – against his seat, and then grinned a little wider. “Wish I’d known I only had to ask.” Aremu said with a little shrug, glancing down and then back up, eyebrows lifting at the wick. He grinned.

Aremu winced sympathetically at the sight of Meraki’s missing teeth, nodding slightly. The wick seemed young to him to be missing so many; he’d known plenty his age missing one or two teeth, or with those they had ground down, discolored, painful – but this was more than a few. He thought of Meraki charging into the fight, and of the ease with which the wick’d wrapped his hands, and Aremu supposed he could guess something of where a few of those teeth had gone.

Aremu shrugged. “It’s nothing.” He shifted the cigarette further down in his hand, and took another macadamia nut, chewing carefully. “Muluku,” Aremu agreed, repeating the word with no particular judgment either way. “We’ve some business in Anaxas as well,” Aremu said with a shrug. “I go back and forth a fair amount.”

Aremu took another small drag from the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips out into the air between them.

The water rumbled to a boil behind him on a stove. Aremu glanced back over his shoulder; he set the cigarette down and rose, making his way to the stove. He took out a mortar and pestle, and a heavy sealed container; he reached inside, and scooped out a handful of glistening brown kofi beans. He settled them into the mortar, held it steady with his right arm, and began to grind, steadily, pulverizing the beans. When he was done, he scraped the dust into a long, tall pot, and poured the hot water into it as well.

“Do you have kofi in Brunnhold?” Aremu asked with a grin. He carried the pot back to the table, covering it, and went to fetch a cup. He set it down and raised an eyebrow at Meraki. “Would you like to try it?”

[Meraki]

If the joke had been a test… then Aremu passed with a perfect score. The almost-startled laugh, the crooked grin, the slightly raised eyebrows, the fidget – only once, but still once – against his seat, and then still a swift turn-around that furthered the actual joke into the exact direction it’d been intended. The Anaxi’s blush worsened, his freckles becoming more prominent against the ruddy coloration. Sometimes, the freckles were the sort that blended in and faded unless one got very close to look at them. But when he blushed, it was near impossible to not see the scattered sundots along the contours of his face. All he could manage was a hushed mockery as if he’d just heard something terribly scandalous, “Aremu…”

He set a hand on his own cheek, felt the warmth underneath. Soon after, he spat out the nuts and revealed why he couldn’t eat them. Meraki noticed the wince on the other’s expression… and he wondered briefly about it. That was the usual response from people lucky enough to still have the bulk of their teeth. He glanced down at the table, lightly tapping his index finger against one of the saliva-covered nuts. The wick rolled it aside, then returned to smoking while he listened to the answer about Muluku.

“Oh, so… maybe your shipments come in through the harbor then, eh?” he guessed as to what the business in Anaxas might be. His gaze returned up, to look at the other man. He watched the smoke curl between them, mixing with his own faint exhales of tobacco. Meraki hummed when he heard the water boil.

While his gracious host took care of preparing the drink, he watched closely to the procedure. He almost got up to get a closer look but managed to keep himself seated. Tapping his foot against the ground, in quiet rhythm, he started, “So… you’ve been in the harbor for a decent time, off and on?”

He watched while the hot water got poured in and then he replied to the question, “Yes, we have coffee. We gotta. Golly students go moony over the stuff, 'specially before tests or events. I’ve had it before, but I’d still like to try it. Don't recall ever having it properly prepared by someones… who knows it like y’ do.”

Meraki smiled. It wasn’t a grin, and it wasn’t shy, but more a simple amiable smile that showed his front-facing teeth and not the missing back ones. His face had returned to its fair tone, without so much blood close to the surface. He leaned against the table, elbow rested on the surface, and cradled his head in the palm of his hand. His fingers interwove with his copper-blond hair.

“I’ve lifted a few crates full of kofi down at the docks,” he mentioned. “Don't much care for it though. The dockhands are… they ent a friendly lot. Not like you. Hm, maybe if I beat up a few natts for ‘em, they’d also offer me their nuts and make me kofi, eh?”

He shrugged, attitude teasing about the matter, though he turned his gaze away to absently look around the kitchen. Meraki neared the end of his cigarette, pinching it between his thumb and middle finger.

“Was thinkin’…” he trailed off, took a couple drags off the remainder of the cigarette, then stubbed the end in the little cup he’d retrieved to collect the ash. He pressed it away, exhaled, and stared over at nothing in particular, as long as it was not where Aremu was. He said, “Do y’know the Mad Queen? Heard that pays well… better than the docks, or slingin’ drinks even. Is thinkin’ ‘bout it. Talked to this natt who tumbles, and he says it’s a right proper thing in the harbor. If I’m gonna be stayin’ here, not headed back to Brunnhold, I need somethin’ that’s gotta pay well. He says workin' at the Queen, best way to get by, in the long, for... men like us.”

Meraki slid his gaze over to land it on the Mugrobi with a direct look. He felt his heart beat nervously in his chest. A slight hesitation flickered on his face, an expression of uncertainty, and he asked, “Y’ know if that’s true, Aremu?”

[Aremu Ediwo]

Afternoon, 36 Dentis, 2719
Kitchen, The Ibutatu Residence, Quarter Fords

Meraki had blushed; bright red color had washed all through his face, bringing the pale dots of freckles in oddly sharp relief against his skin. Aremu was aware of a faint heat on the back of his neck and his cheeks as well, although his complexion was too dark to show it, particularly at the quiet whine of his name in the other man’s hushed breath. His eyebrows lifted, and his lips quirked in a grin once more, unrepentant.

He answered just as little Meraki’s guess about what his business in the harbor might be; Aremu was a good liar, but a good liar knew when to say nothing. He only smiled, faintly, and shrugged his shoulders lightly. He could feel the pull of the muscles in his chest and shoulders beneath the old worn sweater, settling in to a comfortable, familiar ache; it was the sort of pain that was a relief, a fond memory, that promised him he had not lost his strength.

“Decent enough,” Aremu agreed with a little shrug. He could have said more; he could have said that he’d first come here in 2713, when Meraki’d probably been little more than what wicks and humans called a boch – he could have said he’d not been around much, the last three years. None of it seemed to matter, particularly; he wasn’t entirely sure why Aremu’d asked.

Aremu fetched a second cup for the wick, setting it on the table. He fetched as well a small pot of sugar, although not milk; Aremu could abide sugar in kofi, although he did not take it himself, but the thought of adding milk to the beverage he found distasteful, and a thoroughly Anaxi custom. His gaze lingered, briefly, on the scuffed fingers tangled in messy copper-blond hair, and looked away.

Aremu grinned faintly at the comment about dockers, but it was a brief flash, there and gone again. He wondered where Meraki was going; he wondered, still, why the other man had come. It wasn’t that he minded the company or the cigarette, or the sharing of kodi and tsoq’ud; far from it. Aremu took another drag on his own dwindling cigarette, although it had not burned down nearly as far as Meraki’s. He ashed it into the little cup Meraki’d set out.

Aremu ran his tongue over his teeth, slowly, at Meraki’s question. It had been enough time for the kofi by now, judging by the smell; he uncovered it, and poured, slow and careful with the angle, one steaming black cup and then a second. He slid one across the table, and took the second for himself, taking a small sip of the bitter brew, then set it down and nudged the sugar towards Meraki as well, although he took none for himself.

“I know the Mad Queen,” Aremu said, evenly. It seemed to him that any man willing to avail himself of the services of the men and women who worked there should be ashamed to scorn them. He studied the handsome young wick, his gaze lingering once more on the pale strands of strawberry blonde hair.

Men like us, Meraki had said, carefully, and looked directly at him. Aremu ran his tongue over his teeth again, slowly; he ashed the cigarette Meraki had given him in the bowl once more, and took another drag on it, slowly. Men like us, Aremu thought, studying the wick. His scarred wrist rested on the table, comfortable and easy; his dark skin gleamed in the pale cloud-covered light which filtered into the kitchen. He was conscious of the other man’s glamour, the soft brush of it against his skin.

“What kind of man do you think I am?” Aremu asked; no particular expression showed on the smooth, hard planes of his face. He took a last drag on the cigarette, and stubbed out the end of it; he curled his hand around the kofi cup, and took another sip of it.