[Closed, Mature] I will not ask you

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aurelie told him she couldn’t promise. Against all odds, Aremu’s lips quirked in the faintest sort of smile, brief and not quite lingering. She looked very solemn saying it, and he supposed he hadn’t expected any less, not really. At least, he thought, it was out in the open between them; at least he had asked. At least she had told him what must have felt like truth.

She promised to try, and Aremu nodded, grateful. He took another little sip of his kofi, setting the cup down and studying her across the table, all freckles and flushed cheeks and pale red hair.

He didn’t ask for any more from her; he had asked, Aremu thought, enough already. He didn’t know whether he thought she would tell him; he didn’t think so, quite, if he looked straight at it. He didn’t think she would hurt him, or rather, he didn’t think he could blame her if she did. All the same, he was glad she hadn’t asked the same of him; he didn’t know what he could have said.

“I’d,” Aremu began, but Aurelie rushed on. He smiled a little more at her. “I thought we could finish our kofi and tea, and then look for fabric?” He suggested. “There’s still time until Feza’s to deliver the part - if you’d like, we might have time to go to a park afterwards. There’s some gardens not very far from here. If - if you want any of it, or whatever of it you want, I mean.” I can take you home instead, he half wanted to offer, but he didn’t, not quite.

Aremu took another sip of his kofi; he’d finished almost all of it, now, for all it was almost too bitter to enjoy. Almost, he thought, but not quite. His hand curled around the edge of the table; his gaze dropped to Aurelie’s hands for a moment, and then it settled in his lap instead, not quite reaching out to hold, for all that he did want to.

He wanted, Aremu thought, if he were honest, more than just to hold her hand. He would have kissed her, here, in the midst of the tea shop, if he had thought it wouldn’t make her profoundly uncomfortable. There was a part of him which needed it - which longed for it, that tangible reminder that he hadn’t made too many mistakes, not yet.

He swallowed it down, and found patience. He could think of little worse than imposing his kisses on her; he didn’t even wish to impose his hand. She hadn’t reached for him, he knew; she could have. He didn’t blame her; he didn’t think he could.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

There had been the littlest bit of a smile. It hadn't lasted, and it hadn't been much, but it had been there—Aurelie was quite sure of it. That was good. At least she thought it was. She didn't know, still, if she'd said enough, or anything right. But he'd nodded, at least, when she said she'd try. That was all she could promise—to him, or to anyone. It wasn't as if she did it on purpose; she simply didn't know how to be any other way than the one she was.

Even better—he didn't want to go back, just yet. Aremu smiled a little more; it won an answering one from Aurelie, relief rushing cool down her spine. The stiff set of her back relaxed. Finishing her tea she could do. Fabric she could do. She would have done just about anything, really. As agitated as she had been, as she was, the day was still sweeter than it was sour.

"Oh I do! Er, I mean. I do, very much. All of it—the fabric and the park both. I, uhm, I didn't want to just... I've been having fun," she admitted meekly. She had said so before, but she did wonder if Aremu thought she wasn't any longer. Perhaps not this last little bit; she still didn't think her heart had settled. And thinking overly long about Tsadha, elegant and polished and nice, still made something in her tighten unpleasantly. But there was nothing she could do about that. Best to just set it aside, really.

Aurelie took another sip of her tea, looking intently at Aremu over the rim of her mug. Happy as she was to set aside previous concerns, to worry at them on her own time and not let them spoil this time right now, there was still the matter of his head. She set her cup down again rather decisively. "But not if you aren't feeling well," she added, firm. A little too much so; what right did she have? She bit her lip, but didn't look down again.

"I would rather come back another time." Would that make a difference? She wasn't sure. "I am—I have no plans, you know. Er. So, ah. Y-your health matters more." What she wanted most was to take his hand again. Or something else. Maybe, she thought wistfully, when they left she would work up the nerve again. Now it seemed impossible. There were no witnesses, and it should have felt better, but he had put his hand back on his lap. The distance between them was only the span of the small, sunny table, and it felt like the whole of the ocean for all she thought her hand could bridge it.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

There was something sweet and almost guilty about Aurelie’s admission - confession, Aremu thought - that she had been having fun. Aremu knew he was smiling, a little wider than he had before, his gaze soft on her. Good, he wanted to say. That was the point, he wanted to say, then, or perhaps I hoped you would.

Fun, he wanted to say, was all I could have asked for today. It felt like a gift that he hadn’t ruined it; it felt like a gift that she could still sit across the table and smile at him. He didn’t know how long he would last; he thought it was almost inevitable that he would ruin things between them, in the long term.

He couldn’t think about that, just now, with Aurelie smiling across the table at him; he couldn’t bear it. He found he could put it aside, at least for this little while.

Not if you aren’t feeling well, Aurelie said, suddenly firm. She worried at her lip, looking at him, and went on, insisting that they could go home if he wanted, could come back another time.

I don’t want to end on this note, he wanted to say, then; he didn’t want either, to put that pressure on her. Perhaps that was also why he couldn’t find it in himself to tell her he had wanted her to have fun. It felt, he thought, like imposing on her, like putting a pressure on her. He didn’t want her to have fun for his sake, Aremu thought, but for her own.

He shook his head, just a little. In any case - whether it was the kofi or having sat down a little while - the headache had eased off. It had not quite gone, but it was only pain, Aremu thought, and nothing worse.

“I’m fine,” Aremu promised, smiling a little more across the table at her. “I’d like to take you to the fabric shop and the park, very much,” he smiled a little more at her.

The little platter of milk sweets was still on the table, two crumbly sweet squares with tsug pressed into the center. “Here, try this,” Aremu grinned at Aurelie, easier than before, easier still. “It’s made of boiled milk,” he told her, “mixed with sugar, usually with cardamom - other spices also.” He took his square, carefully, trying not to lose too many crumbs, and finished the whole of it in a few bites, drinking the last of his kofi alongside it.

It wasn’t so much longer before Aremu paid for the tea and kofi, leaving coins behind on the table. He stood up, waiting for Aurelie; there was a nice shop, he thought, a few blocks up and a little back towards Arip’dzoqiq; if some of his choosing was that they should not see Tsadha there, he let that set aside.

They both of them went out to the road, Aremu holding the door to let Aurelie go before him, and following behind with a soft, fond smile.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Fine, Aremu said with a smile pointed squarely in her direction. He did not say that nothing hurt, or that he was feeling much recovered, or anything that she could point at and say was clearly a lie. Fine was rather ambiguous, especially the way he seemed to define it. Aurelie didn't believe him in the least. What she did believe was that he wanted her to think so, and that there was nothing she could say at this moment to talk him out of it that wouldn't just be meddling on her part.

Besides, she really hadn't wanted to go back with the day ending on such a sour note.

The taste of the crumbling milk sweet was still in her mouth when they left, mingling with the bitterness of the bottom of her cup of tea. Aremu stood as she was having the last of it. She gathered herself together and they both wound their way back inside, towards the street.

Truthfully, Aurelie wasn't so terribly eager to go back the way they came. There was the possibility that they would run into Tsadha again that way. Aurelie didn't feel in the least better about that. It was simply that there was nothing to be done with it, and she hadn't quite thought through all the ways in which it made her unsettled, so she set it aside.

They didn't go quite back that way; Aurelie was quietly relieved. She could have handled it, she thought. Probably. She certainly wouldn't have invited another conversation that day—one was enough, she thought. A block or so away from the cafe, the street was still quiet enough. Not empty, of course. But the hour was a little odd, and the crowd not so pressing that she felt as if she couldn't keep track of it. After a moment of debate, she reached her hand out again, uncertain.

Her relief was deeper that Aremu took her hand again, and with a smile that made warmth bloom in her face so strongly that she had to look away. She twined her fingers through his again though, callused and warm, and now she did feel quite a bit better than she had. Fond, she had said; she was a fool, completely and utterly. But a fool who was holding Aremu's hand, so the kind of fool she thought she could bear to be for a little while.

The fabric shop wasn't much near where they'd come from, in the end. It had a great glass display window, as one expected of these things. There was a frame carefully painted on the inside of the window in bright gold paint, a decorative series of loops and lines that drew the eye to the drape of cloth set in the window itself. Even just this display was a dizzying array of colors; Aurelie was forced to admit to herself that she didn't know how to make heads or tails of it.

"This one?" she asked, looking up at the sign. She squeezed his hand, gently, and didn't let it go as they pushed open the door and stepped inside.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
Egid’agew Fabrics, Laus Oma

It was Aurelie’s fingers he had seen first, small and freckled in the edges of his field of view, just moving. It wasn’t a heartbeat before Aremu realized, before he reached out and took her hand with his, feeling a pulse of warmth and gratitude.

He smiled; he knew he smiled. Aurelie’s cheeks pinked, and she glanced away, but she didn’t let go. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, just one long smooth stroke. If he could have, Aremu thought, he would have kissed her hand then - or better yet, all of her.

He couldn’t imagine her wanting such a thing; even if he knew a quiet, private sort of place, which he wasn’t sure he did, here, he couldn’t imagine Aurelie being comfortable with that sort of risk. That was all right; the touch of her hand was more than he had expected, after the last hour, and he was grateful for it, whatever other desires he had.

Egid’agew Fabrics was a small, elegant shop with a lovely window display. Aremu nodded when Aurelie asked, and they went together inside. He had thought - she didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t let go either.

“Welcome,” the imbala standing at the shelves was a woman, a decade older than Aremu, with delicate gold spectacles on a chain around her neck. She smiled, and bowed to the two of them, drifting closer, the wide gold-brushed hem of her skirt swaying just over the floor.

“Good afternoon,” Aremu bowed in response. “Ada’na, I am Aremu Ediwo. My friend wishes to learn more of the beauty of Mugrobi fabrics,” he smiled down at Aurelie, trying not to let it grow too wide, and thinking he had probably failed. He looked back at the woman; he let a little space too, for her to introduce herself. “Colors which would suit her, please,” he added in Mugrobi, quiet and polite.

The imbala smiled beneath her colorful head wrap, crinkles at the edges of her eyes nearly the only signs of her age on her face. Though veins stood out along the backs of her hands, her fingers and joints were smooth and slim. “Of course,” she said, politely. “I am Linedha. Please, sit.” She gestured to low seats in a little cluster against one of the wall, a small sort of showing area.

Aremu went and sat; there was space for the two of them beside each other. He didn’t let go of Aurelie’s hand; he wouldn’t, before she wanted him to, before she told him to or let go herself.

Linedha swept away; she came back with a small metal tray, and glasses of water with a hint of snide seed smell. Next, she went to the shelves, and Aremu watched with some curiosity as she began to pull fabrics. He smiled reassuringly down at Aurelie.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Mid-Afternoon | Egid’agew Fabrics, Laus Oma

Keeping his hand as they entered the shop had been difficult. The difficulty of it was something of the point, or part of the point anyway. A small part, she had to admit; mostly she just didn't want to let go. She didn't have to, she reminded herself; she didn't have to do anything, not really. Or not do anything, either. Within reason. Her pulse skipped a little as the door opened. Only a little—it settled soon enough.

"Ah, good afternoon, ma'am. I'm, ah, Aurelie Steerpike." She wasn't quite sure what to say—but she smiled, and bowed as was her habit, precise and just a bit apologetic. Their clasped hands helped, even if the smile on his face had been wide enough to fluster her. Names and introductions, their clasped hands, all of this; such normal, mundane oddities. She wondered, briefly, what he had said to the woman—who introduced herself then, as well—that she couldn't understand. Perhaps better she didn't know.

There were seats against the wall, and Aurelie inclined her head again as she followed after Aremu to sit. There was room enough that they didn't have to sit apart, or even unclasp their hands. Aurelie was rather grateful; she hadn't quite thought about it, but this was a little different from browsing at the bookshop or the craft store. They hadn't introduced themselves there, and she knew she had been watched but not in so direct a way. It was distinctly odd, to suddenly find herself worthy of notice by strangers in this way. In Brunnhold, even when she was on a rare errand for the school, the shopkeeps seemed to do their best not to quite look directly at them. Aurelie had never thought they were afraid, at least not of her specifically, but the whole thing was always... Anyway, this was different.

Linedha left, a swish of gold-hemmed skirts, and then returned again with a small metal tray with water on it. Then she was off again, pulling at fabrics. For her, she assumed. The thought didn't settle easily, but she forced it to. She had wanted to come. She wanted to be here. It was just odd. Maybe Aremu could tell; Aurelie didn't think she had given herself away particularly, but he did smile down at her in what she thought was meant to be a comforting way. It was, in fact, quite comforting.

"I have to say, I don't actually know much about—fabric or anything like that. For this sort of thing. I, uhm. Well it wasn't as if I..." She raised her eyebrows. She didn't mind saying, but every time she brought up what she wasn't used to, it sat funny in her mouth. It wasn't as if, she had started to say, she wore anything that wasn't her blue uniform. She liked yellow, at least, she could say that much. That was about where her opinions on clothes began and ended, at least when it came to what she wore herself.

She did see yellow in the pile at least; a different shade than what she had on. Green, too, and blue, and purple. All of them rather strong, compared to what she was used to. Beautiful, really, but very... Loud. The sorts of colors that commanded attention be paid to the wearer. Which, she supposed, might be the point. Chimes.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
Egid’agew Fabrics, Laus Oma

It wasn’t quite that Aremu wasn’t thirsty.

Sometimes, still – he could not quite have called it regret, because even if granted the chance to go back and do over again all that had lost him his hand, he would still have made the same choices at every turn. Knowing, now, how it ended – sitting here next to Aurelie, whom he’d met only because of Uzoji’s untimely death – he could not regret any of it, not even the loss of Uzoji. To do so seemed to him as if saying the other man had not known his own choices, as if stripping away from him the dignity of his death.

Aremu might have wished – but then, he told himself, he would not have been Uzoji.

And his own choices? He could not think of how to pick them apart; he could not go back and undo just one thing, here or there, which would change all the rest. There was no point in looking back down where he had already climbed; he could only keep going onwards and – he hoped – up. Perhaps it wasn’t a cliff; perhaps it was the Tincta Basta beneath a storm, swimming up towards what had to be the surface, because if it was not he was truly lost. Every storm, he thought, he’d found the surface, at least so far.

Sometimes, still, he mourned the loss of what he’d had.

Aurelie held quite firm to his hand, and, looking down at her small fingers intertwined between his, his prosthetic resting against the outside of his leg, Aremu didn’t feel quite what he’d expected. He felt, oddly, something like gratitude – that he was there to hold her hand at all, that he had fingers left to do so, that he himself was left here on Vita. It was a strange, fluttering feeling, brief and unfamiliar, and it slipped away even as he tried to hold it. Of course, Aremu thought, a little absurdly: he didn’t have a hand to spare.

He left the fabrics to Auelie and Linedha. “What matters is what you like,” Aremu had said, his thumb stroking over the back of Aurelie’s hand, and he thought it was really the only thing resembling advice he could give. He had never had an eye for fashion or color; he knew, a little hopelessly, that he’d have thought she looked charming in anything, so long as she was smiling at him.

He watched, all the same, as they went through them, watching Aurelie’s hand running over the fabrics as Linedha showed them to her. “Yellow,” Linedha had said, smiling, her Estuan flawless, if accented with the warm sing-song of the isles, “is the color of the sun, of warm, happy sunshine. To see yellow is to feel the cheer of the sun rising after a long night, or the brightness of a happy afternoon. This one is tempered, as if by age, wiser but no less joyous for all which it has seen,” She had gone through most of the colors that way; Aremu could not tell whether she was serious, or only giving Aurelie space to think and to observe.

When they set the last of them down, Aremu turned to Aurelie.

“Which one did you like best?” He asked, smiling at Aurelie. “I’d like to make a gift of it to you, enough for an outfit,” his hand squeezed hers, lightly, not hard enough to hurt. I’d like you to have something of your own, he wanted to say, something you chose. “Please,” he added, quietly, as he had earlier on the boat when speaking of the books, resting now in their bag against the edge of his chair.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Mid-Afternoon | Egid’agew Fabrics, Laus Oma

She wasn't so far gone as to not know that it would have made more sense to let go of Aremu's hand while she looked at the fabric itself. The feel of it mattered, and it would have been much easier. Still she held on; she would have let go if he wanted to, of course. Keeping their fingers threaded together just seemed infinitely more important than having two hands free. That was selfish of her, she knew, and more than a little strange, but on the scale of indulgences she thought it might be in an acceptable range.

Each color was shown to her in turn, and Ms. Linedha described each one in her Island-accented Estuan such that Aurelie wasn't sure if it was a description of the color or something else. It certainly gave her room to think about each one in a new way. She thought it was a very lovely way of speaking of them, of course, but she had to admit she still only could think of yellow as yellow.

When Ana had taken her to buy that dress that she could not and would not wear, but kept with her anyway, there had been much discussion of color. Of what complimented her complexion, something Aurelie had never considered and still thought she only barely understood. Seasonality, of course, and trends. There had been something in the face of the tailor as they'd discussed it, mostly above and around her head than with her in any capacity. She had, truly, very little to say in the matter.

The dress had been beautiful, in the end. She had never seen it all together on her. Perhaps it looked terrible, and all of that talk of tones and so on meant nothing. Perhaps it could only look so on her. Aurelie wondered, in a strange and distant kind of way, if she would ever be brave enough to see it.

Aurelie looked up, setting aside thoughts of Ana. Something flickered across her face; another gift, she thought. She was overcome; she wanted to refuse, but she also, rather selfishly, didn't at all. That troubled her. As if by accepting the books and the thread earlier, she had opened herself up to relying on his kindness more and more. What would she do, if she grew too accustomed to it?

"The yellow," she admitted, her mouth betraying her. Curved into a shy smile, her hand squeezing back just a little bit. Idiot. "You don't have t—hmm." Well it was true. If they hadn't just wasted Ms. Linedha's time, he rather did.

"...Thank you," was what she settled on, in the end, unable to think of anything better. Just thanks and a small, shy smile. She didn't ask if he liked that one, too; it was her favorite, and she tried to tell herself that this was enough. She was grateful, of course. One day, she told herself, she would hope to deserve it, even a little. She didn't know how, but she did hope to.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
Opot'egid Gardens

Aremu nodded, and he smiled back at Aurelie. My pleasure, he wanted to say, but it seemed too personal here in the midst of the store – never mind that he’d just sat there holding her hand the entire showing. “I hope it brings you joy,” he said, instead, quietly, though it really wasn’t at less revealing. There was a brief discussion, then, which Aremu felt entirely unqualified for, and in the end he and Linedha agreed – or, at least Aremu agreed – on both a price per foot of the yellow fabric, and an appropriate amount. Linedha drew them all up, and not so long later emerged with a wrapped package of fabric, neatly tied up.

Aremu gave Aurelie’s hand a last soft squeeze; they rose, and he handed Linedha his coins, and took the cloth, tucking it beneath his right arm, alongside the book bag. Aurelie had the little carry bag for the thread still, and thus weighted they went back out onto the street.

Aremu glanced up, squinting slightly beneath the brim of his hat, checking the sun. His hand reached for Aurelie’s without much thought, or at least without thinking more than that he missed the feeling of her hand in his. “We’ve time for the gardens, I think,” Aremu said, smiling at her. “Come on.”

They went a few blocks deeper from Aip’dzoqiq Street, and turned onto a green path with no carts or carriages of any sort, only a steady flow of Mugrobi and the occasional foreigner walking along it. Either side was well-planted with trees, and as the sun began to slant, it was cool enough in the shade.

They were not the only ones to turn from the path to a small green glass sort of tollbooth. Aremu handed over a few coins, and they passed through the thick doors into a small passageway, lined at both ends with thick, waving cloth. Inside, it was humid, though not as hot as outside, with a thick moisture to the air.

They waited, there, in a queue with the others who’d come through with them; most of the conversation was in Mugrobi, though there was Estuan as well, all of it blending together. They were mostly humans in the space, Aremu and Aurelie head and shoulders beneath most of them; two fields brushed against their awareness, a pair of arati with eyes only for each other.

“Please proceed,” the attendant bowed at the fabric curtain, a tall human with a deeply lined face and strong hands, dressed in a simple brown tunic. Aremu held to Aurelie’s hand as they all of them shifted together into the greenhouse.

“They’re called orchids,” Aremu said, softly, looking down at Aurelie. They lined the looping aisles of the greenhouse, vivid swaths of color here and there; from the ceiling, curtains of flowers just as colorful as those below hung down, swaying lightly in some breeze all their own. He had, of course, seen it before; it was Aurelie he watched, instead, as they made their way with all the rest along the figure-eight path. “Have you seen them before?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Late Afternoon | Opot'egid Gardens

I hope it brings you joy, he said, and Aurelie couldn't even find it in herself to care that her face was warm. Of course it will, she thought. Of course it will, because it's a gift from you, and it will always be this. Aurelie hadn't known, though she supposed she might have guessed, what a sentimental person she was. Not about objects, at least. For so long all she had ever truly owned was the locket at her neck. Now she felt—not weighed down, but rather anchored. Little things that were hers, now, and also pieces of someone else that she could carry. A precious and fragile sort of weight, no matter how heavy. She held her tongue, unsure of how much she could say of that without all of it spilling out in the small, public space of the shop.

Aurelie tried to follow the brief discussion of the price. Not because she was paying it, of course; not even, really, because she was concerned for the state of Aremu's finances. But it was, slowly, starting to give her an idea of the value of these things, and it struck her as useful information to know. One day, she thought, when she had to leave. One day, someday, whenever that was, when it was just her, when she wasn't needed or wanted anymore, she would need to know. They gathered up all of their packages at the end of it and left the shop. Back into the street, and to the rest of the day.

If Aurelie had been a little irrationally sad when Aremu had, in fact, needed his hand back to pay for the fabric, she had tried very hard not to show it. She didn't try at all to hide how pleased she was when he reached for her again when they left. One seemed more acceptable than the other. She hoped it was acceptable, anyway, because it was too late now. She tried not to think too much more on it, and instead focus on winding their way through the tree-lined street, cooler now than it had been before. If still, still, rather a bit warmer than she was used to in Hamis.

She hadn't known what to expect from the gardens. She supposed she had pictured something more like the University's gardens—out-of-doors, primarily. This was a building, a glass-walled botanical conservatory, with a line to get in. A mostly human line; once again Aurelie was struck by how strange that was for her. Certainly she was never tall, even next to Anaxi galdori or other passives. Her not-quite-five-feet was an unimpressive height anywhere. So it didn't matter, she supposed, that she was a bit shorter again in this crowd.

Any thoughts about her height were rather set aside as they went through the fabric curtain and into the humid air beyond. This was a garden, to be sure, but filled with bright flowers in strange shapes she hadn't seen since she was a little girl. Even then, not nearly so many, and not such a variety. "Not in a very long time," Aurelie said, tearing her eyes away to look up.

"Not nearly so well-cared for, or so many," she added, looking up towards the ceiling. "My mother got one as a gift, but she didn't really know how to take care of it. The poor thing didn't make it long. From a business associate, I think. It was pink. Or white? I can't quite recall." Her voice was a little dreamy and far away, distracted as she was with the memory and the flowers both.

"They're beautiful." That, she thought, went without saying. She said it anyway, because far be it from her to be sensible and keep her mouth shut. The humidity made her hair stick to her face, and their hands a little uncomfortable to hold together like this, but she didn't mind. She moved as slowly as she thought she could; it was a pace faster than she had kept in the craft store earlier, but not by a great deal. If there weren't others around them, she might have lingered even longer. She did step closer to Aremu than she might have otherwise, to keep out of the way of anyone who might wish to go around her.