[Closed] Like I am only a wall

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Afternoon, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

The little giggle from Aurelie went a long way towards settling whatever it was he had stirred up inside himself. They should have scarred, such wounds, he told himself, after so many years; whether he prodded at them or not, they should have scarred. It was only, he thought, that it was his birthday - that he had been so hungry earlier - and the tension of the visit to Brunnhold the day before.

He did not normally think of such things, and he’d had no right to speak of them. He was ashamed of that as much as anything, that he had been so selfish as to demand comfort from Aurelie, with all that she was in the midst of. He had made her laugh, though, and she was smiling again, as if it had never happened, and he did not think it irredeemable. He hoped it wasn’t, at least, and such hopes felt true, though he supposed he would not have known if they were lies.

Aremu was grinning still when she confirmed it for him, and it didn’t fade. It’s all right, he wanted to say; I think you’ll come to like it. But he didn’t know, not really, and it felt like presuming too much, because he wasn’t even entirely sure what it entailed.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Aremu said, when Aurelie brought the conversation back around to kofi. He picked up the notebook and settled it in his legs once more, holding it in place with his right wrist, and taking his pen in his left hand.

“There are many steps from taking the bean from the plant to having it be ready to drink,” Aremu said, smiling at Aurelie. “We do a lot of them ourselves already, actually. The first step is just cleaning, taking out twigs and leaves, any overripe or underripe berries.”

“Next,” Aremu said, “we dry the beans in the sun. I actually have an idea for a machine to circulate hot air around them and speed up the drying - during the end of the season, when the rains are coming, we’ve lost entire harvests before. If they get too wet, mildew can form. We take them as they dry, turning them over and spreading them out. There’s a feel to it, when they’re done.”

Aremu was smiling. “But that we already do ourselves, and the machine is just an idea, really. It’s the part after that - so the kofi beans is red when it’s taken from the bush. It’s like a little red shell, and inside are two soft mottled beans. The main work is hulling, which is done with millstones, to take the red shell off from the beans. There’s cleaning and sorting, and then, finally, roasting. Then,” he grinned at her, “after all that, you can grind it, brew it, and finally drink it.”

“But much kofi is sold unroasted,” Aremu explained. “Many vendors just want to buy the beans and roast themselves; most Mugrobi prefer to do their own roasting as well. So if we can sort out our own hulling, cleaning, and sorting processes - especially to guarantee quality - we could be largely independent.”

Aremu bent over the paper and began to sketch. “This,” he said, seriously, “is what a hulling machine might look like. The key components...”

Aremu went on; Aurelie was curled up against the bed not too distant. He settled into the comfortable, familiar routine of work; he liked it, what he did, for all he hadn’t once. Such things fascinating him, and he did his best to explain them, too, not just to fill the silence in the small room as clouds and Anaxas passed below, but mostly because he wanted to: to speak, and to be heard.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - Late Afternoon | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye'ki

Their conversation wound back around to where it had been, and Aurelie was rather glad it could. She was sorry only that she had made the conversation hurt. When she thought about it as she listened to Aremu continue on about kofi, pen in hand, she found she wasn't sorry to have learned any of it. Neither the history that had hurt her, somewhere she hadn't thought could ache much more, or the past that hurt him. Pain sometimes led to understanding. And from what little she knew of the subject, it seemed to be part of friendship as well.

And the conversation continued on. If she didn't always understand all of it, she liked to listen to the explanations well enough that it didn't matter. She spoke too, a little. Not anything as interesting, of course--mostly she talked about cooking. It was, after all, the only subject she really had to speak on. At some point, she did retrieve her needlework from her pocket. To practice, and to show him while she did. Aurelie wasn't sure why, but he let her anyway.

All of the talking filled the room like the light from the window, and Aurelie wasn't as restless as she would have expected to be. When it ebbed, it was in a natural sort of way without her much marking it happening. It was enough, to her, just have Aremu in the room with her. Even if they said nothing at all for a time. The embroidery helped. The needle kept moving in and out as time went on, a steady draw of bright cotton thread through rough-spun linen.

Aurelie fell asleep in one silence. She hadn't meant to. She hadn't even thought that she was tired, but she must have been. Either that, or the persistent hum of the engine that vibrated even now through the walls had lulled her to sleeping. She only blinked her eyes, thinking to rest them, and when she opened them again the angle of the light had dimmed and changed.

How much time had passed? The room was quiet, but she didn't think it had been too long--less than a house, perhaps not even quite an hour. Aurelie straightened, winced. Her shoulder and neck had been pinched together in a strange posture, and they were unhappy about it now.

At first Aurelie thought it was quiet because Aremu had left. That made something like loneliness and a little more like panic sweep through her. When she came to stand, leaning heavily against the edge of the bed and grimacing at the prickling of blood returning to her legs, she saw that it wasn't so. Maybe it had been longer than she thought--Aremu had fallen asleep, too. He looked no more comfortable than she felt, crammed somewhere between the edge of the bed and the wall. She covered her mouth to smother a laugh; if she was tired, he would be too. He was awake before her by at least enough to have gotten the breakfast they shared. Waking him seemed cruel.

She'd asked not to be left alone, and he hadn't done so, not all day. Not even when she fell asleep herself. It must have been boring. Thinking about what she'd managed to prattle on about, she was sure it had to have been. Still, he'd stayed right here. A small glow of warmth spread through her heart. She smiled, the edges of it confused.

What had she done, she wondered, to warrant this degree of kindness? Or friendship? Even when she scoured her mind, she couldn't think of a single thing. The recipes weren't that good, surely. Perhaps it was just a sense of obligation. That seemed untrue, but it was the best explanation she could think of.

Aurelie came a little closer, watching him like she could figure it out in the sleep-loosened lines of his face. Sharp lines; until now she hadn't really thought on it in so many words, but he did have a very handsome face. All cheekbones and long eyelashes. She couldn't quite decide if that was the sort of thought one was allowed to have about a friend, but it was a little late for that. Before this moment she'd not really looked at him, not in this kind of close, observational way.

Of course there wasn't much opportunity, generally speaking. It was rude to stare. And also a little strange. His being asleep didn't make it less of either, perhaps, but, well. Nobody would know. Except her. It felt a little like getting away with something, and she thought she ought to feel guiltier than she did.

Now that there was no real risk of making him uncomfortable, Aurelie let her sight travel down to what she could see of his left arm. The other was still fully covered by the sleeve of his shirt. The burn she'd noticed before; now she could see it traveled partway down the wrist. Worse than most of hers; she knew better than to ask what it was from, but she was curious.

Stop this, Aurelie. Now she did feel guilty, letting her mind spin off this way. If he woke up while she was staring like this, she might actually die of shame. All the same, she hovered a little longer where she was, thinking.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Afternoon, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

They talked for a little while; Aremu found he could go on for a long time about kofi, even with the prickling worry that it must be boring for her. She listened attentively throughout, her eyes wide and bright; she asked questions, sometimes, and he found that he had skipped something important, or assumed something that – of course – she couldn’t know.

By the end of it he had filled his notepad with sketches, and had even explained the drying machine he wanted to make. That had led them to a discussion of cooking, and Aremu explaining how he’d set wire racks in the bottom of pans to put the cookies on, so that the air would circulate around them as it did in the oven. He’d studied the structure of it rather intently in the Rose, and he’d been very pleased by how well it seemed to work, overall; he’d mentioned that he looked forward to her improving on it, and if she’d looked flustered, she’d looked pleased, too, and he was glad he had said something.

They talked of cooking a little longer, and then of needlework. Aurelie showed him her embroidery, and practiced it a little as they went on talking. Aremu found it impressive; he’d learned to sew in boarding school, when he’d ripped his uniform and hadn’t wanted to ask Rayowa for a new one or the money to repair it. Since he had needed to wear his own work, he’d learned something of doing it well enough.

On the airship, he’d stitched up his own mistakes well enough; he’d sewn flesh, too, once or twice, when Niccolette could not and steady hands were called for, when he still had two. These days, Ahura did most of his mending, and he was glad not to have needed to stitch anyone in a long time, and that he’d needed stitches himself only a few times this last year.

This wasn’t just sewing up a tear, though. He’d seen the results of it with his bookmark, which he still had; he’d gotten his reading out to show her, a book on the history of kofi farming in the Muluku Islands which he had gotten as part of a larger purchase in Thul Ka. The small colorful bookmark she’d made marked his place halfway through.

He thought it was very nice, and he’d told her so. He’d read a little, and she’d stitched, then, and they’d talked quietly, and once, when he looked up to ask her something about it, she’d been asleep. Her head had been tilted at an awkward angle, and he’d thought to – but he hadn’t wanted her to wake to find him touching her, even if there wasn’t anything in it.

He’d left her, instead, to rest, and he’d sat again between the wall and the bed, and read. He’d thought he wouldn’t sleep, but the words seemed to blur on the page before him; his eyelids grew heavy, and heavier still, and then in time he slept, or he thought he did, and he dreamt of flying.

Aremu woke up to a sticky, dry feeling in his mouth, a crick in his neck, and a shaft of sunlight directly across him. He grunted, and came up a bit, the book tumbling off his lap, and blinked; he rubbed his eyes with his hands, and looked around blearily. Aurelie was sitting quietly, working at her needlework.

“Sorry,” Aremu said, taking a deep breath. He squinted at the window, trying to gauge the time, and looked back at her; it must have been an hour or two, at least. He rubbed his eyes again, and came to his feet with a faint groaning noise. He tilted his head from side to side, and rolled his shoulders out, feeling them crack and pop.

“Are you all right? Do you need anything?” Aremu smiled at Aurelie; he made his way past her, and went to put his book away once more. It was only once he was on the other side of the room that he set to stretching; he pulled his arms up over his head, one then the other, grunting as all the tight muscles of his back and shoulders felt the strain of the pull. He didn’t want to alarm her, so he didn’t do much more than that, and to swing himself forward and touch his feet with his hand, folding it flat and bringing the edge of his right wrist just barely to meet them. He came up, and rolled his neck from side to side again, rubbing it lightly with his hand.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - Afternoon | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye'ki

After a time, common sense and propriety did take hold of her and she moved away. The problem of what to do with her time remained. Never had she missed work so much, but she thought that was alright. She would have to get used to it, after all. For a while she stood at the window and watched the ground pass by beneath them when the clouds parted. It made her dizzy to look at it for too long; she moved away from the window.

Ultimately, she went back to her needlework. It was quiet, so she felt safe that Aremu wouldn't wake while she did so. And seeing her shoddy bookmark getting actual use spurred her in a desire to do another one, a better one. With more even stitching, and a more pleasing way of achieving the pattern. She hadn't any ideas on what that might be yet, but there had to be one. Some cutwork, perhaps--Aurelie hadn't worked up the nerve to try it yet, but it seemed to her a very pretty way of rendering flowers. Or some sort of pattern behind...

However long had passed between her starting and the sound of a book falling to the floor, she couldn't have said. She had lost track entirely, thinking only of stitchwork as she practiced a neat row. Well, a more neat row. She squinted at it and frowned a moment before she looked up and it shifted to a smile.

"What for?" Aurelie shrugged, smiling a little wider. There was a terrible amount of noise as Aremu rose to his feet; that couldn't possibly have been a comfortable position to hold at all. Hers hadn't been, at least.

"Not unless you have work for me to do," she said a little ruefully while he stretched on the other side of the room. Somewhere in the watching, she lost the trail of her thought--she had to pick it up again with a small shake of her head.

"Er, by which I mean--no, I'm, ah. Fine. I have uhm. Well." She looked down; her scrap of practice stitches was almost full. That was rather troubling; she didn't think she had ever had so much time to devote to the task in one sitting. Or even two sittings. Falling asleep surely made it count as more than one. She was getting better, which was nice. But running out of room, which was not. She set her needle to the side, pushing it back in the small ball filled with scraps she'd made for the purpose. The cloth was pointed in Aremu's general direction, held between both of her hands. "I've, uhm. Been keeping myself occupied."

Her hands fell back to her lap and she shifted. Had she ever been bored before? Truly bored, not just in the way of doing a task which was uninteresting or loathsome. She must have been as a child. she thought. Although perhaps not. Briarwood Hall sprawled across the landscape with twists and turns enough to keep one small girl, alone in its labyrinthine halls, occupied for... well, ten years as it turned out.

"You, uhm. If you want to--you don't have to stay here with me the whole time. I think I would be fine for a few hours, at least, if you..." Aurelie shrugged again, helplessly. Just because I can't leave this room, she wanted to say, doesn't mean you must be trapped in here with me. All the same, she didn't want to make it sound like she wished for him to leave either. It was certainly easier to bear boredom when she wasn't by herself.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Afternoon, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aremu didn’t quite know what to say to Aurelie’s comment about work. It surprised him at first, and then he understood, or he thought he did. He himself hated stillness; even when he was sick or injured, he couldn’t stand the feeling of doing nothing all day. It was a nervous, antsy feeling, strange and unpleasant; it tasted bitter, like guilt.

He was surprised to think he hadn’t felt it today. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he had managed to sketch out the plans for the kofi processing plant; explaining it to Aurelie had helped him think it through more clearly, and he found himself readier to start at it than he had expected. They had the space, and it was the right season for it, with little more than weeding before the next harvest.

Aurelie held out her scrap of cloth, and Aremu came over obediently, sitting on the edge of the bed opposite and leaning over to examine it. “It looks good,” he offered, tentatively; one finger ran just above the new lines of stitches. It wasn’t hard for him to see how it differed from what had been there before; he thought of it rather like a small colorful plan, and that helped him to remember.

She lowered it, and Aremu sat back, still on the opposite side of the bed. He didn’t know - there was something intimate about it, oddly, more than there had been sitting on the same side. He got up and went over to the window again, leaning a clothed arm against it to peer out at the landscape below.

“Oh,” Aremu said, turning to look at Aurelie. He felt an odd pang - had he woken her somehow? Had there been a nightmare he didn’t remember, some gasp or groan or worse noise which had alarmed her? He hadn’t thought to leave when she fell asleep; perhaps he should have. He frowned, looking at her. Did she want him to go? He thought perhaps that was what she was saying, but he wasn’t sure either.

He was surprised to find he didn’t want to; for all he was stiff and aching, he thought he could manage a climb after she went to sleep, and in the mean time he - perhaps if he had known Chibugo was free, he might have gone to see the other man, but this was not his ship - not his engine - and not his crewmates, and he didn’t have much interest in wandering about.

“I can go if you’d like some privacy,” Aremu said instead; his arms crossed over his chest, and he leaned back, just a little against the window. “But I don’t mind staying.”

You asked me to, he wanted to say. It was the only thing you’ve asked of me, here. Has it been different than you imagined...? Have I? He knew he could not ask such a thing; for a moment, he did want to take her up on it and go.

Perhaps, Aremu thought, looking at her, it was that she wanted to go? It would be rather different, he thought, if he couldn’t leave. It’s not even a day more, he wanted to say, encouragingly, but even in his head it sounded condescending. She hadn’t complained; he didn’t want to put words in her mouth or to make assumptions. If she were suffering, then she was bearing it well, and it seemed cruel to let her known he had guessed anyway.

“Actually,” Aremu said, still frowning a little, “if you like - I thought maybe after it gets dark, we could go on the deck and look at the stars. You can see the gasbag as well, if you like. It should be safe. The stars are wonderful on the island as well, but there’s something special about seeing them from the air, I think.”

Perhaps it was only he who felt so. He didn’t know whether they would be over land or sea by then; he wasn’t sure if they had yet passed the Rose. There were any number of courses Chibugo might have taken; the wind determined it, above all else. If changing streams seemed better, he might well have changed course to catch the current that seemed to run from the Rose straight to Isla Dzum. Aremu knew he’d flown it often enough, at least.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - Afternoon | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye'ki

The practice stitches weren't much to look at; she'd held the scrap of fabric up more to give her hands something to do and to elaborate on how she had been spending her time than because she thought they were worth looking at. Aremu came over anyway, sitting on the other side of the bed to look more closely. Even reached out to hover a finger over the line of them; Aurelie tried very hard not to think too much about how closely she watched that motion, either. Just because he was acting like it was at all of interest.

Aurelie blushed right through her ears when he said it looked good, even though she didn't really think this was true. She knew, or at least was fairly sure, that Aremu wasn't lying, not even in the kind way of someone trying to make one feel better about something that one had worked hard at and hadn't turned out well. That didn't help at all. She put it it back down, mumbling. "Oh--uhm. Thank you. Er. It's... better, I think. Than before. Maybe."

She watched him cross the small room to lean against the window, looking away from her and to the landscape below. She couldn't help but feel it was cruel of her, to demand he stay in this tiny room with her the entire trip--well. Most of it. Not at night, at least. That would be--she put the thought away. The point was, he was under no obligation to entertain her just because she had asked.

All the same, she did enjoy his company. Aurelie had often heard that misery enjoyed company, but she wasn't miserable, and didn't want to invite him to be so. That was all. She still tensed, expecting him to agree and to leave her alone here with nothing but the hum of the ship and the steady shifting of the landscape below for company. Perhaps, she thought desperately, she could read. Something.

That tension relaxed when he leaned against the window, arms crossed, and said he didn't mind. Aurelie smiled again, relieved and more than a little confused. She didn't think she was such good company as to want to say quite so long. Best not to question it, perhaps. Lest he change his mind.

"No," she confirmed with a shake of her head that sent her hair all askew again. "I just meant--er. Well I didn't want you to feel like you had to, just because I... I am not so fragile, I think, that I can't be alone at all. Despite all evidence otherwise." She added the last with a wrinkle of her nose that she hoped made it clear that she was kidding--mostly. She wasn't sure it worked, because Aremu frowned as he started speaking again.

Aurelie blinked, surprised at the suggestion that followed the frown. Then she smiled again, an expression that flickered between bright and shy. "Oh! If you think that would be--safe. That is, I mean I assume you think so, since you suggested it, didn't you? I don't mean to say that you would if you felt otherwise, er, and you did say... Uhm. Yes, I would like that very much. That sounds, uhm. Lovely." If she weren't red already, she would be now.

"Ahem. Ah, in the meantime..." Aurelie cleared her throat, shifting slightly. She picked up the embroidery again, glancing down at it with a critical eye first. "If I told you what I was trying to accomplish, would you mind giving me a second opinion...? Since you don't mind staying in here with me." She held the work in front of her, still frowning down at it. Then she looked over to Aremu at the window, her face hopeful.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Evening, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

I don’t think that, Aremu wanted to say. He wanted to say it as he stood against the window, looking at Aurelie on the bed. I don’t think you’re fragile at all. I’ve cried; I’ve cried more than once. Uzoji cried, too, sometimes. Niccolette has sobbed her heart out, has wept as if she would break, and never once have I thought her fragile. Even the strongest heart can be crushed by a heavy enough weight.

I don’t think you’re fragile, Aremu wanted to say, when Aurelie fretted and then smiled, and fretted and smiled both at once. “Good,” he grinned, his shoulders relaxing a little, his arms coming loose from where he’d crossed them. Her face was glowing red, and he wasn’t quite sure why. I don’t think someone fragile could be here, could do this; I think someone fragile would have crumbled beneath the weight of stone walls and her sister’s will. I know I’ve no right to pride, but I’m proud of you, all the same; I hope you’re proud of yourself, and if not, that someday you will be.

I think you’re strong, Aremu wanted to say, most of all, as he grinned at Aurelie and came forward, and sat again on the bed next to her. “Of course,” he said, instead, looking intently down at the embroidery. “I don’t know very much about it,” he said, instead, smiling at Aurelie, and the hopeful look on her face which warmed into a smile as he came closer.

Aurelie explained what it was she was trying to do; she held the canvas steady with one hand, and the other pinched the needle, and tugged it carefully through the fabric, and she talked about the stitch, and the look over it. Aremu nodded, intently, and he listened. “May I?” He asked, once, and he took the fabric from her, and turned it over, carefully, examining both sides of the stitches, and handed it back to her.

He didn’t know that he had much to say, in the end; he wasn’t sure she needed him to, really. He thought it was more like her working it out while speaking to him – as he had earlier – and he didn’t mind. It warmed him, actually; he found himself grateful for it.

The light was dimming outside when the smells came drifting through the door. Aremu’s stomach announced his hunger, and he grinned, sheepishly, at Aurelie, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I’ll get something to eat,” Aremu offered, and paused, “for both of us,” he said, meeting her eyes with a smile that crinkled the edges of his.

He went and came back with two large bowls held together in his left hand, his fingers carefully splayed. One was full almost to the brim of eggplant, ground meat and tomatoes.

“Cooked together in a stew,” Aremu explained, setting it down, “over rice. It’s with onions, I think, garlic, and herbs – cumin, maybe turmeric,” his stomach was grumbling again at the scent. There’d been one spoon which he’d left behind in the room, and he’d fetched a second. “Over rice,” Aremu added.

The second bowl, tucked beneath it and carefully held, had two flatbreads. “These are Mugrobi style,” Aremu said, grinning, “stuffed with potatoes and onion, I think. Spiced, too, with curry leaves, caraway seeds, ginger, coriander – maybe a bit of heat, also.” He set the flatbread down, out of the bowl.

Aremu shifted, looking down at the bowls, and then back at Aurelie, quite determined to learn from his earlier mistakes. “Why don’t you spoon what you’d like into the bowl?” Aremu asked, offering her the spoon and the clean bowl. He grinned, a little hopeful.

The sun was setting outside; they sat both of them against the side of the bed and watched it through the window, all the colors of it spilling out over the horizon. Aremu would happily take whatever Aurelie left behind, and one of the flatbreads; he left the second for her, hopeful that she’d find it to her taste.

“I hope you like it,” was all Aremu found himself able to say, in the end, amidst all which he might have wished to. He smiled sideways at Aurelie, watching her, her small face lit by the colors spilling in through the glass, her hair haphazardly tucked behind her ear, thin fine strands of it tumbled down over her cheek. He shifted; he breathed in. Then he exhaled out instead and applied himself industriously to the stew and the flatbread, quieting the grumbling of his stomach once more.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - Evening | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqayech'ki

Asking Aremu for his opinion had been good. Aurelie hadn't expected him to have much of one, but she was glad of the listening ear as she explained what she was trying to achieve, demonstrating. Speaking of it out loud and walking through her intent helped clarify her own thoughts on the matter. It was not an artistic eye she needed, or even the aid of someone with experience--just attention and thoughtfulness, and room for her to work things out to try for herself.

Listening to her going on about fancywork couldn't have been that interesting, but at the same time she didn't feel as if she were being too dull. She hadn't thought much on how nice that was, until this moment. It carried her through.

She still wasn't sure that she had reached a final conclusion by the time the light began to dim and she heard the sound of Aremu's hunger. Her shoulders had been rounded forward, head bent over her stitching as she thought; she looked up in some surprise. She was hungry too, she realized; more quietly, but hungry all the same. She laughed when he specified that he would get food for them both.

While he was gone, she put her project away. Neatly folded up back into the pocket of her pinafore, waiting for the light to return. There was nothing so important about figuring it out now that she needed to strain her eyes looking at it in the dim light of evening.

Her hunger made itself more known when he returned. The feeling gnawed at her more than it had done in weeks. That was somehow comforting, and she couldn't have said why.

"Thank you," she said as she took the clean bowl and the extra spoon, smile spilling over into a grin. Easier to sort out the second time around, at least. And she took half this time, though she had wanted to leave more. Better to take half and leave some behind, she thought. If asked she couldn't have said why she felt so.

It was good, and she was perhaps glad she'd taken half and not less. She had been eating this whole time; not well, and not with much joy in it, but she had been. Perhaps it was just pleasing to have things that she'd not had before, after so long. Whatever the reason, she ate all she had taken as the colors of sunset spread out over the sky they could see beyond the glass of the window. She took the flatbread too; her eyes widened, but she finished her first bite of it and her smile was bright.

"I think I may need to adjust my expectations of what 'a bit of heat' is," she said when she had swallowed, looking over with her eyebrows raised. Anaxi food didn't have nearly so much--almost none at all, really. "I do like it. It's very--different, from what I'm used to. Good, and different. " Aurelie finished that too, slowly and carefully, with a serious kind of devotion.

Night fell sometime after they had both finished. So it was time, then, to leave the room. Aurelie's stomach did a twist that felt partly like fear--but only partly. Their dinner settled the rest of it, anyway. She was further reassured by Aremu's careful checking of the hallway before they left. Not that she doubted it--but it was comforting to witness, too. She stacked their dishes as neatly as she could, setting them on that small table out of the way. That she could do nothing else with them ate at her, but she bore it as best she could.

It was funny how quickly she had adjusted to seeing only the inside of that small room; to leave it felt impossibly strange. There were straps on the walls for her to hold onto, which she did, feeling somehow like the ship swayed more beneath her feet out here than in there. It was silly, and she felt it still. The hand she reached for without thinking she held tighter still, moving careful, quiet, slow. Once she thought to apologize, for leaning too heavily, for holding on at all--but she couldn't bring herself to. Aremu hadn't complained, anyway.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Evening, 17 Hamis, 2720
The Deck, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aremu felt a strange sort of pleasure when Aurelie finished not only the stew she’d taken but the flatbread as well, eating it intently and rather seriously. He had known, he thought, as satisfied by her own meal as he was by his, that she should have a good appetite.

Perhaps he just hadn’t paid enough attention before. He had thought he had remembered her rather well, and yet he didn’t know if he’d forgotten some of the scars and calluses on her hands or if he had just never seen them properly. He hadn’t remembered quite how silky her hair was. But he was almost sure she looked thinner than she had been, smaller, and he had been startled by the change.

Either way, Aremu told himself, it was just good to see her eat so well. Anyone would have thought so, or at least any friend.

Aurelie took his hand in the hall, the first time the ship swayed. Aremu held hers, firmly and easily, oddly aware of the warmth of it in the quiet hall. He led her along it, slowly and carefully, as the ship rocked with the movement of the wind.

He let go for a moment at the door with a sharp pang - if he had two hands, he shouldn’t have had to - and then he found he could let it go, because when he held the door with his shoulder and reached back she took his hand again, as firm and trusting as if he had never let go.

“Up the steps,” Aremu said softly, his fingers laced through hers.

They went out onto the deck; some last little trace of the sun’s warmth lingered in the boards still. Aremu showed Aurelie the straps along the wall, one at a time, and drew her out, slowly, closer towards the railing.

The stars stretched out from the horizon; some vanished behind the strange shapes of distant clouds, and others leapt and stretched up overhead. Down, there was a faint gleam of light, off to the west; Aremu knew it for the Rose, and smiled at the sight. “We’re over the Mahogany now,” he said, quietly. “We’re out of Anaxas, Aurelie.”

They stood there, in the midst of that, just a little while.

“Here,” Aremu said, gently, guiding her a little further. He stopped when they were out from beneath the overhang of the cabin and the gasbag, and went on: “Sit with me.” He would guide her down to the deck, slow and careful, with the ship swaying beneath them.

There were stars already; the whole sky was stars, all of it gleaming brilliant. It was with a smile that Aremu thought of Tom laying out on the deck, long before he knew him, hands on that thin chest, gazing up at the stars and mumbling poetry about Phaeta into the wind, neither heard nor understood.

Perhaps it was the remembered warmth that makes it so easy to smile. Aurelie’s hand was still in his; Aremu didn’t think he was holding on too tight, and he didn’t let go, and she didn’t either. Her face was lit by the sky, all the soft light of it, her eyes wide.

“Lay back,” Aremu offered, encouragingly.

He did it too, and they weren’t so close together, but they weren’t so far apart either, and their hands stretched out between them, still touching.

Aremu looked up at the stars, and he sighed with the joy of them, with the ease, the familiarity and the light, with the sharing. Like a blanket, he thought, laid over the world, and they see all the thousands of holes in the weave. No matter where he goes or what he does, they are there, those stars; he will always know how to find them.

It was a long time before Aremu spoke again. His voice was hoarse and a little quiet, and if it was only just loud enough to be heard, then it was still loud enough.

“I’m very grateful to share this with you,” Aremu said, quietly, through all the things swirling inside him. “Thank you for writing me.” He turned his head, and looked at Aurelie as she watched the stars; he smiled, and left it there, where it was easy, where it was uncomplicated truth. He turned his head again, and looked back up at the stars, and knew their shapes inside of him.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - After Dark | The Deck, The Tsuqeqachye'ki

Out of Anaxas. Aremu said it quietly after they moved out onto the deck, looking into that field of stars, and Aurelie thought she should say something back. She just couldn't seem to find what that should be.

That little glimmer of light down below, if they were over the Mahogany--that must be Old Rose Harbor. At least she thought so, from a sort of vague memory of a map she had seen not too long ago. Aurelie looked at it, swallowing something thick in her throat. Her eyes were unwavering while they stood there, and her grip tightened just a little. When she reached inside herself for what she felt, Aurelie couldn't find it. Just like that. Out of Anaxas.

Goodbye, she wanted to say, but couldn't put voice to the word. Goodbye, everything I have ever really known. She wondered if she would ever return; she wondered if she could. The thought ached more than she expected it to. After a while, they moved a little further on.

Aurelie could only hold that for so long. The deck swayed underneath her feet, and it was better to concentrate on keeping her footing. That took enough doing, even with Aremu's steady support to guide her. She hadn't been on any kind of ship since she was a child, but she couldn't recall so much swaying when she had. It had been a much bigger sort of ship, of course--maybe that was it. Aurelie came to sit as she wondered if she would stop feeling so unsteady with time.

She would have expected it to be colder, somehow--it was Hamis, after all. But the boards beneath them held the edges of warmth still, from the sun, and there was more in the comfortable clasp of their hands. Aurelie looked briefly over at Aremu, to see if she should let go. There was a smile on his face that she could just see in the soft light of the stars. She didn't ask.

"Oh! Er. Well. All right." Aurelie did lay back, even if she felt flustered doing so. It was easier to look up this way; she didn't know how long they could stay out here, but looking up for too long wasn't very comfortable. Sitting had seemed normal enough, even with their hands still together. She wasn't quite sure why this felt less so. They were at least a reasonable distance apart. And it was dark mostly, and nobody else was around. She reminded herself of these facts to make her feel more settled; it had rather the opposite effect. Still. She looked up, and tried not to think of anything in particular.

That was easy. She could look and look, and see nothing but stars. More than she had ever seen in her life, or so it felt. She knew very little about stars, other than the fact that they were far enough away that the distance ceased to seem real to her. And that they were beautiful, and bright; the beauty of them didn't ask anything from her, just filled all the empty spaces. There were patterns and names for them, but Aurelie couldn't remember any that she had learned as a child--it had been a long time since she'd looked for them.

She was surprised to hear Aremu's voice, after so much quiet. Almost, she turned her head to look--but something held her eyes upwards instead. She did smile, at least. "You're the one who wrote me in the first place," she reminded him with a little laugh. "I just answered. But--I am too. All of it." She squeezed their fingers together lightly, and not for very long.

Maybe she should have asked a question, or said--anything. But if there was anything more to say, Aurelie couldn't find it. Maybe there was nothing to find. Just that gratitude, and the spread of stars, and the hands stretched between them. All of it left her empty and full at once. She was happy enough with that, and would stay as long as they were able.