[Closed] Like I am only a wall

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just after midnight, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aurelie’s hand tightened on his. She didn’t quite smile, but he thought, maybe, in the pale gleam of starlight through the window, the heavy look on her face had lightened a little. She was still crying; tears were rolling steadily down her cheeks, and her breath was quietly hitching beside him.

He didn’t have another handkerchief, Aremu thought, uneasily. He felt he should have thought to take a second one out of his chest. He had a few more there, but they didn’t seem worth letting go of Aurelie’s hand and leaving her here alone on the bed while he went to get them. He’d still have had to let go of her hand to take another out of his pocket, even if he’d thought of it. The thought didn’t make him feel better.

“You’re welcome,” Aremu said, and he managed to hold his smile a few more moments before it slid, slowly, off his face.

They both sat and watched the stars, then; Aremu didn’t know what Aurelie thought about as she watched them, and he was grateful for that. He didn’t know, really, if she thought anything at all. He liked that about the stars, that sometimes, the watching was enough all on its own.

From here, he could see the collection of stars he’d called the lizard, once. He’d named the constellations for himself first at Thul’Amat, a long time ago, and he’d built up the set of them, slowly, over the years. He had thought, then, as a boy, that he could see all the stars there were to see; he had learned on the Eqe Aqawe, on the nights spent flying over the desert and the sea, that there were many more than he’d ever dreamed.

The ones he had seen as a boy were the brightest, though, and usually he could still find them.

They were flying east-south east, now, and would be for most of the flight; they would pass near Old Rose Harbor, Aremu knew, some time the next day, although it would likely be early enough that they wouldn’t see even the gleam of distant lights, as they might have traveling at night. Some times after they would wind over the last of the marshy planes, and from there they would be nearly at the islands, after a long night and morning spent over the Tincta Basta.

Chibugo and his pilots would have two sunrises come up towards them, brilliant through the curved glass over the front of the ship. From here, Aremu thought, Aurelie would – if she were awake – see the gleam of it, the light creeping up over the horizon and spilling into the room beyond. He wanted to tell her to look for it, if she were still awake – as he would have been, he thought, in her place. He didn’t say anything; it seemed like worsening whatever chance she had of rest.

There, Aremu though, his eyes lingering on a long trail of bright stars. The lizard, or so he’d named it as a boy, because something about the curved line of them at the end brought him in mind of them. It was, too, a constellation which moved across the sky, and when he’d realized it had cemented the name for him; he’d thought of it skittering along, sunning itself on the rock then moving once more.

Aurelie spoke, and these thoughts evaporated. Aremu turned, looking down at her; their hands were still intertwined, and she was holding on rather tightly. He hadn’t thought of letting go, and he didn’t now.

“No,” Aremu said, quietly. He thought of the frightened letter she’d sent, and his own panic at the receiving of it, in Thul Ka, knowing how many days later it must be already. The next hours had been a blur of motion, and it had not been until his own first sleepless night in this same room that he had had time to really think about it.

“I thought you would tell me, if you wanted me to know,” Aremu said. He wasn’t smiling now; his forehead was drawn together in a solemn frown. He looked at her, still, at the gleam of her damp face in the light which shone through the window, and waited, to see whether she did, in fact, want. He couldn’t bring himself to press further; he knew something of hurt which felt too fragile to be exposed to the open air, of feeling as if one would fall apart, if the truth were known, of hurt that mingled fear and shame and guilt. He didn’t ask, still; he didn't intend to.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - Just After Midnight | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

The silence that had settled over them while they both looked out the window at the stars had been--not quite comfortable, Aurelie thought. Not comfortable, but she could have held it, maybe. Aremu's smile hadn't lasted long; she'd yet to seen one on his face that did. If that was always the way of it, or just some effect she had, Aurelie didn't really know. She wanted to think the former, but something in her said it was probably the latter.

She could have held it, maybe she should have. The thoughtlessness was pleasant in a way. Thoughtless was maybe the wrong word to use, even to herself--it wasn't that she thought nothing, but she didn't hold on to any thought for very long, and they seemed ill-formed. Barely more substantial than cobwebs, and she brushed them aside without even needing to make an effort. But the question had intruded, and of course she had just asked it.

No, he said, and she felt a little guilty. Aurelie hadn't put too much thought into what she had written, afraid she would never send it if she thought too long. Convince herself that her sister meant her no harm, and that everything was fine. She was, after all, well-practiced in telling that particular story. For not the first time she thought about how it had felt to receive such a cryptic sort of request from her; she could not imagine it, and she set that aside.

And still he didn't ask. She wondered if that meant she shouldn't say, or if he was being considerate. Like by saying he thought she would tell him if she wanted meant he didn't actually want to hear it. There was no possibility of it being a good story, she knew. One did not tend to agree to be put into a trunk and spirited away with no warning when everything was going well, even she knew that much. Let alone all this absolutely absurd crying.

But she turned it over in her mind, the idea of talking about it now. Aurelie thought she did want to say, to at least one person, if nobody else again after that. Thinking so, she realized her hand hurt, and that she had been gripping Aremu's rather hard. She relaxed her hand, embarrassed. Then she drew a breath, glancing very briefly at his face before looking down at their hands instead.

"She came to see me on my birthday," she said, "Ana. She seemed tired. I don't know what--" She paused and shook her head. The hair she had tucked behind her ears came undone; she put it back. Her free hand hovered by her face for a moment. Then she settled it, carefully, over where the necklace lay silver and still against the burn on her chest. Over her heart.

"That isn't the important part, er, the part where--it doesn't matter if she was tired or not. I don't think. I don't know. We fought again, over, ah. That isn't important either. She wanted me to leave with her--that moment. I, w-well. I said no, and then she tried to-- She stopped, you see, before she finished, so I don't k-know what-- Ana grabbed my arm and she cast. Something. And I ran. And here we are." Aurelie shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I suppose it doesn't matter. It seemed important at the time." Aurelie fell silent, and she held herself still.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just after midnight, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aurelie loosened her tight grip on his hand. Aremu had never thought she was weak, knowing what he did know of baking and what he had for a long time of kitchen work, but the ache in his hand was rather tangible proof of it. She didn’t let go entirely, though, and he didn’t either. She looked down at their hands, and Aremu looked as well.

He saw her small fingers – much smaller than his – curled over the edge of his hand. He saw the mark of a burn on the edge of a finger, and the long gleaming scar of a knife cut beside it. Dipping down over his wrist was a bigger burn scar, edging out from the edge of his shirtsleeve. He looked at her hand, as well, and he saw cuts there, too, places where she must have hurt herself cutting – for he couldn’t imagine her with any other sort of knife – and the small splotches, too, of burns, as if from hot oil or hot pans.

Gently, his thumb traced over the line of a burn on her back of her hand, not quite touching it. He stopped himself; it wasn’t, Aremu thought, frowning a little, appropriate.

Aurelie didn’t remark on it; Aremu found himself grateful she hadn’t snatched her hand away in horror. He looked up again, intently, his gaze fixed on her face, as she began to speak. She, Aurelie said, and then Ana. He had already known, or guessed, at least.

She stopped, and she began again. There were gaps, still, and it was a roundabout way of telling it. Aremu swallowed a little, listening, and for a moment, when she spoke of Aurelie casting, something hard flittered over his face. It didn’t reach his hand; he didn’t tighten his grip on her.

“It matters,” Aremu said, quietly. “It matters very much. I’m glad you wrote me.” He swallowed, again, and took a deep breath.

It’s forbidden, he wanted to tell her, at Thul’Amat, for galdori to cast on imbali in such a way. In practice it does happen, and there’s little an imbala can do about it, but when they made the rules to allow imbala on the campus, they wrote down such behavior was forbidden, and punishable, even by expulsion. That such punishments were ever rarer than the prosecutions seemed not to matter.

If Niccolette ever cast on me, Aremu wanted to tell her, in the midst of an argument – and we do argue – it should be the end of our friendship. I can endure her striking me with a fist, particularly because she’s not very good at it, or shouting, or saying all manner of things I shouldn’t like to repeat. But if she cast, that would be the end of it – as it would be, I think, if I struck her.

Is that why you were so afraid when I suggested to speak with her? Aremu wanted to ask, although he thought already he knew the answer. He didn’t know how to say that he knew very well what it was to be cast upon; he knew pain spells, and worse beside. He didn’t know what sort of spells Ana knew to cast; he had never thought to ask. He didn’t like the idea of any of them used on Aurelie without her permission; he did not think there was a spell ever written he would like used so.

“It was wrong of her,” Aremu said. “I’m sorry,” he looked down at their hands twined together once more. “It matters,” he said, slowly, “because it goes to trust,” Aremu glanced back up at her, frowning again, if even he had ever stopped. “Casting, the way they do it, requires intent; and so, even if she did not finish, and I’m glad she did not, there was a moment when… she intended.” He took a deep breath.

“Thank you for telling me,” Aremu said, quietly, and he wasn’t sure he knew what else to say. I’ll try to keep you safe, he wanted to say, but he didn’t think he had right to promise. Aurelie had kept herself safe – by running, by writing, by leaving. He didn’t really suppose she needed him; all the same, there was something in him which wanted, very badly, to offer.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, Just After Midnight | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Two words, and Aurelie felt much of her calm undone. Which was terrible, of course, because it seemed rather like he'd driven her to crying again. That wasn't untrue, but it wasn't true either. It wasn't because of him that she screwed her face up and felt all of it rather more than she had been, once again.

It matters. All this month she had been telling herself it didn't. That it was fine, because nothing had happened. Ana had stopped whatever it was she was going to do, and she hadn't followed Aurelie after she ran. In some ways, Aurelie thought this was worse. If Ana had followed, frightened as Aurelie had been, she might have known--she might have asked, have talked about... But Ana hadn't followed, and there had been nothing. Nothing at all.

Aurelie couldn't bring herself to look up from their hands, even as her face collapsed into that wretched, ugly kind of crying that she hadn't done since she was a child. It was wrong of Ana, and her sister had violated her trust. Had to intend to do whatever it was she had wanted to do, even if she had stopped. For even a moment, she had wanted to. Aurelie had never in all her life been afraid of her sister. Other people had hurt her in other ways; she was not made so afraid by them. Because they didn't love her. She had thought... Ana had stopped herself. Aurelie reminded herself of this over and over, because to allow herself to think too long on the alternative hurt more than clinging on to that idea.

"P-please don't... tell anyone. Er, I'm sure that sounds very--I just... I don't suppose there is anyone to tell, but..." She clutched at the locket beneath the fabric of her uniform. She wanted to beg him not to think too badly of her sister, but that seemed wrong somehow. Unfair, to both Aremu and herself. And, Aurelie thought with a lurch of her heart, she would likely never see her sister again. So what was the point?

Aurelie only let go of Aremu's hand now, frustrated by her own sobbing. She pressed the heels of both of her hands to her eyes, willing herself to stop. It was making her head hurt, and her throat sore, and she didn't think it was doing her much good otherwise. Her breath heaved in and out. Anything, she wanted to do anything other than cry in this moment. She'd had so much of crying.

"I'm sorry, do you mind if we... Er, that is, I would very much like to talk about... something else. I don't know what, I guess, but... a-anything will do. B-baking, or... I don't know. Tell me something. I might not be good at--talking. Back. Ah, I'm sorry, maybe... S-something like... You know my birthday, but I d-don't know yours." Nonsense, all of it; she wondered if she was even understandable through all the wretched crying.

She did dearly hope Aremu could, though, because there was nothing she wanted less than to let her mind wander where it was. To remain stuck on her sister, and what had happened or not happened, and what all of it meant. Birthdays seemed a better topic, for all that she fell on it because she was thinking of how terribly awry her own had gone. Normally, she thought, people liked their birthday. At least a little. Didn't they?

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just after midnight, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aremu didn’t know if it had been the right thing to say. He couldn’t lie to her; there should have been nothing to prevent him, but he felt as constrained as if he were strapped rigid into the honor he should have been born with. Sitting beside her, bathed in the starlight, Aremu knew his choices were truth or silence, and he had been unable to stay silent.

It matters.

He had gone on, even though she had already begun to weep. She was shaking with the force of it; he felt each sob like a blow, but he hadn’t known what else to do. If he were a better man - if he knew more of comfort - maybe he could have found a way. But he was only himself; he had no more to offer.

He thought - even amidst the tears and the sobs - that he was not telling her anything she did not already know. He clung to that, though he didn’t quite dare to voice it aloud. She knew, he told himself; she had written him because she knew.

Her voice was a strangled gasp between the tears when it emerged; she wanted to talk of baking, and then of birthdays.

Aremu swallowed; this hit him in a way that the tears earlier had not, and he felt a warning heat behind his own eyes. Her hands were pressed to her face; he thought of touching her shoulder or her back, of putting an arm around her, and he couldn’t bring himself to it.

“I ended up finding a good bakery in Thul Ka,” Aremu offered; his own voice was hoarse, too, and he went on through it. How was it that he had never struggled to write to her, and yet he didn’t have the least idea what to say? He tried to think of how he would have written it, as she sobbed. “Mostly they had savories, bread in the Anaxi style, and the, uh, Bastian croissants. But they had some sweets also.”

“They didn’t have anything as nice as the thumbprint cookies you made,” Aremu went on, “or even my poor attempts at your recipes. But they had some dry tea cookies, which I liked, and various shortbreads of different flavorings, one of kofi and chocolate, and another of saffron and pistachio. Actually, I thought of making the last myself, when next we have ice; saffron is easy enough to come by on the island, and I thought Ahura might like it, but I’m not sure if it would work as well with tsug.”

Aremu trailed off, then. He couldn’t bring himself to suggest making them for her; he couldn’t. There was something almost cruel in it, he thought, although he didn’t know what or why.

I don’t think you told me the day of yours, he wanted to say, and he couldn’t say that either, not with her sobbing. Did you like the tamarind? That, too, seemed beyond awful.

“It’s actually my birthday today,” Aremu said, quietly, after a moment; it was after midnight, he supposed, and so it was the seventeenth, now. “I don’t usually celebrate, but one doesn’t really... forget.”

The last birthday he had celebrated was nineteen years ago, and it had lasted half a day - up until the moment when he had known, when they had all known, and he had turned to see his father walking away. He didn’t know what if that showed on his face; he didn’t want any of it to show, just now.

Aremu tried to think, uneasily, if anyone else in his life knew the day of it. Uzoji had, but he had stopped celebrating after his tenth year, and Uzoji had always respected his wishes in that regard. He couldn’t imagine Uzoji having told anyone, even Niccolette. For a moment he let himself wonder if his mother still remembered; he thought if anyone did, that it would be her. Perhaps she had the courage for that, for all that she hadn’t had the courage for him.

No one, Aremu thought, and then: and now Aurelie.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - Just After Midnight | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Her request had been a somewhat desperate one. Really, Aremu could have told her anything--he could have read her a mechanic's manual and she thought that might have done the trick. Aurelie just couldn't, anymore, talk about her sister and what she had done. Not done. Almost done--her will, her intent. Whatever that might have been, and whatever that might mean.

Nor could she think about the letter that she had written and what had come after, for all that she still felt firm that her decision had been correct. At least for now. Even if Ana's spell wouldn't have hurt her, she had heard all sorts of things about what could bring on diablerie, that great and terrifying unknown. What if her sister had cast, and the mona had chosen that moment to move through them both? What if, then, Aurelie had discovered the shape of what there was to fear in her--and had been right to do so?

And, she thought, even without Ana--even without her immediate fear--a small part of her thought this was correct anyway. Almost more than Ana, Aurelie found herself selfishly afraid she would forget what it was like to have been anything else, to have been anywhere else. In Dentis when they had met, Aremu had said it--it isn't right. Aurelie didn't know what to say then, but a part of her had always known it was true. This, too, was too much for her to hold in her mind now.

Aremu's voice sounded strange when he started to speak. That was surely her fault, but she could do nothing about it now. At least he went on to talk about a bakery in Thul Ka. She couldn't quiet her sobbing, or remove her hands from her eyes, but she tried to make some kind of encouraging noise to indicate she was listening in between. Moving her hands would have been nice, she thought, because she had found holding on to Aremu rather comforting. But it seemed strange to do it yet again when she was the one who kept pulling her hands away. She left them where they were, covering her face.

"It m-might," she sniffed, trying to control herself. Think of shortbread. Of pistachio, of croissants, of bread. Flavor combinations she had never tried, saffron being expensive and rare in Anaxas. It helped, to think of such things. As long as she was going to be on the island, perhaps they could try to make it together--Aurelie couldn't bring herself to suggest it. That would be terribly bold of her, and she had no idea if it would have gone over well.

A different kind of warmth had briefly interrupted at the compliment to her baking--she was, still, very flattered he had liked them so much. Earlier in the day, while she had wandered through the rest of her work as through a thick mist, she had thought to bring something. A jar of the damson jam she'd used, perhaps--there were many, still, as it wasn't quite as popular with the student body and only a few of the faculty. They had made quite a lot of it. She had even gone so far as to go into the pantry and brush her fingers over the tops of the jars. In the end she had left them all behind; even though it had been her hands, mostly, that had done the work, they weren't hers. Whatever else she was, she wasn't a thief.

There was a pause broken only by the sound of her own crying, and she rather feared he would stop talking. Please keep going, she almost begged, please don't leave me to think of this any more. He picked the conversation up anyway, and that was almost worse. Aurelie's hands came away from her face and she stared, stricken.

"T-today? It's--today? And I made you come and--I should have--I didn't make you anything, not even a c-c-cupcake! Oh no, I'm s-sorry...!" She didn't celebrate her birthday either, not really--there was no point. This, her twenty-first, was the first one she had really marked very much at all--and see how well that had gone. Yet still she was wracked with the most illogical kind of shame that Aremu had come all this way, done all of this for her, and she hadn't even made him a cupcake. The tiniest thing, something she could have done, and she didn't do it. Nevermind that she didn't know to do so, that didn't matter.

"H-happy birthday," she mumbled at last, because she hadn't yet done so. There was something ghoulish about saying it now, but she thought it was important.

At some point she had misplaced the handkerchief he had already given her, and couldn't see well enough to find it again. Instead she brought a corner of her pinafore up to her face, which didn't seem to help much. After a moment of sobbing, she gave it up for lost. Her knees came up instead, as well as they could. She was very careful to keep her shoes off of the bed, realizing only then that she was somehow still wearing them. What she wanted to do was curl into as small of a ball as she could, but it was rather difficult when she was properly dressed. She tried anyway, and found very little comfort in it.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just after midnight, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

He should have stayed on baking, Aremu thought, regretfully. Aurelie’s hands came away from her face and she stared at him in horror; he looked back, finding his eyes widening a little, unsure why the news should have affected her so. She began to sob, again, apologizing, regretful.

Aremu winced, a little, when she wished him a happy birthday; he hadn’t meant to. The words felt strange, and foreign, as awkward to receive as they had seemed to be to give. “Thank you,” he said, very quietly, and he didn’t know what to make of any of it.

Aurelie was still sobbing incoherently; she pulled her knees up, small shoe-clad feet dangling off the edge of the bed, and buried herself against them. It looked, Aremu thought, profoundly uncomfortable; he felt an ache in his lower back just at the sight.

He made no effort to untangle her; he didn’t reach for her again, though he thought about it. It seemed to him as if he had no right to intrude upon her sorrow in such a way. She had asked him, he thought, only to speak.

Aremu ran his tongue over dry lips. She was still sobbing; it felt like a house had passed, although he thought it had only been minutes, if even that long. He shifted, and looked down at the hand on his lap, and the wrist tucked behind it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a cupcake,” Aremu began. He didn’t think that was the right tactic; Aurelie’s sobbing increased, briefly, in intensity, and he closed his eyes, opened them again, fixed them on the window, and kept on. “Actually – even when I was a boy,” he said, slowly, as evenly as he could manage, as if keeping the hurt from his voice would make sure words easier to speak, “we didn’t do much for birthdays.”

“My mother didn’t cook or bake,” Aremu went on, staring at the distant window and the stars gleaming beyond, unable to think of the words as he spoke them, as if he could divorce himself from the memories, and speak only of the idea of it, “but she would oversee the making of ú’dzas every year as a treat for me. It’s sort of like a cake, I suppose; one makes it with semolina, with, um, ghee or clarified butter, shredded coconut, milk, sugar, and syrup. It’s baked into a cake, which is soft and dense and actually doesn’t taste much like cake at all, really.”

Aremu went on, and he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, or at himself. “Some of the syrup is used in the baking; some of it poured on afterwards. I was allowed to watch that part,” he explained, and he didn’t add that it was the only time he had been in the kitchen, as a boy, except to sneak food, because he had often been hungry, even then. “After it cools, it’s sprinkled with nuts and cut into pieces, and eaten alone or with thick cream.”

Aremu could almost taste it, as he spoke, syrup sweet; the memory turned his stomach.

“On the islands,” Aremu went on, “I haven’t seen it. Ahura makes a sweet for Efere’s birthday every year – and one for Apadha’s, too, for all she isn’t a little girl anymore. Actually it’s made of semolina also, although it’s more of a… pudding, almost, I suppose. Semolina, ghee, sugar, saffron, and nuts, usually tsug, although whatever we have on hand. She cooks it all together with water on the stove, very slow and even for a long time, and spoons it out into a bowl; it actually holds its shape rather well, and it can be topped with more nuts and dried fruits.”

Aremu didn’t know where he was going, or what else to say. He went further into the subject of desserts; he thought he could talk for a while of the different desserts he had seen Ahura make, none of them baked: of the sweets made of lentils, of the balls of deep fried rice flour, unseparated cane sugar and cardamom, of flatbreads made of wheat, cardamom, turmeric and ghee, stuffed with shredded coconut and unseparated sugar. She cried on beside him, and Aremu talked, as evenly as he could, even as his throat ached, and stared out the window at the stars.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - After Midnight | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aurelie wasn't sure why the idea of Aremu never having had a cupcake before made her cry harder. She didn't think he would have, given what little she knew of Mugroba--namely that there was a marked lack of ovens, which was rather required for the making of cupcakes. So that made her doubly sorry she hadn't known to make one, for all that as he continued on she got the feeling it wouldn't have been appreciated.

Oh, and wasn't that just completely wretched as well? She should have thought before she asked. She didn't like her own birthday--she had never celebrated it really on the actual day. It fell in the middle of the week and her sister rarely came home for it. Mother and Father then, in turn, always advised her to wait for Ana to come home and they would celebrate as a family. A couple of years, this had resulted in an entire week elapsing between the date and any celebration to mark it. Nurse, at least, had usually wished her a happy birthday. Then, of course, after the tenth--there had been no more, not with anyone else. Until this one.

So why had she asked, like he would feel much different? She already knew--he had already at least implied--that a lack of gating had not meant that all was well with his family. If she could have taken them back, snatched them from the air and both of their minds, she would have. A different sort of embarrassment from her usual, or at least a less common variation. She was, she thought sourly, no stranger to trampling where she should not. Thoughtless, that's what she was.

And still, he kept talking, just like she'd asked.

The topic did turn at least from birthdays to desserts more generally. Aurelie listened, curled into her uncomfortable little ball, and eventually found that she had wearied herself of tears. Her shoulders fell and stayed there, unmoving. When she was certain that she wasn't about to start again--there had been a few false alarms, she felt--she turned her face to the side to look at Aremu again. He looked not at her, but out the window. The soft and dim light from the stars touched the room.

"Thank you," she interrupted, not wishing to make him go on any longer if the need had passed. Aurelie winced; her voice sounded twisted and strange to her own ears. Worn thin, she supposed, by all the tears. She was certain she looked absolutely horrific, which didn't normally matter to her much but did now. She couldn't imagine that added much that was positive to the experience of having to put up with her selfishness. She cleared her throat and swallowed. It hurt, but at least she felt hollowed out by all of it.

"I'm sorry if I asked something I--I mean with the birthday, I didn't... Nevermind. I think I'm done now. Crying, I mean. At least, I am tired of it, and would like to be." A corner of her mouth lifted in what was meant to be the beginning of a smile; it fell again rather quickly. "I would very much like to think that was enough for a long time."

Carefully, as if she were afraid she might crack apart if she moved too quickly, Aurelie straightened. First her back, which had been bent in a rather odd shape and was aching rather a lot. Then her arms, followed by each leg individually. She sighed, letting that drain some of the tension out of her. Empty, that's what she felt. Like she'd thought she was, Aurelie thought absurdly, and she could have laughed if her face didn't hurt too much for it. Her hands came to rest by her sides, and she leaned back.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just after midnight, 17 Hamis, 2720
Aurelie’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Sometimes the tears seemed to have wound down, and she was left sniffling quietly beside him, her small, thin shoulders trembling. He hadn’t quite dared to stop, somehow, and he did not know whether it was the fault or something in his words that she had begun again, each time, sobbing breathlessly into her knees.

Aremu tried; he kept on, even when he thought he really was only making it worse, because she hadn’t asked him to stop, and he didn’t know what to do. He thought – surely, he thought, she would tell him to leave, to stop, that it wasn’t helping, that he was hurting her. Instead, he went on, until his voice was a scratch in his throat, as if he’d rubbed it raw.

He found a pause between recipes, wracking himself for something else to say, when she interrupted, and stopped him.

“It’s all right,” Aremu said, quietly. “You didn’t force me to answer,” he glanced over at her. She looked awful; her face was swollen and blotchy, her hair stuck oddly to her cheek, with lines pressed into her skin from the fabric of her skirt.

“I’ve heard that washing your face can be soothing,” Aremu said, uncertainly, glancing towards the panel in the wall where she could find the water basin. He went himself to a covered pitcher held steady against another part of the wall; one glass, of course. He filled it once, tipped his head back, and drank through the swaying of the ship, pouring the water so the glass never touched his lips.

He set it down and filled it again, then, and carried it back to Aurelie, sitting on the bed beside her once more and offering it to her. She was more sprawled out than she had been before, stretched out over the bedspread. Once she’d taken it, Aremu wiped his hand on his pants, and looked back out the window once more.

The world below was still all clouds; there was no way of knowing what was beneath them. It was still well night, but the ship had long since leveled out; the engines were humming, quietly, in the way of mid-flight, and it was the currents and the gas which carried them. Unlike take off, there was no rattling of the glass or walls, only a quiet hum which Aremu had always found soothing, which faded soft into the background and intruded very little.

If Aurelie wished, he would show her how to work the water system on the ship; it was well-integrated, and there was running water throughout the Tsuqeqachye’ki, as was the case with most of the newer Mugrobi airships. There was a small mirror too, but he would not take it out for her unless she wanted it, specifically.

Aremu did wonder, briefly, if she had thought to bring a brush; he didn’t have one, as his close-cropped hair didn’t require anything of the sort. He wondered, uneasily, whether there was one on the island; he couldn’t quite imagine giving Aurelie Niccolette’s, for all that he thought she would give permission, if asked. He did not know if Western Port would have one; he felt uneasily certain that he might have to go all the way to Laus Oma for it. Would Ahura or Apadha have a brush Aurelie could use? He had not the least idea what either of them did for their hair. Tsadha, he knew, had regular appointments of one sort or another in Laus Oma, but he’d never asked anything as to the content of them, and didn’t have the least idea what they entailed. Niccolette rarely spent enough time in the Islands at once to need anything done with her hair there, or so he supposed; in fact he had not the least idea on the subject of her hair maintenance either.

There was, too, of course, the question of clothing. He had, Aremu thought, been understandably focused on the taking of Aurelie from Brunnhold; it was not until this moment, with her having sobbed her heart out as he went on, useless and rather pathetic, about desserts, that he understood just how unprepared he really was.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Aremu asked, quietly; he swallowed heavily through his frown, glancing down at the small, red-haired girl.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

17th of Hamis, 2720 - After Midnight | Someone's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Hadn't she though, a little? No, perhaps not. Forced wasn't quite the right word--had he chosen to talk of something else, she wouldn't have minded or even noticed. But she did feel as though she had created an obligation in her asking for some kind of answer, even if it was just to tell her that he didn't wish to talk about it. She made a quiet sound, just to prove she had heard. It was neither denial nor acceptance, but she thought he could choose which he wanted it to be if he wanted.

Washing her face--yes, she rather thought she should do that. The way he phrased it, that he had "heard" it could be so, made her want to smile. For all that she hadn't the energy to do it, the desire was there. That was good. Aurelie felt it and chose to take comfort that she could want to. She was just tired, that was all. As she unfolded herself, he crossed the room to return with a glass. Until it was held out to her, she hadn't realized how much she needed it. Aurelie had not, she realized, had much to eat or drink all day. She tried to remember when she'd last had water at all, and found she couldn't.

She finished the whole of the glass rather quickly, and felt a bit better for it. Some of the aching in her head and her throat subsided, though it was still there pressing on her awareness. That would likely continue until she slept, if she could manage to do so. Weariness dragged at her; sleep didn't seem such an impossible prospect after all. The hum of the ship all around them was strange but soothing, filling the air. She wasn't sure if she could sleep without the sound of another person in the room--she hadn't tried in a very long time--but this seemed as if it might do.

Aremu showed her how the water worked on the ship, a question she hadn't realized she had until he did so. As they went along, the depth of her ill-preparedness became increasingly apparent to her. Aurelie was privately mortified; she considered herself a practical person, if nothing else. And yet she'd neglected to consider even so basic a thing as a change of clothes to sleep in. At least, she comforted herself, she had a comb in her pocket--always there, just in case--and some other small necessities. She had brought the dress her sister bought her, unwilling to leave it behind, but no other clothing. Eventually that would become a problem, but not one she could solve right now.

"N-no, thank you, I think... I might need to s-sleep after all. Er. You'll... come back?" Aurelie looked up, suddenly anxious. There had been mention, she knew, of some kind of system--but if she had heard it, it was gone from her mind now. The idea of asking him to repeat it was oddly embarrassing. The details would come back to her after she slept. Probably. Hopefully? Aurelie hadn't the energy to consider this too deeply.

When she had bid her goodnights, which felt very strange, she set about preparing herself for bed as best she could. Washed her face, though she did not pull out her dim pocket mirror to look at herself when she did so. The lack of nightclothes was troubling. The best Aurelie could do was remove the more structural layers, which she carefully set aside somewhere out of immediate sight, underneath her apron. That was probably silly. And yet, she did it anyway, because she couldn't bring herself to do otherwise.

Sleep came to her more easily than she expected, uncomfortable as she was. Lonely as she felt, without the sound of Bernie and Allie's breathing in the room with her. The tide of it came to claim her and drag her down almost the moment her eyes closed. Deep as her exhaustion was, it left no room even for dreams.