[Closed] Crashing Down on You and Me

[Aremu Ediwo]

Evening, 39 Vortas, 2718
The Ibutation Plantation, Isla Dzum

Uzoji took the stairs two at a time. He could hear Niccolette’s sharp voice from the second floor landing, and the boom of Chibugo’s laughter as he went up to the third, and he knew he was grinning too. His breath still tasted faintly of brandy, but he had had not even half a glass. If anything had sent him high, it was the rush of being back on Dzum, of being home.

“Poa’xa,” Uzoji knocked on the edge of the open study door, leaning against it. Aremu was bent over his desk inside, frowning faintly at the ledger. He looked up at Uzoji, blinking.

Uzoji frowned, suddenly, looking at the other man. “Would you rather I not bring the crew here?” He asked. “We could make a stop in Laus Oma, first.”

“No,” Aremu shook his head. He set his pen down, and tucked his bare right arm beneath the desk. “I’m glad to see them well.”

Uzoji’s gaze flickered down to the ledgers, then back up to his friend’s smooth face. He nodded, then, and said nothing more about it. “Come for a walk with me?” He asked.

There was a crisp chill to the island air at night, and both men had shrugged on overcoats before going outside. Aremu walked with his wrists in his pockets, and Uzoji beside him. They went, as had become familiar, out the back door, through the grass along the cliff, down towards the beach, and then cut across the road towards the sugarcane fields, and the tsug grove beyond.

“I wanted you to see it in the light,” Aremu was saying, their conversation having wandered back to the plantation, in time. “The tsug,” he had found a grin, brilliant, boyish. “Where we've planted the kofi, the harvest is even better.” Aremu added.

“How’s the flavor?” Uzoji asked, eagerly. “Was it the right varietal?”

“I think so,” Aremu grinned, wider still. “I think you can even taste the macadamia - you’ll try it tomorrow. The next step is a full scale roasting facility for the plantation.”

The tsug trees were taller than Uzoji had expected, even after Aremu’s excitement. He stood beneath them in the moonlit shade, breathing deep. He ran his hands through the kofi bushes; he knelt to pick up a fallen nut, and held it close. He turned to Aremu, smiling. “They’re magnificent.” He said, quietly, tucking the nut away in his pocket. He did not wish to hide in metaphor or simile; there was no need.

Aremu’s shoulders trembled, and then tightened and squared. He cleared his throat, and turned away. “I think the harvest will be even better next year.” He said, gazing up at the trees.

It was a little while later, between the rows of trees, that Uzoji brought himself to it. “I have made something of a mess,” he admitted.

He felt Aremu stop beside him, falling back; he turned to look at his friend.

Aremu was frowning, watching him. He looked away, then, his jaw tightening. 

“Not Niccolette,” Uzoji said, suddenly, eyes widening with understanding. “No - all is well with her.”

Aremu’s eyes fluttered closed, and the tightness drained from him. He nodded, sharply, and came forward again.

“My friend,” Uzoji said, softly, frowning. “Did it bother you so? To lie to her?”

Aremu glanced up at the screen of branches overhead, moonlight washing through the tangled of them. A patch of clouds shivered through the sky, dappling shade over shade. “Do not ask me questions to which you know the answer.” Aremu said, quietly.

Uzoji exhaled, soft and slow into the night. They walked in silence a little longer.

“What mistakes have you made now?” Aremu asked, in time. 

Uzoji heard the edge of a grin in his voice, and laughed. “It’s to do with a young woman - a girl really - at Brunnhold. May I unburden myself to you, my friend?” He draped his arm over Aremu’s shoulders. He felt the other man’s left arm come up and settle over his as well.

“I should be glad.” Aremu promised.

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

It had not been hard to enter Brunnhold’s campus, but then it had never been entering which had worried Aremu. He knew better than to linger or dawdle on the bridge; he knew better than to walk slowly or hesitantly. All the same he had found himself breathing deep just before the final barrier; a last taste, he thought, just in case.

And then he put it aside, because the time for doing was not the time for doubts. Because doubts were for undoing, and more than anything, Aremu knew he needed not to come undone.

Red brick rose up around him; there were houses on both sides, and the heavy curve of the thick wall behind. Aremu thought - perhaps - if he searched, and well, he could find a spot which he might be able to climb. He wanted to turn back and look; he was a good climber, and he knew how to dive and swim besides. If he shed his coat and made it to the top of the wall, then what? He did not know how deep the aqueduct was; it would be a risk. That was the most dangerous part of cliff diving in unknown waters; not the fall itself, but the water beneath, and what it might hide.

And if he made it? If he plunged through the surface and did not shatter on something below, could he swim across and climb, dripping wet up the other side? What would he risk for freedom? How much? How could he know if there were no other options left to him?

Everything, Aremu thought, a sudden, furious pulse of anger inside him. Everything, and without regret. He did not look back; what difference would the knowing make?

Aremu kept walking, both wrists resting at the edges of his pockets. The wind was heavy, whistling through the air, tugging at all his hems and seams, rustling at the leaves on the trees, as if to promise that it would bring them down, in time.

There were papers in the pocket over his heart. Once, when he could not help himself, Aremu lifted his fingertips to them and pressed, softly, and heard them rustle. He exhaled, and knew only then that he had been holding his breath. He lowered his hand, and tucked it into his pocket once more. 

Aremu walked as if he knew where he went; he walked as if he belonged. Or perhaps he betrayed himself with the hunch of his shoulders, beneath the thick fabric of his coat; perhaps he betrayed himself with the careful sideways flick of his gaze, as brief as he could manage, but still irresistible when another figure passed too close in the low misty morning light.

Uzoji had described the spot, once, a long time ago, with a little laughter in his voice, mingled pride and amusement. The tree, he’d said, where he tied a handkerchief to be visible through the window, where he’d left a signal for Miss Steerpike. Aremu could not remember her first name; he had not remembered the last, but for the clippings.

If he were honest, he had not remembered it at all, not to think of. Uzoji’s death had left so many loose ends; in the months after, he had been absorbed in the plantation, in keeping it for Niccolette. When Ahura has shown him the clippings, and told him she had found them while preparing the room for Niccolette’s arrival, Aremu had not known what to do.

Except, of course, he had; he had known. Accepting that knowledge had taken time. He did not know if the news if Uzoji’s death would matter to Miss Steerpike; he did not know if she would want the clippings, so long delayed. But if he had not returned to the cycle, Uzoji would have brought them to her; and so here Aremu was. There were bonds that friendship built between men, and obligations which gladly lay upon them, and death was not the end of them.

The tree was not hard to find; Aremu had known where to look, after all. He stood beneath it, looking up at sheltering branches; he fished a handkerchief from his pocket, and tucked it in his sleeve. Aremu settled his hand against a junction, then, and began to climb. Just a little further, he promised himself; just a little further still.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Dentis 9, 2719 - Late Morning | A Brunnhold Garden

It wasn't that Aurelie expected to see anything, when she looked through the window to the tree where before she might see a handkerchief tied. Not anymore, at least. That bridge, she thought, had been burnt. Of course it had taken months before she was sure, before the hopeful cast of her eyes had felt more like habit than expectation. Sometimes she didn't look on purpose, to avoid the rush of guilt from having lost her temper with someone who had only tried to be kind to her. If only--if he came back, she'd left a note and-- Could she have apologized? Would there have been any need or purpose to the action?

Now, too, it wasn't as if--she didn't need to hear of her sister in newspaper clippings. Aurelie didn't know how she would have explained that, or if she would have said it at all. That seemed a complicated subject for such a tangential relationship. So there was no expectation in the slight turn of her head; the twinge of disappointment when she saw nothing was there all the same. Aurelie wondered when that, too, would fade. It had been nearly a year now, after all.

This morning, Aurelie did look, a brief flick of her eyes out the window and away as she went about her work. She would have missed it, too; she was so used to seeing nothing that her eyes almost skipped over the fact that there was something after all. Sharp and quick she turned her eyes back out the window. Had she imagined it? But no--there it was, a handkerchief tied on the tree outside, as it had been before. There was no way she could leave immediately, and no promise that there was any purpose to doing so. Still Aurelie was suddenly restless, waiting for her opportunity to slip away. She wouldn't have long--she didn't have long, anymore, half an hour the best she could seem to manage most days--but it would be time enough.

Early morning became late morning and nearly bled into early afternoon, but Aurelie was patient and at last her moment came to slip away. She hadn't even lied about where she would be, not precisely--any of the other girls or even Matron could have found her, if they ever cared to look. Granted, it would likely take them a while to find her precise location, out of the way as it was. She just needed some air, and some quiet. That was all. She would be back before she was missed, she promised.

Their last conversation had been in fall too. Less in fall, she remembered suddenly, sourly. Aurelie frowned and pushed the thought away. Now she knew more than she had, didn't she? Something like that might--would that conversation have gone the same, now? Maybe, maybe she could... maybe she could find out, in a way. Something she knew, she realized, that he would not and--maybe it was interesting. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe... Was her nigh-unreadable apology enough? Would she know if it had been? Her steps were quick but her mind felt slow, a little afraid of the answer to the question.

Well, there was only one way to find out. Aurelie approached her bench after what felt like an eternity, though the journey itself had not been very far from the kitchen. Some part of her must have been hoping to somehow, for some reason, catch Uzoji there--but no, that would have been absurd. The note would have to do. Probably better that way, at any rate. While Aurelie had certainly gotten in some practice at speaking to others like a normal person, she still proved to be a poor hand at it. She came to the bench and began rummaging around, trying to remember exactly where the tin was. It had been so long since she'd tried to find it last. If her note was gone, she decided, she would take it as a good sign. In fact, the signal at all was surely as good a sign as she was likely to get, wasn't it? Optimism, that was the name of the game. Optimism.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

The leaves were not as green as he had expected. That they changed color always took Aremu by surprise; he never quite knew when to expect it. By the end of Vortas, he knew, they would be falling golden and brown and orange from the trees, and carpeting the ground below; by Achtus, most of them would be nothing more than bare branches. He knew the cycle well, from the Rose and from the air, but he could not recall ever being quite so close to Anaxi treesin early Dentis.

From a distance, he had thought them still green. It was only once he was at the bench – sitting, first, for a little while, both wrists resting against the edge of his pocket; and then pacing, slowly, back and forth, a short, lonely passage from side to side at the bench; and then sitting, once more – that he had started to study the trees. Amidst the green leaves, he had seen them, then; slivers of yellow, the first turnings, like a promise of what was to come. The wind whistled through the garden, and he felt it brush over his cheek, and prickle against the skin of his neck, reaching like cold fingers beneath the upturned collar of his coat.

Each distant noise raced through him like wildfire; it lit all the blood in him alight, and send his heart pounding up into his throat. He held still through them, still and silent, and no one approached the bench. They were distant Anaxi voices, most of them; young, Aremu thought, with a frown. High-pitched, and eager, and laughing, and young. Galdori voices. He didn’t know what to make of them.

In time, though, Aremu rose from the bench, and eased back; he looked at the trees, and gauged them with his sight, with the touch of careful fingers. He found one, and he eased himself up into the branches; he tucked himself against them, close to the front, dark brown shoes resting one tucked inside the other against the branch. He tilted his bare head back against the bark, and he breathed in the smell of wet leaves.

Time passed, then, there, somehow. Aremu kept it by the pounding of his heart in his chest, by the pumping of the blood in his veins. He kept it by the prickle of fear down his spine, and the ache of worry that deepened, slowly, within him, like a man being swallowed by quicksand. Deeper, and deeper, and deeper still; he thought he knew all the depths of himself, but he could not find them, today. There always seemed to be further still to fall. He traced the pale yellow leaves amidst the green; he tried to count them, when he could.

When she came, he almost did not believe it; there was a rustle of footsteps on the ground below, and the soft whoosh of fabric. Pale blue, Aremu saw, shifting against the branches and looking down through the leaves. He hesitated to reveal himself; he thought that he could not be sure. She was small and slight, with short-cropped bright red hair. He wondered how many Anaxi could be described as such. He was too distant to know if she had a field, but then he did not need to; she betrayed herself with the uniform, with her careful walk.

Only when she started to look in the branches was Aremu sure.

He shifted, slowly, silently; he gathered the coat in his hand, and eased himself down from the tree. He did not drop, abrupt, to the ground; the girl was facing away from him, and he knew well how rare it was for anyone to look above. He eased himself down, facing outward, foot by foot, and then he stood at the base of the tree.

Aremu cleared his throat, a quiet noise in the small space. His wrists were settled against the pockets of his heavy coat; he wore a suit beneath, cut in the Anaxi style, a little creased by now, but still tailored to him.

“Miss Steerpike?” Aremu asked, his voice soft, pronouncing the name with a careful, lilting Mugrobi accent. He held against the tree, just out of range; there was a frown knitting his brow. He hesitated; he came closer, then, slowly – just close enough, so that she would know what he was. So, Aremu thought, that she would know what he was not.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

There! It had been a long time indeed since she'd last gone looking for the tin. Not since she'd gone back, after she had been so rude, to leave her note and take the clippings that she had honestly not expected to find, after carrying on as she had. The whole point was for it to be out of sight, and it was. Even to her, it seemed; she made a small frustrated noise as she looked. Aurelie had found it, just, her fingertips brushing over the metal, when she heard the sound of a throat clearing behind her.

"Bells and--!"

The sound had been quiet, appropriate for the hour and the location. Her reaction, as always it seemed, was not. Aurelie hadn't seen anyone as she approached what she knew to be an unpopular spot. Accordingly, she had assumed that no one was there. To be proven wrong startled her into to (very nearly) swearing. She whirled around, a flutter of blue skirt and nervousness. Had she been caught at last? She hadn't actually picked the tin up, merely brushed against it, so it was entirely possible what she was doing was not immediately observable.

For a moment she panicked, seeing only a coat and suit of neither Brunnhold green nor passive blue. Proper clothing for a proper sort of person. The only proper sorts of people wandering about this deep in Brunnhold campus proper were faculty or visitors--not the type to be pleased to see someone like her meandering about, idle and unsupervised. If Aurelie were to be asked what she was doing, she would have to answer, and somehow she hadn't become much better of a liar despite the recent efforts of more than one person.

Then he said her name, and her panic mixed with no small amount of confusion. The suit was Anaxi but the accent was not, and he stayed near the base of the tree frowning at her for a moment. Aurelie wasn't sure what to make of it. Not a face she knew, at all, and yet that was her name and this was--Aurelie was a little embarrassed to realize that she thought of this as "her place". Someone, perhaps, who knew her sister...? But no, what would he be doing here if that were the case? Ana didn't know this place, and had never sent anyone on her behalf. Aurelie did not get visitors. She wasn't even sure she was allowed visitors.

"I... I am, but..."

When he stepped a little closer, something was... strange. Aurelie couldn't place it at first, what was jarring. Until of course she knew what it was--what she wasn't feeling. She had thought, from the way he was dressed and his presence on the campus proper... But no, she was wrong. He stepped close enough to her that there should have been a field, but there was--nothing. No, she reminded herself, not nothing. Nothing she could notice, but not... not nothing. Because she wasn't looking at a galdori visitor at all.

Passive. Like her, but--but not, and here he was, on campus, and he knew her name. Aurelie's mouth dropped open, a graceless expression that betrayed her confusion. She shut it again after a moment, but still her expression made her feelings rather plain. Not Anaxi, and so not... Intellectually, Aurelie was of course fully aware that not every passive in the world was here in Brunnhold, nor were they all similarly trapped. Not even all the passives in Anaxas were here. She knew that. And yet--his presence startled her. She had not, she realized, met a passive in her life who was not in University blue.

"Who-- who are you? What-- why-- Where did you even come from?!" The last she blurted out and immediately felt heat rise to her face. Aurelie's voice was too loud, her posture stiff. Something told her that she should know, or at least be able to make a guess, at who this might be, but thinking about it seemed beyond her grasp. Nobody had been in the garden when she arrived, she had thought, and yet here he had appeared. She couldn't help it--she stared, and she took a step closer as if she wasn't quite sure her eyes weren't lying to her.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Aremu had startled an exclamation out of her, but it was quiet. He looked to the side all the same, listening for a moment, and then back to her, still frowning faintly. She had whirled around, and was staring at him. He thought it was panic on her face, but it had eased a little when he said what he very much hoped was her name.

I am, she said, and a little of the tension eased from Aremu’s shoulders. He came closer and held still, not distant enough but still distant. He saw the moment when she realized; he saw her mouth open, revealing small teeth, graceless for a long moment as she stared.

Aremu did not interrupt; he left her the time to process as she wished. He watched her through it; he couldn’t quite tame the little frown wrinkling his brow.

There was a flood of questions, then, a little too loud. Aremu flinched, faintly, and glanced to the side again. For a moment, he half held his breath, unsure -

But there were no signs of anyone that he could hear, no reason to think they had been heard. And yet he knew - he knew - at any moment - if he had little time, Aremu thought, let him make the most of it.

He bowed, gracefully; both arms emerged to make it a proper gesture, but by the time he rose against both wrists were tucked against his pockets once more. “I am Aremu Ediwo,” he said, more quietly than she had.

What, why and where, Aremu thought. Flustered questions, but he took them, and turned them over in his mind. “I am from Thul Ka, in Mugroba,” he said, after a moment, honestly; no matter that he had not lived there in nearly eight years. He would always, Aremu knew, be from Thul Ka. He glanced behind him, then, and then back at the girl. “More recently,” he said, then, slowly, and his left hand emerged, and gestured vaguely backwards, “from that tree.”

I did not wish to be seen, Aremu did not say, waiting for you. His hand eased back away into his pocket; he tried to relax his shoulders. His back seemed one long ache, all through; he could do nothing for it. I have always liked heights, he thought of offering, absurdly. I did not mean to startle you; it was only that I did not know another way.

Aremu was not sure, in the end, what question what would have been attached to. He thought she understood what he was, already. He did not know if it was strange to her. Perhaps she had met many...? He did not think so. He knew there were imbali who ventured here. Other imbali, Aremu thought, for a moment, feeling a tightness in his chest. There was the occasional professor, who went to defy convention, who went to stand before all of them unafraid, post-exile and proud. Aremu had always wondered at it, and he did not understand any better now.

She had come a little closer; Aremu thought it a good sign. He put the question of what aside, for there was no hiding what either of them was not, and that left only why.

“I am here on behalf of Uzoji Ibutatu,” Aremu said, quietly. He searched her face; he did not hesitate. He was conscious that at any moment this might be taken from them; he was conscious that it might mean nothing to her, in the end. He did not think so; he had found the tin, in the end, with all the time he had had to spare.

He had read, frowning softly, the note the girl had left behind. He had read it again, carefully, because her writing was shaky and uneven. It had not been meant for him, or perhaps it had, in the end. Aremu did not know well enough to be the judge of such things.

“He returned to the cycle,” Aremu said, quietly still. “Last Intas.” He came a little closer, then, hesitant; his left hand emerged again, and made as if to gesture towards her, but then eased down, and away, and did not come close to touching.

“I am sorry,” Aremu added. He was sorry; he was sorry for the loss of Uzoji, though he knew he should not be. A good Mugrobi would be glad of Hulali’s plans, he thought. He had never doubted that Hulali would guide Uzoji’s waters. A good Mugrobi would trust Uzoji’s soul shepherded and cared for, off to a new life, and not be such a fool as to hurt so. By now, Aremu thought, suddenly, was he already a squalling babe? By now, Aremu ached to think, was he already bringing joy to the lives of others?

I don’t know how a man’s meant to mourn, Aremu thought, and he ached in a place he could not name, or perhaps it was only that he did not wish to.

But mostly he was sorry because there was no choice, here, but to tell the girl. He was sorry for her loss, too, and the pain he thought his words might cause; he knew something now of the way the Sister Kingdoms mourned. He was sorry Uzoji could not tell her himself that he thought of her as a friend; he was sorry she had lingered in silence so long, her note unanswered. He did not move, in the wake of it; he held still and silent, his hand just barely extended between them, a soft, sorrowful frown on his face.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

At her flood of questions, the stranger winced. Well he should, too--Aurelie really had been far too loud, even she could agree. His glance around made her think he was nervous, uncomfortable to be here. Either with her or just on campus, she didn't know. Either was possible. Aurelie wondered if she would ever come here, if she were--if she were herself, but born elsewhere...? What, she wondered, was that like? But if anyone came to investigate the sound of her voice... The person in danger here was just her. Wasn't it?

He bowed and introduced himself. Aurelie scrabbled to return the gesture, or at least some jerky facsimile. Aremu Ediwo. She turned the name over in her mind. From Thul Ka. So she had been right about that much. That hadn't been what she meant, of course, but after a moment he answered the question as she had meant to ask it. Her eyes followed the line of his hand to the tree behind him. Aurelie frowned. Climbing trees, she thought. Climbing trees and--and he came down, when she appeared, though she hadn't seen him before then. So--waiting for her, but... But out of sight. The frown didn't leave her face, or the confusion.

"On behalf of Uzoji Ibutatu", Aremu said. On behalf of. Something clicked into place in her memory then, at last. That's right, Uzoji had said--their last conversation, he'd mentioned a friend. Who had gone to the university at Thul Amat, to study... to study... Aurelie couldn't remember. At the time, she had thought only of the uneven weight of curses. Why the friend, she wondered, why would he have come here. Even before Aremu spoke again, there was a sense of foreboding in her. She didn't think it was a small thing, for Aremu to have come. She didn't know if she could have, if she ever left. If she had never been here at all.

"Oh," was all she said at first. Just the one syllable, quiet and even. She repeated it without moving from where she stood. Intas. So close to--not so far after they last spoke, and not so long before her parents. A long time ago, now. Aurelie glanced at his hand for want of anything better to focus on.

"You're the friend. He-- Mr. Ibutatu had-- I see. Ah." Aurelie was used to sorrow, but not to grief. Was she allowed to feel that? They weren't friends, precisely. Maybe they could have been, given some time. Or maybe they had been; what did she know? Nothing. Nothing at all. Not what happened outside of high red walls, certainly. Unless someone chose to come and tell her. Visitors, she thought, only come with bad news.

Was she meant to take the hand extended to her? Aurelie wasn't sure. She thought so; it seemed like something one should do. Reach out and--and what? Aurelie didn't know, after all. She kept her eyes on it instead. Scarred and callused, but in a different way than her own. Similar, almost, she thought. An accidental knick or burn, maybe. Not an academic--an engineer, she remembered, at once. An engineer on an airship, that was what he'd... Aurelie looked up, then. Tears, she thought, were a little easier than they had been. If that was good or bad, she didn't know. Embarrassing, at the least, to have a few escape in front of a stranger. Aurelie's right hand lifted, but she caught it with her left in the end, fingers twisting together.

"Do you--I need to--I should sit down. I... Thank you for... I'm sorry, too." Sorrier, even. Best friend, Uzoji had said. And he'd come all this way, to this place she couldn't imagine any scrap setting foot in if they had any alternative, just to tell her that Uzoji Ibutatu had died.

Aurelie moved away to sit on the bench. It was cold, and wet besides. Morning dew and maybe an overnight rain, with no chance for sun to drive it off. The back of her skirt would be damp. Aurelie couldn't think as to care much.

"Mr. Ibutatu had--he'd mentioned you. I think it was you, at least. Last we spoke." When I lost my temper, said too much. Aurelie's voice was a little dreamy, a little far away. Steady enough, but then... It had been a long time. "Thank you, again, I... I would never have--you didn't have to come all this way. But I'm--I'm grateful." Maybe she would crumble more, later. Friends had never been in great supply for her, and now there was one less. Because--because they were friends, Aurelie decided fiercely. Even if just to her. She didn't think as she would ever really know, now. Aurelie squeezed her eyes shut, clamped her hands together. If she could press hard enough, she could stop herself from crying. Just a little harder and she would stop.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Aremu saw the understanding dawn, slowly across her face, heard the quiet oh as she breathed it out. The number of people he had told in person, aloud, were not so many, really. Niccolette had not needed telling; they had learned it together, the two of them, standing outside the plantation house and looking up into the sky overhead.

Ahura, he had told. He had seen it break over her face too, like a wave; swelling and cresting, and when it crumpled she had too, and she had cried against him.

He had written letters; he had sent the news to to Laus Oma, to Thul Ka, to the Rose. He had not had to be there, to watch, when they were opened. He was glad of it; he did not wish to think of Rayowa’s face when she read the news of her son’s death. He had seen some soon enough afterwards; Chibugo, their shipmate for seven years, still and numb then, and still numbing himself now.

Oh, Miss Steerpike said. She fumbled through several partial sentences, quiet, hard for him to understand. She sat, wringing her hands together, on the damp bench. Aremu held behind the bench for a long moment, frowning faintly. Perhaps by now he should have known what to say; he found he did not. Grief seemed to him so individual, so strange; despite how much he knew of Niccolette’s, what he had learned of how Bastians and Anaxi felt their grief, he did not dare to take it to Miss Steerpike. He did not want to impose, to put structure on what she felt, to try and make sense of it in his own mind.

In time, in the silence, she spoke again. Aremu came around the bench then, and sat carefully on her right; he kept his right wrist against his pocket, and his left hand settled on his leg. He nodded, quietly, looking at her. He accepted her thanks; he had not done it for her, the coming, but he did not mind her gratitude. He would not reject it. She was clenching her hands together, trembling; tears were prickling at the edges of her eyes.

Aremu thought it best to give her time, but he was achingly, pricklingly aware that perhaps they did not have it. He looked at her; he was frowning, still. He thought he knew what this would do to her; he did not know what else to do.

“He left these for you,” Aremu said, quietly. He reached into the pocket of the coat, over the right side of his chest; he took a small envelope from the pocket there. He settled it on his leg; he eased the clippings from it, and hesitated, not quite knowing how to pass them to her; the bench was damp, still. Hesitant, still, he extended them through the air towards her.

“I am not sure -“ Aremu hesitated again. “They are rather delayed,” he said, looking down for a moment at the slightly yellowed paper. They were all from the fall and winter before; Aremu had looked through them. One, he knew, was from only two days before - he would not burden Miss Steerpike with such things. “If he could have, he would have brought them to you sooner,” Aremu swallowed, although his voice was even through the words.

This is something I could finish for him, he wanted to say; he tasted something in his throat, somewhere between eagerness and regret. I am sorry to cause you pain; I hope it is not worse to know than not to know. I don’t know myself when ignorance is worse than knowledge; I am sorry not to have given you a choice between them.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie was a little guilty, sitting there with her eyes closed and her hands clasped together. Aremu had come to sit next to her on the bench after a time. She wouldn't have wanted to burden him with her emotions if she could have helped it. He was, after all, a stranger to her--a friend of a friend who was only just barely so. She just couldn't stop herself, and he hadn't left, so there they both were for now. It's wet, she wanted to warn, but his coat probably did more to ward off the water and the cold bite of the peeling metal than her skirts. She couldn't trust her voice now anyway.

When he spoke, she opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly as she turned her head. In the space between them he held out-- Aurelie laughed, a sound with no joy in it. Terse and short. Another tear or two escaped her eyes; Aurelie scrubbed them off. Newspaper clippings, and Aremu Ediwo had brought them all the way here to her.

I don't need them anymore, she wanted to say, fiercely. I don't need them, because my sister is here. And I won't tell her about this, because I don't know how. She wanted them, though, so she reached out a hand and took them. Not to read, but now they were something else. Aurelie wasn't sure what she'd do with these ones. All the others she had read and destroyed, but those she had wanted for the words. What was she going to do when all she wanted was the sentiment? Rather delayed indeed. Aurelie shook her head and carefully put them in her pocket.

"No, they're-- not too late. Maybe. It's not like I need--hmm. Thank you. And--I'm sorry, again." Aurelie hesitated, looking at Aremu. She hadn't gotten good at speaking to people about things that mattered, but she had perhaps gotten a little better. "I can only imagine... We barely knew each other, and I am... I am sorry to hear... It must be..." Aurelie trailed off, uncertainty in her voice. She had only gotten a little better, really.

"You must have been-- you must have been very close, to... I could not have come here, I think. If I were you. Er. I mean to say--" Aurelie gestured helplessly at her skirt. She thought--maybe he would understand. Things were different in Mugroba, she knew. And it had taken her a long time to realize that she wanted things to be different here, too, but she did. To be able, at least, to know the changing of the world. On some level.

What she said was rude, maybe. Maybe it was easier if you knew you could leave--maybe it meant nothing at all, if you were never here to start with. Maybe this man, this Aremu Ediwo, could come and go from Brunnhold as he pleased and think on it not at all. Aurelie certainly had never thought about it until it was too late. She didn't think so though, from the careful way he kept looking around. He'd been hiding in a tree, for--for what? From what? What happened to passives not subject to the laws of Anaxas, when they found themselves here? What happened, she wondered, to broken children who didn't get marked and sent here? She had never heard what it was that Uzoji thought they lacked. Absurdly, Aurelie wanted to ask, though this was hardly the time.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Miss Steerpike took the clippings from him. Aremu exhaled, softly, feeling it like a weight; as if those bits of paper were much heavier than he had known, as if they weighed him down. He eased his hand back to his lap; he shifted back against the back of the bench. She had cried, but only a little more.

He was not quite sure what to make of the tangle of words that came from her. “Thank you,” Aremu said, quietly, in the Anaxi style, to her apologies. He understood; he would not push back or attempt to explain what was appropriate in Mugroba. It was scarcely worth it, and he had long since learned to adjust. He understood what it was she meant to say; he could translate it well enough.

She said he must have been very close to Uzoji; she said she did not think she could have come here, if she were him. Aremu’s eyes dropped with the gesture to her skirts; he frowned a little more.

“I did not think I could,” Aremu said, simply, honestly. He looked down at his lap, at the single hand that rested there, and then up to the screen of leaves overhead, green brushed with bits of yellow. It was not over yet, something inside him whispered, but he breathed through the fear, through the tension that prickled at the back of his neck.

I am sorry, he wanted to say, absurdly. That she thought he should be afraid of it - it said a good deal. There was a wealth of implication there, a world’s worth of it, stifled up and bound into a sentence. Confined by high, rounded walls; trapped on this campus. Did you always feel this way? He wanted to ask, although he knew it was not appropriate, although he knew it was not the time. Did you always know it was wrong?

Did you feel this way when Uzoji told you of Mugroba? Of me? Or did it grow since then, from then? From what he told me of the last time you saw each other - I think, perhaps - Aremu did not know. He could not see into the girl’s heart, and he was glad of it; let her keep that to herself, as all should. But he wondered, all the same. Did Uzoji set you on this path, or even nudge you towards it? And if so - did he do you any favors by it?

“We were very close,” Aremu said, quietly. He frowned a little, looking down at the hand on his lap. “As much as one man can be to another, I think,” Aremu said, thoughtfully. “When two people are close enough - or so it seems to me - there is a bridge that builds between them, because otherwise the weight of obligation would topple them both.”

“I think -“ Aremu glanced at Miss Steerpike, and he found a faint smile. “For myself, I could not have done it. For him - I am here.”

He was not sure why he had said so much, at first, and then he was. It was not only the clippings he had wished to give her, Aremu thought. It was Uzoji’s regard. He wanted her to know something of what it meant. He did not wish to think this a trifle to him, an errand to be dispatched; he wanted her to know that it had mattered to Uzoji, mattered enough that Aremu had made his will real from beyond the grave.

One more time, my brother, Aremu thought. Something settled in his chest; something eased. You always had a way of making the impossible real. I think you would laugh to know you still could.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

A bridge. Aurelie frowned just so, thinking about it. A bridge, and the weight of obligation. Aurelie turned the thought over in her mind. She wasn't sure she quite understood, and it made her feel a little stupid.

"I don't, ah, know if I understand, er, what that means." Aurelie hadn't meant to admit it, but there it was. She laughed a little and shrugged, trying to play it off. If she couldn't follow--well. Nobody had ever expected much of her in that department before, so why start now? But she got enough of it, the parts that were important. Maybe.

She was more certain of it when he glanced at her and smiled, just a little. Not for himself, but he'd come. As if--as if it would have mattered to Mr. Ibutatu at all, that Aurelie would get this last gift. She couldn't help but be touched by it. Friends after all, then. For a moment she sat there and tried to understand. Then, she spoke again:

"You know, I don't even know--I don't think we're... supposed to have visitors. And you're, ah. The second one this year come to tell me--uh. Well. To deliver--similar. Sorts of news." It had seemed funnier, when she'd thought about it. A sort of morbidly amusing coincidence, that she'd gone ten years with no visitors at all and suddenly twice in one year outsiders had come like ravens, to tell her someone had died. Not that it was the same, to hear about her parents and to hear about Mr. Ibutatu, but--well. She had last seen her parents as a child and Mr. Ibutatu only this past year. So not too wildly dissimilar, either.

"I'm sorry that, er--that wasn't. Appropriate of me to... Sorry. I was just thinking--I could have. I could have apologized, for, er... Apologize and said... there's no need to bring these to me, now. Ah. They're--I don't know if...? They're all about my sister and she's--" Aurelie paused, looking somewhere in the region of her knees. She was being unfair, talking too much to someone she didn't know. But the knowledge that she could talk and he would leave was almost a comfort. It didn't matter what she said, or didn't say, because this obligation had been seen through and they'd never meet again. "Here," Aurelie finished lamely.

"Aurelie. Er. That is--my name, if. I don't. I didn't say, before. Well I suppose Steerpike is also... but. Aurelie." After saying this she stood, self-conscious. It had seemed important to give her name, at the time, but once she had done so she didn't know why. Something about speaking of her sister had put in her mind of it. Funny, when her sister had been far from her Aurelie had clung to the Steerpike name as a fierce reminder that she was someone, from somewhere. Now her sister was here and she found it sitting heavy in her mouth.