[Closed] Walls I Cannot Climb

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

S

he had laughed.

How did he manage it so often? It was wonderful every time; he did not think he could ever tire of it. And the novelty of it – of making someone laugh, though particularly her – was strangely exciting, even if he did not mean to. Though this time, he had, or thought he had, at any rate. He was always at least a bit serious; he could not seem to help it.

Morandi reflected that he had rather spent his life ensuring that nobody laughed at him. Ordinarily, he would have been incensed. So why was it that when she –

Almost as serious as… Ah.

He had caught it, before – well. Somehow it made her concern, when she spoke again, all the more puzzling. That, he knew less well what to do with even than the laughter. Much less. It made the prickling in his cheeks even warmer, and he was grateful that her attention was on the stove as he sat.

A part of him felt guilty, and a part of him felt offended that she had nearly made light of the charges. And a part of him was achingly grateful that she could make light; he remembered his bewilderment – where is the detainee, raw in his throat – her laughter…

It was all mixed up.

“I –” Would he let her know? He paused. It would not get any worse, he told himself with sharp emphasis. There would be nothing to tell. It was ever-present, anyway, and had been since nearly a year out of Numbrey. It never went away, save when he casted. The sharpness of it would ease off, but it would never truly go away. Save when he –

What opportunity would he have to cast… here? He felt a sudden pit in his stomach, as if he were on the verge of knowing something he did not want to know.

But Aurelie had stopped, and wound on a little more uncertainly. He felt a pang. “I shall,” he said, uncertain himself, as she turned away from the stove, hobbling back to the table with each bowl at a time. “Tell you. If it worsens. But I assure you, it is quite normal. Quite,” he insisted, so that she should especially have no reason to think otherwise.

Fool that he was.

He watched her, his jaw set, his brow drawn severely together. He thought more than once to rise and help her, but he thought too of what she had said of being a host. He did not wish to insult her. Only, he thought that a servant ought to be doing this, and in lieu of that, certainly not – not a young lady.

Still – “Ah, thank you,” he said, momentarily overwhelmed by the sight – and smell – of the porridge. She had made him a substantial bowl, he realized with another prickle of warmth in his cheeks, remembering the night before.

He was about to wave off the offer of more when his stomach lurched and let out another growl.

The pointed hem of her skirt swished about her ankles as she brought the tea. “Ah –” He tutted, looking up. She was – rather hovering. “I do – take sugar in my tea,” he admitted, oddly embarrassed. Did she still remember how much of a sweet tooth he had had back then?

His cheeks were very warm.

“You shall most certainly not go downstairs,” he added sharply, frowning. “Not only on – my account. I mean to say – I – ah – sit, please, Aurelie.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Desiderio had started, Aurelie was fairly certain, to protest. Unfortunately, she knew herself well enough to know she would insist, so she was glad that he had agreed to tell her after a pause. She didn't like to argue, but she was very firm on this point. It mattered to her that he was well, even if it had nothing to do with the events of the last few days.

"Good. Thank you." Her tone was slightly brisk and firmly practical; she appreciated that he had agreed, even if just to soothe her anxious mother-henning. Desiderio insisted the headache was normal; she didn't like that either, but there was nothing she could do on that front. At least he would tell her if it got any worse, and that was something. Perhaps breakfast would ease some of it off; she could hope so.

He stared at the porridge—at her—as if he couldn't understand what he was looking at. The food was probably different than what he was used to, but Aurelie didn't think it was so far off as to be worth the look he seemed to be giving it. Was it enough? She couldn't help but worry—it was assuredly less, and simpler, than what he normally had. Aurelie wouldn't have served this by itself for the students, certainly.

No, she thought reluctantly, the look was likely for her, not the breakfast. Had she done something odd? Pushed too hard? She had thought—she remembered, suddenly, that he had always liked sweet things. She ought to have remembered sooner, and fetched the sugar down. Maybe that was it. He sounded uncomfortable having to say it.

"Oh, good. I wasn't sure if—" Aurelie looked down, feeling strangely shy. About tea. Circle preserve! She was losing her mind. "I wasn't sure if your tastes had changed," she finished gently, still not sitting. She leaned against the table to take some of the weight off of her ankle.

Or maybe it wasn't any of that at all. Aurelie opened her mouth, a crease between her eyebrows—this was her job, wasn't it? She shut it again, slowly and reluctantly. It was not, in fact, her job at all. She merely liked fussing over him. Bells and chimes.

"All right," she agreed with an embarrassed smile. "The, ah—the sugar is just there, on the counter. In the little jar. If you'd like. If you... If there's anything you want, we can go downstairs... together...?" A compromise, at least, surely? They could both go, and perhaps that would be fine. She didn't want him to think he had to—to hold back, on her account.

She had, after all, already caused him enough trouble, simply by reappearing in his life. These small things were the least she could do.

Aurelie did sit though, carefully and with a little sigh. It was tiring to walk on only one of her legs, as it turned out. She prided herself on her sturdiness, but even she had limits. This was evidently one of them. Breakfast and hot tea would do her good, and then... Well, and then she didn't quite know what they would do. The whole day was before them, and all she really knew was that they would spend it together.

She was enjoying herself, she realized. There was just something pleasant about all of this—warming breakfast, making tea, fussing over Desiderio. Watching him feed Shadow, and thinking about the day they had ahead of them. A day for the two of them to spend doing whatever they should like (within limits, of course), such as she hadn't had... Well, since she saw him last. It was all so... nice. Fun. A gentle kind of warmth spread through her, looking at him across the sunny little kitchen. Outside, she heard the cry of a gull and the sounds of the city.

"Ah, let me know how... how it all is. I know it's not—" Aurelie stopped herself. She wouldn't insult Cass' home that way. "I think it's good," she said instead, "but I can, ah... Perhaps we can make changes to suit, if..." There was a hopeful little smile at the corners of her mouth.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

H

e had thought she might protest, at first. He had the strangest urge to bark, That is an order. (Was he the superior officer here? He felt distinctly lost in this chain of command.) He was not sure what he would have done after all if she had refused. But there was a slight embarrassed flush in her cheeks when she relented, and he felt almost sorry. He cleared his throat when he stood, going to find the sugar.

“Quite so,” he agreed matter-of-factly. Together, at the very least. He did not watch her, but he was keenly aware of her in the corner of his eye; and he felt a little tension he had not known he was holding relax when she sat finally with a sigh.

It was only a sprain, he told himself; it was hardly as if she could not handle herself. But it was more the principle of the thing.

“We shall have to go downstairs together soon enough, regardless, I dare say,” he went on, no less terse and businesslike. He crossed to the table again with the sugar, seating himself and looking at pup, still engaged grotesquely with his own breakfast. “And wrangle pup downstairs,” he added, with a deeper, more thoughtful frown, running a hand along his jaw.

He turned back to Aurelie, hesitating. He nearly asked – but she had said she liked her tea plain. He could not remember how she had liked it before, if at all; he remembered the tea parties, but…

He frowned, spooning a little sugar into his own cup. Only a little; he felt oddly self-conscious. She had remembered after all, he thought, more than a little embarrassed. Inspector Morandi’s alarming sweet tooth was something of a rumor among the investigative division –

She was looking at him in some sort of manner, as he picked up the spoon.

She was smiling, which he thought was – good, again. There was something else in the smile he was not altogether sure about. He felt as if he had turned away and missed something he ought to have caught.

Perhaps he was meant to smile back; he wanted to, if his face had not felt as if it were made of stone. He would have smiled just at the sight: even in the shaded kitchen, the light from the window caught on one of her irises, and it blazed the loveliest emerald green.

With the bowl of porridge in front of him and pup in the corner of his eye, he felt for a moment as if he were in a painting. In one of those paintings of country life, perhaps, that were so popular these days in Florne. With nothing to give it context – just the breeze rustling through the wispy red hair that framed her cheeks, a little red, and the stove behind her with the pot still giving off steam.

It would have made an arresting painting, from where he sat. Who was she looking at? they would ask. Someone across the table, someone indistinct.

When she spoke, he blinked. “Oh.” To suit – he looked down abruptly at the bowl, shifting a little of the thick porridge with the spoon.

He had been trying rather hard not to think of how it all was. He looked back up at her, suddenly quite aware of the breeze on his collarbones.

“It – ah. Hmph.” He cleared his throat. “The – it smells – very good. I –” It was true that ordinarily he had a meticulously-balanced diet and exercise routine. But he did have plenty of room, and, if strange, this porridge certainly smelled more appetizing than what was served in the mess. And there were heavy bags of flour which would suffice for…

I am an officer of the Seventen, he thought to say brusquely. I do not whinge about unideal conditions, especially not in the short term.

In the short –

“I do not wish to be, as we say in Bastia, a – a wolf with two mouths that – the phrase does not translate so well. A poor guest in terms of my appetite.” Circle damn him, he could feel the heat in his ears now. “Given her own – physical inclinations, Miss Elwes… Well. I am quite certain that I can draw up for myself a new diet and exercise –”

That was not, he had a distinct feeling, what Aurelie was asking about, and so he felt suddenly as if he were holding a shovel and standing in a large and entirely unnecessary hole.

“If I will not – ah – be in the way, I may push the sofa back to clear a little room to do my exercises after breakfast,” he went on, helpless.

He shoved a bite of porridge in his mouth rather than go on. It was very hot, still; he blinked at a prickling in his eyes.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Desiderio was right. They would have to go downstairs together soon enough, and take Shadow with them. She thought briefly to point out that if they were trying to get Shadow to his bath it would make doing anything else rather difficult, but decided against it. Aurelie had already agreed they could, as needed, go to the kitchen together, and Desiderio didn't seem to want anything else at the present moment anyway.

"That's true..." Aurelie trailed off thoughtfully, looking down at Shadow. In the morning light, she could see what a mess he was. Better, she was sure, than he had been the day before. But he had clearly been alone a long time, with no one to look after him properly. Not even others of his kind, she thought with twinge. Poor, sweet boy. He seemed happy now, sloppily eating his breakfast. He was such a handsome boy, even as unwashed and in need of care as he was.

Next time (and there would be one, wouldn't there? Tomorrow, certainly, and however many tomorrows they had after that—) Aurelie would remember the sugar. And perhaps she would ask Cass if they could have a little milk or cream upstairs, just in case. She did not altogether trust that Desiderio didn't want any, so much as he didn't want her to go downstairs to get it. She just wanted... She wanted him to be comfortable, as much as he was able.

Did he remember how she had taken her tea, as a child? With more sugar than he'd put in now, and plenty of milk—truthfully, she had found it terribly bitter. Ana had teased her once, telling her it was more sugar milk than tea; Aurelie had been terribly upset. It was funny, the sorts of things that upset her then.

(She ought to tell him, about Ana. Not about... She didn't see any point in telling him that, just that she had been in contact with her of late. She felt oddly reluctant to bring mention of her sister into this moment. Later—after breakfast, and Shadow, and... Later.)

Was he being polite? Aurelie did hope not. Perhaps she had put him on the spot by asking. Would it have been better or worse to say that it was Cass' cooking and not her own? No, that was silly. Why would that make a difference? Aurelie couldn't help but watch expectantly, although she was trying not to stare. He had not yet tried it. Aurelie held off on eating herself, waiting.

Oh, bells and chimes! She had put him on the spot. He seemed... Actually, this was the most flustered she thought she'd ever seen him. Not that she had seen him much in circumstances where he would be. Aurelie had a flash of the man who had stood in her cell at Graywatch, the air hot with his anger. To look at him now, in his borrowed shirt with a collar that hung open just enough to be slightly distracting, she simply... Aurelie couldn't figure out how they fit together, and which one to think of as the more real of the two.

"N-No, please, don't worry about... There is plenty. As for after breakfast... You wouldn't be in the way," she assured him, blinking. The smile wouldn't leave her face. "I was, ah, just going to do some sewing at the table, I think." His exercises? The only people Aurelie had ever known to take exercise deliberately were Cass and Aremu. (There was neither the need nor the time among the Brunnhold staff, as far as Aurelie had experienced.)

She had a sudden, distressing image of Desiderio needing, also, to take his shirt off for the purpose. Aremu always put one back on, but she knew he... But Desiderio? Surely not. Not... not here, with... But it wasn't like she counted as a young lady of any kind, she thought with increasing unease, so he very well might... Might... Gracious Lady!

Eat, she instructed herself. Just eat. Desiderio had started to, at least, and she could press him for his opinion later. It was astonishing that she had the energy for such nonsense before she'd eaten anything, really.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

M

orandi had most certainly burned his tongue.

He nodded once, quite solemn and serious, at her resolution to do sewing at the table. She was smiling; it was a proper, pleasant smile, and there was nothing which he could read in it. Yes – well. That was more or less what he had expected. Breakfast, and then he would take his exercise and she would sew, and then they would take pup downstairs as discreetly as possible and bath him.

And then? Just last night, they had promised to spend the day together any way they could. In the evening, delirious and with his eyes aching, and with the soft oil lamp blurring hard edges soft – with his hands in hers, and nothing really to think of but the circle of light and the table – it had been easy to make that promise.

Now, there was – everything else. He felt almost as if he needed to have a plan for not only today, but also for tomorrow, the day after, the coming week: he felt he needed to plan out every inch of it, divide every second, to leave no room for…

For what they had resolved, last night, to do.

It was quiet for a while, save the sounds of their eating and Shadow’s. He slowed down after a moment; there was no sense in burning himself further. She had asked him how the porridge was, and he was scarcely tasting it at all.

She was no longer watching him so expectantly. It was a weight off of him, on the one hand; he was not at all certain what to do with that expectant look. But he felt – not sad – it was certainly not as if he missed it – he was wholly unsure what he felt. If he let himself ignore everything else, it had almost been like when they were children: her watching him, green eyes intent, as he sampled misshapen thumbprint cookies.

He took a sip of tea. Then, with brisk, deliberate motions, not looking at her, he put a few more spoons of sugar in after all. Rather enough to be embarrassing in company. But when he took another sip, it was perfectly sweet enough to offset the bitterness.

He picked up the spoon again, frowning. “Did you make it?” He sounded to himself like a knife cutting into the soft, sunlit quiet. He cleared his throat, which only added to the impression. No, he did not very well suit this painting.

He took another bite, now that the porridge had cooled somewhat.

“The porridge. I only mean to say that it is – I –” I like it; was that so difficult to say? In lieu of, It is quite sufficient, which had nearly come out of his mouth. “It is very good,” he said, “and very filling. Though it is somewhat different from…”

Very human. Looking over Aurelie, sitting here quite unquestionably in the emptiness around her, the lovely red locks of her hair cut short – in a way that suited her face very well as it was now, though he knew he should not have approved – the tips hanging just above the collar of her very human blouse... After she, a young lady, had heated up porridge for him, and then offered to make changes as if that were – her – even if she were the mistress of this household – it was not as if he took issue with her love of cooking, but all of this...

He glanced down at the cuff of Elwes’ shirt, hanging loose around his wrist. “I apologize. I am somewhat out of my element,” he said as matter-of-factly as he could, looking back up. “This is all quite different from what I am accustomed to.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Desiderio must have had a less sensitive mouth than she did. He had, after all, taken a bite rather directly without waiting for it to cool. Aurelie had given it some time, and she still blew gently on her first spoonful before she took a bite. The warmth spread through her mouth and belly and down into her bones rather quickly; she always felt a little more stable after eating something. Now that Desiderio was eating, she could apply herself to it properly, with her habitual thoughtful diligence. The quiet sounds of breakfast being eaten—or not so quiet, if one included Shadow, who was making the affair of getting the last scraps off the side a true symphony of unpleasant sounds—were oddly restful.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost... Forget, a little, that this was only temporary. That she was what she was, and that after a short while (how short? days? weeks?) Desiderio would leave again. Back to his life, where they were strangers. Perhaps he would write to her, if she asked. The possibility seemed rather remote. More so when she let herself think about his field, hanging in the air between them, and all that it meant.

It was a silly daydream to have, anyway. Best to be grateful for the time they had, however long that was, and not to worry about anything which was not yet in front of her. Or dream of anything so far out of her reach, either.

Besides, she didn't even know how they would fill today. After they'd bathed Shadow, and he'd... taken his exercise (she was not thinking about that yet, either), what then? Aurelie had not, even after all this time, become accustomed to an unstructured day. On Dzum, she'd managed to find chores to do—even her leisure time she had scheduled rather strictly. Here, she had the bakery to keep her busy most of the day, and when it was closed there were plenty of errands to run. To simply take the day as it came was a strangely daunting prospect, one she was glad not to be facing alone.

Desiderio's voice shook her out of her daydreaming; Aurelie paused in her eating. She wiped her mouth carefully with a cloth napkin before answering. "Ah, no—Cass made it," she responded, pleased to hear that it was good at all. It was different, in all these subtle ways that had surprised her at first. This spice where that one might have been used instead, the use of barley here where she might have used oats.

Desiderio was looking at her now with an expression she couldn't read. Did she seem to be playacting, with this food and these clothes? She felt as if she was, and it was unsettling. Necessary—anything she could do to diminish the obviousness of what she must be. But she was keenly, strangely aware of the true absence in the air around Cass, around the customers of the bakery, most of the children. Sometimes Aurelie wished she had never set foot in the lab, and that she didn't know the nexus existed just like everyone else. Perhaps then she wouldn't feel so constantly out of place.

"I am too," she confessed without thinking. Only to feel very silly the moment it left her mouth. That was different. What was she doing, comparing her—her silly homesickness for a place she couldn't picture, with...? She flushed a little more, taking a strand of hair and wrapping it around her finger. "N-Not that... I live here, obviously, and it's different. Uhm. I only meant... I haven't been here very long, and... It's all right. You don't have to... apologize."

He was going to think her simple, if he didn't already. She tried to think of something better to say and failed. She took a long sip of her tea, letting the heat of it fill her mouth and her mind so nothing else stupid came out of either.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

M

uch like the stew, then. Which had been good, too, and filling, in all the same ways. Elwes was a good cook as well as a good baker.

He was not disappointed, exactly, that it had not been Aurelie. Was he? Had he wanted to think he was trying her cooking?

He was not sure if the curiosity was morbid. H e was not sure of anything now, here. She had said that she liked cooking more than a few times yesterday, and even that it had not all been – terrible, in the kitchens at… Brunnhold. More than a few times he had tried to picture it. The girl he had known once, he could not; or perhaps it was that the attempt was painful, tangled up in too many memories he had tried to push down forever.

But Aurelie as she was now? With that voice that was surprisingly powerful, and occasionally surprisingly sharp? With her hands, small but callused and agile, and with the marks of years of slipped knives and the edges of white-hot pans – he could imagine it whether he liked to or not; he had been imagining it since last night, as if his hands still tingled where they had held hers, as if the map of her hands were still printed on his. It was not a sad sort of tingling, or an altogether sad sort of imagining.

Should he have been more sad, more disapproving, than curious? This was not Brunnhold’s kitchens; sitting opposite him in a crisp, clean embroidered dress, she looked – happy, or something approaching it.

If out of place, in more ways than he could even count. Not out of place. Where did he expect to place her? Should she have been wearing – ghastly blue? Then where? Briarwood Hall? In a high-collared silk dress –

I live here, obviously, and it’s different.

Forever? he wanted to ask. What of your – sister, he remembered suddenly, whom he had not seen since Anastou, and seldom even then, but – surely – and what of –

She was coiling a lock of red hair around her finger, and his eyes followed it for a moment, mesmerized; her cheek almost matched it in color, her freckles blurring together with the blush. He glanced away, self-conscious.

“Not so different,” Morandi replied deliberately, frowning, “I should… think. Not that –” He cleared his throat. He certainly did not wish to make light of…

(I haven’t been here very long, and… Where have you been? the Inspector wondered, glancing down at the bracelet on her wrist.)

“I have wondered – how – what it has been like, to live among… mankind. You said the people here have been kind.” His brow knit, as if he did not quite believe it. He was not sure how much he could say, even with Elwes downstairs. How did Aurelie feel about - all of it? Human floriography, he remembered her saying from the night before. She had spent... time among them, now. “But it must be strange, all the same. It is strange to see you dressed so.”

He broke off, blinking and stiffening.

“Not… It suits you, I mean to say. The dress is very fine. The green compliments your eyes well.” His voice was as sharp and harsh as ever, and he was frowning severely.

Wide-eyed for a moment, he felt as if he were peering up out of an even deeper hole. That was certainly not what he had meant to say.

He applied himself rather insistently to his porridge.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Tomorrow, she thought idly, or perhaps even tonight if she could manage, Aurelie wanted to make dinner. She didn't always. Not even often, though she thought of offering to do so every night. Cass was, after all, perfectly capable as a cook. Good, even—Aurelie would never imply otherwise, which is surely what she'd do by offering to make meals herself. Once or twice, she'd managed to frame it as a surprise. She had been trying to when...

But this wasn't her flat; Aurelie only lived here. The arrangement was too new and too fragile in her heart for her to offer with any firmness. Suppose it should be more of an imposition than an assistance, or even a pleasure? Aurelie liked to help, but help that wasn't wanted was hardly help at all.

The desire now didn't come from a need to be useful. Nothing so sensible or lofty as that. Aurelie merely wanted to make something she hoped Desiderio (and Cass, too) would enjoy. Showing off, she thought with mild despair at her own foolishness. As if it was something he would be impressed by. Ana would have been horrified by the offer.

Aurelie thought about it anyway, and quietly resolved to ask. If she spent her own wages on it, that would be all right—someone would just need to come with her while she did the shopping. For more reasons than just her ankle.

Desiderio's tone was just-so, frowning as he replied to her nonsense. What had it been like? Aurelie caught the way his brows knit together, like he couldn't believe that the people she had met had largely been kind. Aurelie frowned a little herself, but waited for him to finish speaking before saying anything.

They had been, by and large—or at least not... Not cruel. Wary, maybe, which she could understand. Her sample size was small—a few of the local vendors, customers who came into the shop when she was working at the counter and not in the back, that sort of thing. Aurelie certainly hadn't made... friends, or anything so... But that was a flaw in her nature, not any strike against the people she had met.

(Informant, she remembered again with an unpleasant twist in her heart. Had they been kind to her, too, when she had seen them? Was it someone she knew? Aurelie found she didn't want the answers. It only made her sad, and lonely.)

It is strange to see you dressed so.

Desiderio broke off; Aurelie felt herself stiffen. She set her cup down with a mechanical jerk of her arm (but quiet, always quiet, like she'd been trained). Of course it was; she had never worn anything much like this, not at Briarwood and certainly not at Brunnhold. (She thought of Ana, and the dress in her trunk. Plucking despairingly at the fabric of Aurelie's uniform, at her hair—)

Aurelie liked the dress; she liked the care that had gone into making it, and the cut of it was pleasing if unfamiliar. That didn't mean she was so stupid to think it flattered her, or even looked... Bells and chimes, she shouldn't be so struck by this. Did she want him to think she looked nice? Why? It was such a pointless thing to want.

"O-Oh." The rest of it, delivered with no more softness than anything Desiderio ever said, confused her even more. Shame and elation battled for dominance. Desiderio looked shocked that he had spoken; Aurelie felt rather the same. "T-Thank you, er. It is a... a fine dress. Er. I think. I like it," she finished, feeling faintly desperate.

It was only the dress, she scolded herself; to take it as a compliment about... about anything else was... She wouldn't do that. That could not possibly be how he meant it. Aurelie looked at him across the table as he resumed eating. "It's odd to see you in— W-Well, that's one of... Cass'... Isn't it? Er. I just mean... I've really only seen you in uniform, since..." What was she saying? Aurelie felt perched on the edge of disaster.

"It's different," she finished meekly, looking down. She wasn't entirely certain she'd pulled herself away with any success.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

I

like it too, he wanted to say, feeling helpless. Fortunately, there was a bite of porridge in his mouth, and another to follow it, and so he had no chance. He had wondered if he had insulted her at first: she had gone stiff, and the level of the tea in her cup had jumped when she had set it down, and the summery quiet was no longer quite so summery. She had seemed – looked – surprised, and she had stammered out thanks as if…

Her eyes – her eyes – had he really said that?

They had been friends once, and could perhaps be so again, but that level of familiarity was utterly untoward. If she did not think him a cad, then she thought him patronizing. Whatever else she was, and simply because she was dressed like one of them – simply because she looked very nice, dressed the way she was – he could not get any of it straight in his head – she was a respectable young lady of very good breeding; and so it…

He had scarcely gotten another bite to his mouth when she spoke again. He cleared his throat, nearly choking.

“You noticed,” he said, absurdly.

He cleared his throat again, setting the spoon down delicately. He had already eaten most of his bowl; the thought of going for seconds was as daunting as the thought of getting up now and going to take his exercise.

Across from him, Aurelie was looking down at her bowl, the color high in her cheeks. Not halfway through breakfast and he already felt as if they had stumbled and gotten tangled up.

He ran a hand along his jaw again, thinking. Reminded again of his state of disorder by the prickling underneath his fingertips. “Improper, I am afraid,” he agreed after a moment, inclining his head. “For which I apologize. Also for the – rather shocking impropriety of this morning. I assure you that Miss Elwes and I have discussed the matter of my – avoiding notice, and she has sent to a tailor, but…”

Perhaps – perhaps it was good that it had come up, after all. Perhaps it did bear saying something. The insertion of a young man to this situation – he was sleeping in proximity, and no longer in his uniform, he could not pretend – would necessitate changes. More cad was he that he had not brought it up himself, that he had forced her to bring it up first.

“I am not as much of a brute as I must seem. I am aware that – for a young lady and a young man, in proximity – these are unideal arrangements.” He cleared his throat. “I plan at least to wear my uniform sans the sash in the meantime, when I have made myself presentable. I simply – I am afraid I do not know the – well, the protocol for this situation. But I am wholly devoted to propriety, and to your comfort.” He straightened his glasses with one brusque, deliberate motion.

His voice was strong and matter-of-fact, and he felt himself a little more confident. Shadow had waddled his great, fuzzy bulk over to Aurelie again, plopped down at her chair leg, and let out a whine.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

She had been insulting. Aurelie hadn't meant to be, but she very clearly was if Desiderio's response was anything to go by. Her efforts to avoid saying something that would make both of them uncomfortable, something inappropriate like "you look nice in that" or worse, had muddled everything up and made it so much more terrible. What had the insult been? She couldn't decide if it was the part where she had said it was strange, or the part where she had pointed out that he—a young man and an officer of the Seventen—was wearing a human woman's shirt. Both, probably. And more besides.

"I didn't mean to... It isn't a b-bad sort of strange, just... Uhm. Yes. I did." Aurelie couldn't bring herself to look up again, although she did risk looking over to see if she ought to get up to get Desiderio a second helping. He was very nearly done with it, but... She would wait a little longer, to see if he would ask.

After a moment, Desiderio spoke again. Improper—if he knew what was going on in her head, she thought desperately, he would not be apologizing to her. She was the one who was thinking about... Who was... She shook her head mutely, not trusting herself to speak on the subject of propriety with anything approaching eloquence.

The subject of avoiding notice, however... That was perhaps something she could speak on, or at least that she ought to consider. Aurelie hadn't proven terribly good at it herself. Perhaps she ought to... ask. Ask Desiderio for... what they were looking for, if there was anything she could do to...

The thought made her faintly ill, practical as she knew it was. Something in her was still so unwilling to touch all that had happened in the past few days and his confusing role in it. They would have to—eventually. They would have to talk about that, and likely about Ana, and all manner of things that made her stomach tie itself up in knots despite the steadying influence of tea and porridge.

"Ah, that—that is... smart. Sending to a tailor for... Not that you don't look... It would be better," she concluded weakly, "to have something of your own to wear, while you're with... with us." With me. Aurelie had yet to figure out what made a design masculine or feminine, admittedly, but she thought that wearing a woman's shirt was unlikely to make him attract less notice. Desiderio already cut an imposing enough figure, with his bearing and his handsome, distinctive face.

Oh, chimes.

"I'm not a young lady," Aurelie blurted out, shocked, then winced. Her face burned. He was trying to be considerate, and she could only seem to make everything worse. "Er, well, I m-mean, it's just... You don't have to... I appreciate that you..." He said everything so crisply, with such firm confidence; Aurelie felt even more in shambles by contrast. She wasn't the sort of person he had to be considerate towards, that was all. He knew that. He had to know that. She thought of the carriage ride the other day, of that horrible blue dress and of the magister; her throat constricted.

Shadow must have sensed her distress. He had finished his breakfast (remnants of it clung to his face) and at that moment he got up and came over to press himself against her chair, whining softly. Aurelie took the chance to make her escape from the conversation, turning to the bander pup. "What is it, sweet boy?" He looked up at her and then set his head on her lap. Aurelie pet him obligingly. "Have I been ignoring you? I'm sorry darling, you're right."

Aurelie took a breath, sitting up and looking again towards Desiderio. She had finished her breakfast, and Desiderio had made great strides in finishing his own bowl. She needed to get control of herself. Just because she wasn't a young lady of any sort, that didn't mean she had to act like... like some kind of... Some standards must be kept, as much as possible.

"I'm comfortable if you are," she assured him, firmly. Her hands were busy with Shadow; she absently reached for her napkin and gently wiped away some of the mess he'd gotten on his face. He licked her hands happily. "I, ah. I appreciate your... I only want you to be... You're a guest, and... Thank you, Des. I know this isn't where you want to be, given the choice."