[Closed] Walls I Cannot Climb

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

M

orandi was not at all certain what she was winding her way around to; it made him feel a tickle of unease. Not a bad sort of strange? She was being very kind, he supposed. And she was correct, in that something of his own would likely be better than an oversized woman’s shirt.

He looked like a disheveled rake, not at all the sort of gentleman a lady was comfortable spending any time alone with – no matter what was in those ridiculous novels.

I’m not a young lady, she said abruptly, wide-eyed.

He jerked slightly. He could not help it; his spoon rattled against his bowl, and his eyes widened.

He frowned very deeply, then, his brow a disapproving furrow. “Why, I dare say that I do have to –” He broke off.

What could she mean by that? Had she really spent so much time among these coarse people–? (Or before that, with… with whoever it was that… with that mysterious he.)

He stared at her as she went on, never quite finding the end of any of the sentences she began; he realized he was staring and glanced down at his mostly-empty bowl, in time for her to trail off properly. Then she turned to Shadow, whom Morandi could not see but for a great, wiggling rear end, and a thick striped tail that needed grooming.

Shadow was whining. Morandi realized that he had upset her. In the corner of his eye, Aurelie’s head was bent, a few locks of red hair obscuring her face. She spoke gently to pup.

It would have been so easy to cast a reading spell. Would it not have? Any hint. All he would have to do was reach out. It would only be the barest brush against her mind; just a gentle test, like ripples on water.

He curled his fingers in his lap, and then his toes in his stockings. His head ached. What had he been considering?

He met her eye with a sting of guilt. But she was still occupied – now in using her napkin to wipe pup’s face. It made him feel warm and sad all at once.

Why was she thanking him? “I – ah.”

Where he – wanted to be. Where did he want to be? In his office, naturally, he supposed. Or in Vienda, as he had thought all along, planning the… He felt a strange welling dread, thinking about Vienda.

“I was given a choice,” he said, “and I chose of my will. I would not have chosen to be anywhere but here.” Crisp; sharper than he meant. As usual.

He tried unsuccessfully to swallow a lump lodged in his throat. It was getting very large indeed. He cleared his throat. He tried to think of something he could say to make that sound less strange, less harsh; he could think of nothing.

It was not entirely true. He could think of other places he would have liked to be. It was not necessarily a matter of place.

He cleared his throat, looking down. “I am – thank you. For your care, Aurelie. It is simply not done, for a young man and a young lady, both unmarried, to –” He broke off.

Harping stubbornly, and flushing now no less. He was not sure why it would work this time, if it had not worked before.

“You are my friend. I am – this is not – if you are... if you are comfortable. Perhaps I should think less.” His voice was softer, at least. “You say that there is – more?” He began to rise and take his bowl, sheepish, desperate for a change of subject now that the word unmarried was out of his mouth.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Why could she never say anything in the way she wanted to? Or at least, why couldn't she realize how things sounded before she said them? Of course Desiderio had stiffened and jerked when Aurelie had loudly declared herself not a young lady; he had been generous to count her as such, and she made it sound like she... Like... It wasn't even the first time. Aurelie remembered with distinct and burning clarity the time she had said something along similar lines to Niamh.

Aurelie cared a great deal more about how those words sounded to Desiderio than she cared what anything had sounded like to Niamh Madden. It mattered not a whit in terms of her ability to gather her thoughts before she expressed them. The worst part was, she wasn't sure that he was wrong, whatever interpretation he had. Aurelie wouldn't have said it mattered to her, that sort of thing; she couldn't bear the weight of that frown, and had to look away.

Desiderio met her eyes when she looked back up. She was doing her best, truly, to clarify things. To let him know that she... she only meant... She only wanted him to be happy, after a fashion, in the time they had. Whatever else, that he was here in front of her mattered a great deal to her. Hadn't they both said as much last night? (Last night, when it had seemed natural enough to hold out her hands, when the prospect of today had seemed easy.)

A choice, he said; Aurelie wondered if she'd offended him again. That he wouldn't have chosen to be somewhere else was... Aurelie couldn't imagine that was true. The lie of it was oddly sweet, as hard as the delivery was. Aurelie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again and nodded instead.

There was nothing else in her bowl to hide behind. Shadow thumped his tail happily on the floor, his head still in her lap for the moment. She would have to wash her hands soon; he did not have the cleanest of affections. They'd fix that soon, she hoped, at least a bit. There wasn't anything to be done about the licking, but that was very sweet, and she wouldn't dream of wanting him to stop.

The silence was slightly agonizing. Aurelie hadn't the slightest clue what Desiderio was thinking, about her or this place or anything else. She had done nothing to make him more comfortable, she could tell that much. But beyond that? She hadn't a clue. After a moment, he spoke again—Aurelie felt, if anything, she understood less than she had before.

A young man and a young lady, both unmarried.

Aurelie couldn't stop her breath from catching, just a bit. Desiderio, she wanted to say, I will never be married. He knew that, didn't he? Of all people, he should know. Being who he was, and who they had been to each other... Easier, she supposed, for him to forget than for her to. She was a little hurt and a little angry, and all of it was confused at the way his face was turning almost as red as her own.

"On the stove," she replied automatically when he asked. She ought to have gotten up herself, but Shadow's head in her lap held her quite firmly in place. Unmarried warred in her head with friend. Aurelie watched as Desiderio rose, bowl in hand. "Please do... do help yourself," she offered, turning as much as she was able without disturbing Shadow. He took his head off her lap anyway to go over and nose at Desiderio—hoping for more, the greedy goose. Well, he could have as much as he wanted—at least until his ribs filled out a little more.

"It's strange for me too," she said softly, watching him take seconds. "All of it. I only— I am your friend. I think. If you want me to... Chimes." She was making a mess of this, again. Aurelie frowned, trying to gather together what it was she intended to say. She wasn't entirely sure she knew.

"Nobody has... has thought of me as a young lady in a very... I would rather be your friend than..." Aurelie trailed off again, feeling entirely defeated. "I only meant to say, you needn't worry about me."

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

H

e nodded quickly, sharply, when she replied. He did not question it, not for a few moments at least. He was grateful to turn his back; he went to the stove mechanically with his bowl, breathing in deeply the scent of the warm porridge and trying not to think too far beyond the hungry lurch of his stomach.

Failing. Of course. Unmarried. Why had he said that? The word still tingled on the tip of his tongue. He reached for the ladle and his ring caught the morning light.

He had been trying not to think of it, so why had he said it? Why did he have to try? He had put that away long ago; he had forgotten it. So, he thought, had –

That was foolish; he had thought no such thing. He had not thought at all, not about her, not really. He had watched her breath catch slightly in her throat and her expression change, her cheeks deep scarlet. It was quite as if he had said to her, as blandly as if it meant nothing to him, We were to be married once, and now we are not. A young lady and a young man, he thought, his flush deepening until he thought he must be purple. After everything, that was his concern?

He was ladling in more porridge, precise and careful not to spill. A distant part of him registered that he had seldom ever done this. Aurelie’s voice came again, and he realized she must have turned a little, watching.

He could hear Shadow’s tail thumping on the floor. When he turned, pup’s head was still in Aurelie’s lap; he thought absently that he should make a mess of her lovely embroidered overskirt.

He met her eye and glanced away, oddly shy as he brought the bowl back. But then he glanced back, inclining his head. “I am unaccustomed to –” He frowned. “Perhaps uncomfortable with,” he went on, sheepish, “being thought of as a – as a young man, myself.” You need not tell her that, he thought, chagrinned, setting down his bowl. She has indeed seen you, Inspector.

But he saw her hands buried in pup’s thick, tangled fur, the fraying bracelet just peeping out of her cuff and the small, blunt fingernails edged in red. Hers was somewhat different from his own reasoning.

It is only, he thought to go on – even in that ghastly blue dress, and with Desrouleaux – he was much too embarrassed to point out all of the ways in which she was, in fact, a young lady, and that none of those ways had escaped his eyes, and would in fact not escape the eye of any man with the power of vision.

Or anyone, he thought, disturbed. Tanqueray had not seemed to agree, nor any of the recruits, who had shied away from her as if she were some sort of a monster. He himself had been frightened of her in the midst of those warding circles in her cell, like a warning that there was within her some threat he could not perceive or understand. Warding circles which even then were not tested or guaranteed to prevent diablerie from – withering the life out of one, or blinding…

He still remembered her soft apology as white-hot barbs dug into his eyes, a terrible contrast.

“It is only –” He was tongue-tied. “I am perhaps somewhat old-fashioned, and you –” Have grown to be very pretty. And very strange.

He cleared his throat.

“I am overfond of rules. I dare say that I shall feel more myself when I have put myself into some semblance of order. I simply do not like to be seen this way,” he admitted, only half the truth, but he still felt like a balloon after the air has been let out. “Least of all by a – a friend. I do not have many friends. But I do wish to be yours.”

Friends. He was not at all sure what the protocol for that was.

He paused before he sat. He tried another small smile. “Permit me to take your bowl? There is quite enough porridge. You did not eat very much yesterday.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Everything about Desiderio was precise, Aurelie noticed. Careful and controlled in a way that made her oddly sad. She watched his back and thought she saw something she understood more than she wanted to.

He brought the bowl back, looking at her and then away. Perhaps he did remember after all—Aurelie tried not to think that this is why he'd said it. She simply didn't know what to make of anything he said. If he was so unaccustomed, then why act this way? And surely... He was intimidating, surely to people besides herself, but not... Aurelie glanced down at his hand where his engagement ring sat and she frowned.

She almost understood. It twisted a little at her, but she thought she might be prying at the edges of understanding. And yet still, it wasn't the same. He was a young man, whether he... No matter how he felt about it. Aurelie was not. That, too, was independent of how she felt about it.

Perhaps it only made him uncomfortable to think of it coming from her—his fiancée was likely another matter entirely. She thought of the words she couldn't quite understand this morning, and her mouth twisted down at the edges. That had to be at least part of it—he hadn't even wanted her to look at him like a friend a few days ago.

And no wonder! What had that friendship gotten him? She'd only hurt him, without even the promise that it wouldn't happen again. Every moment he was here was a moment she was taking from him. He had chosen to be here, to be sitting across this small table and having breakfast with her, but she still didn't understand why. He couldn't have loved her so much, not even before they knew what she was.

He was terribly uncomfortable, Aurelie noted with a guilty start. Of course he was. She had been staring at him, and saying all manner of strange things. All he was doing was acting how—it wasn't his fault that she was... Old-fashioned, he said, and overfond of rules. Aurelie felt her posture soften. She drew a quiet break, slowly in and out.

"I'm sorry," she said, a soft frown creasing her face. She was being so hideously unfair. No matter what she felt about him, or their friendship, she had him at a disadvantage. At least she had been able to wash her face and dress in privacy; Desiderio had woken up to her staring at him, and she'd hardly given him a moment since. "I didn't mean to... To make you uncomfortable, or... There's nothing to see that is, er... Hmm." Aurelie shut her mouth, fully aware she was making everything much, much worse.

Friends. She didn't understand why he would want to be her friend, but he said he did. She had to trust he meant it, as much as anyone could. Selfishly, she wanted it too much herself to do otherwise. Aurelie tried a smile, and she thought it stuck well enough that she didn't lose it even when he offered to take her bowl from her.

"Ah, you don't have to do that, I..." Aurelie looked down. She had wanted a little more; he was right, they'd hardly eaten the day before. And it was nice to have something good after her time in Graywatch. Those meals had been adequate, but they couldn't compare to something made with the intention of being enjoyed.

"I can get up myself, if you... You should sit, I'm all right. You don't have to, but, uhm. If you wouldn't... mind, I... Er, thank you. "

There was also, she had to admit, something curiously pleasant about the thought of Desiderio taking her bowl for her. Wrong, some part of her insisted, but sweet that he should offer. She still wasn't used to it, not from anyone, but least of all from... From someone like him. Besides which, he had told her to stay off of her ankle.

"A-And thank you for... You aren't doing anything wrong," she added, unable to stop herself from making things worse. "We'll... figure it out, I suspect. Uhm. Eventually. How to... Ah. Behave. I think."

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

S

he apologized again, frowning. There was a soft crease at her forehead, just between her red brows.

He ran his hand along his jaw again. “Ah – no,” he began.

He was not altogether certain what he was protesting. That he was uncomfortable was – he suspected, by now – highly visible; he was unsure what to do about that. It was not her. Was it? Not exactly, he thought guiltily.

But he had thought surely that she was the uncomfortable one. Her cheeks were still slightly flushed, though with the frown her color was no longer so high. They had been much redder this morning, when she had found him in – on the sofa, he admonished himself, not in bed, on the sofa, which was entirely different. He had thought then that it was his (continuing) state of undress, but perhaps it was merely his own strange behavior. He had, after all, jerked awake, no doubt frighteningly; he had seen her start and go still in his field.

(He was sharply aware of his field - he had not felt another, he realized, since the magister. Had he ever gone this long without caprision? Since he had had an eddle?

He did not often notice it this much; even politely suppressed, the edges of it lapped the edges of the kitchen. A moment's thought to what it might be like for her, after having... at Brunnhold, and then since... it was almost too strange to imagine what she had or had not grown accustomed to.)

Perhaps he was making it worse by snapping and snarling about propriety and comfort and being unmarried, especially on the heels of – all he had done.

Shadow licked his chops, whining and gazing upward with soulful eyes. Hurte’s grace, but he needed a bath.

She looked down, trailing off again. She had begun to smile; it stayed on her face. He wondered if he should have offered. But she thanked him, in the end.

He took her bowl, stepping brusquely again to the stove as if he had not thought to do otherwise. He felt strangely fragile, ladling in more porridge; the thought that it was for her made him conscious of every small motion, of making sure he got no flecks of porridge on the lip of the bowl or the spoon.

He only wished he could speak. He wished desperately that he could speak. Every time he opened his mouth, he felt as if he were admonishing. He had at least been able to show her his drawings the night before; he wished he had more to show her, as if he could thank her for all of this with them.

“Oh. I – thank you.” He stopped when he turned, his brow furrowed. “Yes,” he said, bringing the bowl back and setting it in front of her. Shadow was craning his neck, nostrils flared. “We shall. And so shall you, pup,” he said sternly, scowling down at Shadow, who let out a small whine.

He hesitated, glancing up at Aurelie, then reached down to ruffle him between the ears. His fur was as thick as Morandi remembered from earlier, and no less grody. Shadow wiggled, tail thumping the floor.

Morandi was silent for a moment as he sat, taking up his spoon again. “How big do you think that he will get?” He glanced back to her, curious, something sheepish in his eyes despite the sharp matter-of-factness of his voice. “I have never seen one – an adult, that is. He is already so large.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Shadow was begging, his eyes wide as he gazed up at Desiderio. It was impossibly sweet on his striped face, with his ears perked forward hopefully. Aurelie felt like her own expression must mirror it half the time she looked at Des, too, or something close enough to it. Not for breakfast, but for something worse she couldn't put a name to. Not, she thought sourly, as charming a look on her.

Desiderio took her bowl, as he offered, without a single complaint or batted eyelash. Aurelie didn't know why she expected it to be otherwise. It wasn't that she felt he had offered with no sincerity, but the instant she had accepted she had felt guilty. As if she knew that she ought to have refused. The touch of his field, strange-familiar, told her that quite firmly.

(When she allowed herself to think about it, which was as little as possible, Aurelie was forced to admit she found that both unsettling and comforting. She had grown used to not feeling the brush of any field at all, except perhaps a glamour in passing on the street or from a customer, since Hamis. It was a constant reminder of what he was, and what Aurelie was not. At the same time, it was like—like a piece of a world with rules she understood, even if they choked her.)

The bowl he set in front of her had not a single stray drop on the rim. She hadn't said how much she wanted, but looking at it felt like precisely enough—with a strong emphasis on the precision. Aurelie wanted to apologize, again; what had she been thinking, letting him...? "Thank you," she said instead, looking up at him before following his look down to Shadow.

His voice was so unyielding, and the frown on his face was severe enough, but Aurelie's smile brightened anyway. Perhaps it was just because Shadow had whined, but Desiderio looked first to her for a moment before reaching down to pet Shadow's head. Almost as if he felt the need to ask her permission—to pet their...

"Even pups require rules to follow," Aurelie agreed, watching Shadow thump his tail happily on the floor. Perhaps she ought to reconsider thinking of him in that way. Shadow, that was. Desiderio was going to leave, after all. No matter which one of them Shadow stayed with (Aurelie was not convinced she would prove a suitable caretaker), he could hardly be "theirs" when Desiderio was in another city entirely. Likely to not speak to her much, if at all. She resolved to do her best to correct her thinking on the matter. She had the most sinking feeling it wouldn't work.

"He is already quite big," she agreed as Desiderio sat again. There was something terribly endearing about the look on his face. The way, perhaps, it was at odds with his Seventen-sharp tone of voice. Aurelie prodded her porridge with her spoon, looking down at Shadow in contemplation. He did seem rather... juvenile, she thought. A sort of roundness in his features and a bright curiosity in his actions that made her think he wasn't very old at all. His feet, Aurelie noticed, looked like they came from a much larger animal.

"I'm not sure... I've not seen any that... There are a few kept as pets, by students and faculty, but... Shadow is already larger than those." By quite a bit, she didn't add. Aurelie looked at Shadow a moment more, before the pup seemingly realized there were no scraps to be had and wandered off to continue chewing on the soup bone. She straightened up and caught Desiderio's eye again, feeling apologetic.

"Not too much bigger, I should think...? Perhaps the size of the dogs Mr. Whitmore had? I hope," she frowned a little in thought. "The city is... is perhaps not the best environment for... With his size, and..." Aurelie swallowed; she had somehow made herself sad. She took another bite of her breakfast, lost in thought.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

I

t was easier to look at her when she was looking elsewhere. He would have followed her eyes, but with her looking down – he could not quite help it. Wholly and wretchedly inappropriate, he felt sure; he could not seem to decide whether she was more offput by his rigidness, or by the way – she could no doubt tell how he was looking at her, compounded with whatever she had heard him say in his sleep. He had no excuse.

And yet he looked anyway, and he told himself it was merely curiosity. To have the chance to look, really look, at his very old friend. Without a look of fear or dread on her face, without raw, pained eyes or mud or dried blood on her cheeks.

Every time he looked he seemed to notice new little details, like a particular freckle on her nose, or the very distinctive shape of the bow of her top lip. Or the way the breeze had ruffled her fringe, and a few little strands curled wonderfully the wrong way.

(He had tried not to watch her too expectantly when she had picked up her spoon. He felt strangely invested in whether he had given her too much or too little; he had not asked, though he had been very precise about everything else.)

Easy especially to look at her when she was looking at Shadow. The thought that he might ever have separated them –

There was no use thinking of it now. He just watched her, the soft look in her green eyes, love – certainly – often amusement, sometimes scolding firmness; and always mingled with what looked almost like worry.

There was always a little worry in all of her expressions, he thought. Even at the happiest he had seen her, it was as if she were waiting for something.

Students and faculty, she said, another queer reminder. It was not unexpected, this time, merely – strange. “I dare say so,” he said with a frown, listening to Shadow clack away at his bone. With those great teeth! “I can scarcely imagine the mess that…”

That they would have had to clean up, he thought. Then: that you…? He shook himself suddenly when she looked up, and tried not to seem as if he had been staring. He looked askance at Shadow instead, watching him hold the bone down with one enormous paw.

One almost disproportionately enormous paw, the Inspector thought.

When he peered back up at Aurelie, it was a little incredulously. “Mr. Whitmore’s dogs certainly did – seem rather large, then.” To two children, both small for their age.

Again, that worried look. He watched her set about her porridge again, and set about his own.

He thought. That sad look in her eyes. Despite his uncertainty, or perhaps because of it, he ate with the same even, deliberate motions as he did everything; as if he thought nothing of it, or of anything at all.

“That is perhaps not true,” he said after a little while, clearing his throat. “What I have heard of bander wolves is much like chroven. If trained well, they flourish in the city, and they are fiercely loyal.”

He glanced up at her, hopeful – for what, he did not know – and then looked back down at his porridge.

Another few brusque, thoughtful bites, methodically scooping up what clung to the bottom of the bowl without scraping too much. “I have some experience with chroven,” he said, though he felt a prickling in his cheek, and all down his left side. “I have seen them trained in Vienda as well as Numbrey, though it is – perhaps – ideal to have space during training. But in that way, a bander would seem less troublesome than a chrove by far.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Aurelie hadn't thought she had been acting too oddly while she looked at Shadow. Yet, she must have been—when she turned back towards Desiderio, he shook himself in the way of someone who had been caught staring. Aurelie ought to know, she did it often enough herself. What had she been doing to draw his attention so? The potential list was long, and faintly worrying to contemplate.

"I was always very grateful to not often be pulled to clean upper-form dormitories," Aurelie replied evenly, as if there were nothing strange about it in the slightest. "I have heard many stories about the rooms of students who decided to keep pets." One of the advantages to making herself so useful at work she enjoyed was that she was so rarely re-assigned to do something else, at least after she had turned fifteen or sixteen and was more cook than scullery girl.

Sometimes it still happened, no matter how useful she'd made herself. After all, it wasn't like she had any say in the matter. There was no amount of hard work or playing by the rules that could have given her that much control over her own destiny.

"I think they were just, ah, quite large hounds. It's hard to remember, it's been..." They knew what it had been. She let the thought be drowned out by the sounds of both of them applying themselves diligently to breakfast. Watching him eat so well, of food that was surely at least a little strange to him, comforted her immensely. Few things were borne better when accompanied by a poor appetite.

Aurelie had made it about halfway through this second helping when Desiderio spoke again. She paused, not letting go of the handle of the spoon. Not true...? Ah! Aurelie hadn't meant to sound so—as if she needed to be comforted. It was embarrassing, the way all her fretting seemed to come to the surface for anyone to see.

Yet that was precisely what Desiderio was trying to do, comfort her. The effort was as warming as anything he actually said; it was more than sufficient for her that he should care enough to try. Her heart skipped a beat or two, thinking about it. Aurelie was grateful when he looked back down at his porridge. She didn't know how long she could hold a proper sort of expression on her face.

"I'm sure you're right. About... Well, I hope we can... Uhm. Train him well. I would hate for him to be... unhappy here, that's all." Another bite and she could see the bottom of her bowl. She felt pleasantly solid, at least in her stomach. Her heart and mind were hopeless adrift, fluttering away on every change in Desiderio's expression.

They had almost finished breakfast. Normally, Aurelie would have done the dishes immediately after, but there was only running water downstairs—she didn't think... Perhaps it would be better to wait until they were already downstairs to wash Shadow, rather than trying to make more than one trip. The idea made her uneasy, but she told herself firmly that these were unusual circumstances. There was nothing to be done for it.

"Do you?" Aurelie asked, sounding more surprised than the fact really warranted. Of course he did; had she not seen him only a week earlier, standing next to one of the great hulking things? (When she had thought him a stranger, and he had...) All officers did, as far as she knew.

Standing next to one, she thought again. And he had seemed somewhat reluctant to ride yesterday. Aurelie looked at him, curious. "Forgive me for, uhm... You sound like you don't like them very much. Chroven, that is. Er. Are they, ah... " Aurelie flushed, feeling foolish. "I, ah, I've never... been especially close to one. They do seem, uhm... More... They're very big."

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

S

trange, for a Steerpike to be responsible for sweeping up the droppings of some brat’s misbehaved osta. And stranger still that he had merely nodded, beginning to grow accustomed to this vague sense of discomfort, of treading on uncertain territory, as if casually.

He even found himself imagining himself, bizarrely, responsible for the disgusting habits of his old roommate at Anastou. Cleaning the boys’ lavatory alone – well. Someone had had to do it, he supposed, though he had never thought about it. He thought he would have preferred the kitchens, too.

What on Vita was he thinking?

He was left feeling strange. And oddly grateful that she had mentioned it at all. He had brought it up, but not in that heavy way of last night. He had been curious, tentative and uncomfortable, but curious. He was still curious, though it was very inappropriate to be thinking these things at all.

The conversation wound on, and he still felt strange.

“Perhaps we might find some place for him to run and play,” he agreed slowly, thoughtfully. “He should not chafe, so long as he has outlets.”

‘We’. Should it have been such a warm, lovely word? On her tongue, it suffused him like relief. Like a gentle nudging of the days ahead forward – like the staying of some sort of execution. There was no staying here forever. Even if he were not a wanted man, he was a missing one, and either way, he would surely be inviting the Seventen to Elwes’ doorstep. Which only a week ago he would have had little issue with; after all, they were harboring a…

Two fugitives, even. The fugitives were multiplying. It rather dizzied him. He was not sure what to think of any of it, except that he did not wish for them to capture this particular fugitive.

When she spoke, he looked up, and there was a faintly surprised expression on her face; he raised his brows. She looked… curious, too, though he could not have said why. She went on, and her cheeks pinked a little more.

“Ah,” he said, clearing his throat and sitting back. “Hah. Hmm. I suppose that I am rather transparent, am I not?”

He realized that she must have seen him the other day, too, when – Hurte, was that only a few days ago?

He gestured lightly to the less bruised, more scarred side of his face. “Lest you think I acquired these under more exciting circumstances,” he began dryly, then paused.

Usually, he was not at all self-conscious; he told any recruit who asked.

He had once overheard Amelie’s grandmother, who had never much liked him, admonish Mr. Beauvilliers for the prospect of Amelie being married to a man with so – prominent a disfigurement. (Amelie had been terribly embarrassed; he had had a feeling it was meant to be overheard.)

He had overheard other unkind things. He had never cared much one way or another. He found it was usually the other half of the conversation who grew nervous, and he supposed that was only natural, though that made him more irritable than anything. Worse was the treatment of doctors at first; he had practically had to threaten Dr. Winthrop to get him a mirror after the bandages had come off, as if he would faint at the sight of his own face. Worse than you think it will be, Winthrop had said. Pah!

It had inspired a sort of contrarian, cavalier nonchalance which had only gotten worse over five years.

Usually. Something about the thought of Aurelie, in spite of everything – well. She had already seen it, had she not? It was rather hard to miss. It was, after all, a great deal of his face.

Why should she be so different?

“At Numbrey, I was knocked from a poorly-trained chrove and trapped underneath it,” he said, reaching for his cup of tea. “Frightened more than anything, but still quite destructive. They are very big, as you say.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

What a picture that conjured! Aurelie and Desiderio taking Shadow out (together, he'd said "we" like he could stay) to play. Like a family outing, her mind insisted; she shut that line of thinking down quickly and viciously. That kind of foolishness would only hurt her, and she wouldn't entertain it at all. Just keep it as a little day dream, she scolded herself, and then put it away.

"N-no, I wouldn't say... I had noticed, that's all." Aurelie asked her question—or she articulated part of a question, and mostly made a nonsensical sort of half-statement. She was grateful that Desiderio could follow her well enough to pick up the thread of what she had been trying to say. Even if she ought not to have said it, it seemed, as he went on.

She had wondered. How could she not? The scarring on his face could hardly escape notice. Before she knew who he was, she had noticed it. He cut an imposing figure without them, but the landscape of jagged ridges that crossed over his already severe features rather added to the effect. Looking at him, she had been more than a little terrified.

And after...? Of course she had wondered what had happened to her oldest and dearest friend. Her mind had conjured all sorts of scenarios, some mundane and many very grim, but she certainly had never expected to ask him to confirm or deny any of them! Aurelie was poorly socialized, but she was at least well-trained enough to not have asked so awkwardly on purpose.

This was one of those wretched gaffs from which there was no backing down. To apologize was to make it seem as if she didn't want him to talk about it, which was untrue and seemed cruel besides. By the same token, she didn't know how to properly encourage him to go on if he wanted to. Aurelie followed the way he gestured lightly to the scars on his face, and then stopped.

Neither, she thought desperately, could she said that he had nothing to be hesitant about. Aurelie kept her hands on her lap, tightly lacing her fingers together so that neither one would drift to her collarbone. It wasn't always a matter of the feelings of the beholder. Somehow, Aurelie did not think Desiderio Morandi would be at all comforted to hear that she saw a great many scars all of the time.

"Oh." He reached for his tea; she could make nothing of his expression that could guide her forward. "I can see why you... don't like... Uhm." That was not the thing she ought to have said; Aurelie winced, visibly.

At Numbrey! How old had he been? Twenty, twenty-one? Tangled up in her inability to find the right thing to say was this image of her friend, trapped underneath of a great, hulking thing. Aurelie found herself absurdly grateful he was here for her to inflict herself upon. A silly sentiment for something that had happened, she could only assume, years ago, and yet she felt it anyway.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't... I had wondered," she confessed, seemingly incapable of not stumbling on terribly. "That must have been... Awful. I'm, ah, glad you're... That you were... all right. Er. In the end." Bells and chimes.