[Closed] Walls I Cannot Climb

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

O

h.

She trailed off with a soft uhm; she was sitting rather still, her hands somewhere beneath the table-top. Then she winced, and he felt his heart stumble over and skip a few beats. He had just brought his teacup to his lips, and when he lowered it, he swallowed his sip of tea somewhat laboredly. Should he have put in even more sugar? The bitterness clung to the back of his throat.

He had made everything very awkward, drawing attention to it. As usual. Not that it needed attention drawn to it; she had, as she was saying now, stumbling uncertainly, wondered.

It was an unfortunate topic of conversation at the best of times. He could simply have said he had experience, and left it at that – or he could have mentioned the accident quite without gesturing to the scars. It was only, she had seemed curious, and…

Was she stumbling now on his behalf, or on hers? The thought of the former agitated him greatly; he was beginning to feel that creeping, contrarian irritation that made him want to bring the scars up loudly and continually.

But to – Aurelie? I’m sorry, that wasn’t, she began at first, and he felt strange. Awful, she said then, and he could hardly argue with that.

Glad he was all right, in the end, she went on, and something in his chest tightened. Somehow, he had not expected her to say that, of all things. “As am I,” he blurted out.

His head was on entirely backwards. Perhaps he was a little sensitive about it, he reflected grimly.

“Er – I mean to say – it was rather awful. I did not last long in the patrol division,” he went on, watching Aurelie. “Afterward. My specific talents were more useful elsewhere regardless, of course, but…” It was a hard memory, but it was somewhat easier to think about here. It seemed very distant from the soft light shining in through the open shutters and the two empty bowls and the sweet taste of tea on his tongue.

Perhaps not so distant from the sound of pup’s teeth clacking on the bone, or the great paw – the blunt dark nails of which he could see peeping out of the fuzzy toes – holding it down. “Er. Beasts and I tend not to agree,” he confessed. “You have seen, I am somewhat – easily startled. But I am reasonably well-versed in the training of them. And the most dangerous of creatures can be very loyal indeed.”

He paused.

“I did bring it up,” he added as mildly as he could, setting his teacup precisely where it had been, where it had left a small ring on the napkin. “It was quite all right. To wonder. And to ask. You have said nothing at all untoward. They are no great secrets, neither my dislike of chroven nor my scars. They could hardly be, yes?”

He tried again a smile. It sat very crookedly on his lips, and pulled awkwardly at the scarring.

No more or less a secret than – her hands were hidden underneath the table, but the texture of them was sealed in his mind, as if imprinted on his own hands. And how terribly curious, and terribly awkward, he was. Other things, less awkward and more dreadful, were even less a secret. The pursuit of a few days ago, and even now the dazzling impossibility of both of them sitting together at this table, was a testament to that.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Aurelie could feel her cheeks catching fire again. She knew she hadn't said the right thing, watching Desiderio's face. He seemed uncomfortable, or irritated, and Aurelie couldn't tell which part was the part that was the most wrong because she had added so many. She should have gone one terrible idea at a time, she thought sourly, so she could have better figured out which one was the worst in the whole mess.

Desiderio was watching her as he spoke. What was her face doing? She tried her best to keep it—neutrally friendly, she supposed, or... She didn't know. She was certainly embarrassed, although what by she couldn't have put a finger on. There were a lot of options to choose from. It was rather awful, he agreed, and she turned a little more red. She had the most overwhelming urge to try and disappear against the wallpaper. Little chance of that with him looking directly at her, and her no longer a faded blue ghost whispering down the halls.

"That makes sense," she offered awkwardly. His specific talents. Aurelie thought of the carriage ride, awkward and tense, the magister asking him questions. Those talents? She could see how that would be less useful from the back of a chrove. (That poor man, she did hope he was all right. She should ask Cass—somehow she thought paying him a visit herself wouldn't be welcome at all.)

He was awfully kind about it, all things considered. She half expected him to be furious with her, to snap and snarl like he'd done when she had asked about his drawing the other day. Wasn't that something to be grateful for, too? That they should be here together again for her to be so clumsily aggravating seemed a strange kind of miracle. Aurelie supposed she was just happy to talk to him, even if she wasn't particularly good at it.

Aurelie nodded, mutely. That made her sad again; Shadow loved him too. Or he would, if he didn't already. Mr. Whitmore's dogs had, as long-faced and enthusiastic puppies. They just need time, she wanted to say, as if he needed her comforting. "I-I'm glad that you... know something about... I don't, uhm. I haven't spent much time around... animals at all, since... Er. It's good."

She trailed off and he paused, a terrible kind of silence when she couldn't tell at all what he was thinking. Shadow chewed noisily on the soup bone a few feet away. She heard a terrible, sickening crack that told her without looking that he had broken through a piece of it. Some part of her considered that this was what his teeth were made for. For the first time since they'd found him, Aurelie wondered if she hadn't taken on something she should not have. Not, of course, that there was anything to be done about it—dangerous or not, she already loved him quite fiercely.

Desiderio's voice was even and controlled, when he spoke again. Not harsh or sharp, like it had been before—that was almost worse. She watched him set his teacup down again; if she were to get up to look, she had the feeling she would see nothing of the ring from where it had been before. But what truly pulled at her was the smile he offered her after, sitting tilted on his face.

"That's very kind of you to say," Aurelie said, offering him what she thought did a reasonable approximation of a smile. "I just didn't want you to feel... Uhm. Just because something isn't a secret doesn't mean you want to... talk about with anyone. I don't know that I would be so gracious if someone asked me about my... Hmm." Aurelie bit her lip and studied his face a moment longer. This wasn't the sort of smile she wanted to see him making.

"W-Well. Are you finished with your bowl? Let me..." Aurelie came to her feet, picking up her empty bowl. She would, at least, set them to the side, even if she wasn't going to wash them right away like she wanted to. It was a transparent, clumsy change of subject, but it was the best she could manage.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

M

orandi could not say it was the most awkward he had ever broken fast; in truth, he seldom shared meals. At the rare dinners he shared with family, and especially with Amelie and the Beauvilliers, he did not quite know where to step into the graceful duck and dance of conversation; most often, he did not have to.

Morandi felt rather desperately each second as if something were slipping through his fingers. What a strange feeling! As if with each drift of Aurelie’s voice into silence, he ran the risk of losing something important, if he did not – did not…

If he did not say something, anything. Yet he was utterly rigid by nature; he could not seem to bend himself an inch.

He thought, not for the first time since she had spoken it aloud a few days ago, of the story of the tin soldier. He felt rather like one of the rats, plucked out and placed in a different role; loudly and sharply talking about propriety and being mauled by chroven, when he should have been – he did not know – something, someone, else. Des, he thought with a sinking feeling.

With a wet crack, Shadow bit through the bone. Morandi could see pup’s lazy sprawl in the corner of his eye.

Kind? Morandi’s brow furrowed. Aurelie was smiling; if not for the redness in her cheeks and a strange, uncomfortably sad look in her eyes, it almost reminded him of the polite smile she had given the magister at Graywatch. She went on, and his own smile – stretched and awkward as it was; the muscles of his face hurt – twitched and broke into a more serious expression.

About my…

His hands tingled along the lines of remembered bumps and scars; he felt suddenly embarrassed. She bit her lip, and they studied one another. “Thank you,” he said uncertainly.

And then, before he could protest, the conversation was over. He felt rather empty-handed, as he always did in these things. Another prickle of irritation; he felt sure now that she was changing the subject on his behalf, and he felt it – well, rather presumptuous. Polite, to be sure, and sympathetic, but... he remembered the physicians, and the ladies Uptown, and...

They are on my face, he wanted to say, and in this, at the very least, I shall decide for myself how I feel, and you shall believe me when I tell you.

But he was distracted keeping an eye on her ankle when she rose, and began to rise himself. “Oh. I, ah – if you insist,” he said, frowning. “I should be well pleased to help.”

With what? He realized suddenly he had no idea. He could feel his cheeks prickling with warmth. He had been halfway to assuming that a servant – but there were none. Were the dishes washed now, or later? Where?

Perhaps it was embarrassment that spurred him on; he felt ardently, almost agitatedly, as if he needed to dig his heels in about something. “Ah – the water – it is downstairs, yes?” There was no sink in sight, at least. “I do not – I confess, I do not know how things are done. The – washing. But it is my intent to contribute.”

I am a fast learner, he wanted to add, but stopped before he could cut himself again on his own tongue. She had gotten up to escape this precisely, he supposed; and yet this was pursuing her, and doggedly, iron-indectal field filling up the kitchen.

Shadow let out a grunt, stretching lazily.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

The awkward, stiff "thank you" was worse, she thought, than if he'd just gotten angry with her. Aurelie didn't want him to be upset with her, of course. She just wanted to know what the right thing to say would have been. When Aurelie was a little girl, she fantasized that one day she would grow up and become the sort of woman who always knew what to say, like Mother and Ana. They never fumbled over words, or left things only half-said, or made someone uncomfortable and unhappy like this.

Aurelie wasn't a little girl anymore, and now she knew that this was impossible. She suspected she would never have grown to be much like them, in that way or many others. Afflicted or not.

Standing up to take the dishes and set them aside was an escape. Aurelie could see it for what it was—could see herself for what she was: a coward. As if Desiderio couldn't already see that she'd grown up nothing like she was supposed to. His smile, tense and twisted, fell away into something more stern. Aurelie hadn't wanted to see that smile; the loss of it still felt like further misstep.

Too late now though. She was already on her feet, bowl in one hand. The other she was leaning into to keep the weight off of her ankle. Desiderio came to stand himself, which hadn't been her intent at all. Bells and chimes. From what lofty heights had she scolded Aremu for pushing himself when he should be resting? Aurelie was just as bad, if not worse. So she could add "hypocrite" to her list of virtues.

Even as he rose, his offer of help surprised her. Aurelie's mouth curled a little more warmly then. She couldn't imagine he had ever done the dishes before. She thought about refusing the offer, as gently as she was able, but he went on. Stubborn, she thought, and felt a surge of warmth in her heart that spread all through her chest. Her smile only widened as he went on—of course he didn't know how the washing up was done. Yet he insisted anyway.

"Ah, I'm just setting them aside for now. I was thinking of doing the washing later. You're right, the house only has running water downstairs. For the bakery," she added, as if that weren't obvious. She leaned forward, taking his spoon out of the bowl to join her own. The handle was still just a little bit warm. Then she stacked them together, making as little sound as she could out of habit.

There was just something hopelessly endearing about the insistence on his "intent to contribute". Anyone could see that, couldn't they? Aurelie supposed she was a little biased—he was her friend once, no matter what he was like now. He was her friend now, she reminded herself. They had both said so, and so it was. People changed, but... Oh, they would figure it out. Wouldn't they?

Aurelie held the spoons in place with her thumb so they wouldn't slide around as she straightened, looking up at Desiderio. "I can show you later, if you'd like...? I thought—it would be easiest to bring the water up after we give Shadow a bath. We can, uhm... do it together." The last was phrased like a statement, but her voice rose at the end, a hopeful question.

She carried the bowls to the kitchen counter while she waited for his answer. Another day, she didn't say, she would have just taken them downstairs with her to the bakery and done them by the sink there. She was oddly averse to it today—as if she were not allowed in the bakery kitchen if she weren't working, not even to do chores. Aurelie set the bowls down and paused, swallowing. She had changed the subject, she told herself.

"I'm sorry," came out of her mouth anyway. Aurelie turned to look at him again, letting herself study his face closely for a moment before she looked away. "I'm only—trying not to... to pry. Or... T-tell you how to feel about... Uhm. Which I think I— M-maybe... I'm sorry. I'm not good at... this." Bells and chimes, why had she brought it back up? Like picking at a scab, or pressing on a bruise. Hadn't she started talking about chores so he wouldn't be subjected to more of her clumsiness? What weak resolve she had.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

A

nd you shall permit me to, he had been on the verge of asserting, snapping – almost forgetting himself, forgetting the why of all of it in the first place in his stubbornness.

What he had not expected was the curl at the edges of her lips, and the way the smile bloomed slowly across her face. He had expected her to push back; he had known he would not be able to help himself but to meet it with a stalwart headbutt of his own.

She took his bowl, then took out the spoon. They clacked gently together in the bowl.

Later. He felt a little foolish for having insisted, but she did not seem angry or frightened or withdrawn. Nor had she agreed to let him; he did not let down his guard.

For the bakery, she pointed out gently. He had known that, intellectually; he knew a great deal of things intellectually that seemed lost on him, now that he was in the midst of them. He was watching the bowl when she straightened, an oddly elegant motion with how she held the bowls and spoons in one hand – not letting them clatter about – and had the other braced against the table. He glanced up and met her eye.

I can show you later, if you’d like…?

He blinked, as if she had stuck a needle in all his protests; his lips twitched as she turned away. “Yes,” he replied, pleasantly surprised. “I should like that.”

He supposed she planned to come back for the teacups. Frowning studiously, he took them himself, very careful. (The handle of hers was warm; gooseflesh crept up his back.) While her back was turned, he took the jar of sugar to where he had gotten it from the other side of the counter. He put it down brusquely, precisely in the same place, uncertain – he did not know where anything went in a kitchen, and so he thought it best to be exact.

He was moving in beside her with the teacups when she spoke again. For a moment, all he could see was a red sliver of ear poking out of locks of hair, all haloed with wisps that caught the light like copper. The lock she liked to tuck behind her ear had slid out of place. He imagined himself tucking it there rather neatly.

She turned – to his surprise – to look at him. Another apology, first; there were a great many of those.

Which I think I – m-maybe… I’m sorry.

Both of Morandi’s brows rose. It was a series of fragments, to be sure, but it was nothing if not a complete thought.

“Thank you,” he repeated, this time a little more firmly, warmly.

He had to look over and down at her; she had to look up. He could see the bulky shadow of himself in her eyes, blocking the light from the window. He could feel the frown on his face. Rather helplessly; as if somebody else had carved it there.

He set the teacups down beside the bowls.

Did she know how he felt? He did not exactly make it clear. What had Amelie accused him of once – of being a vault, sealed up tightly?

“I have no love of mysteries or secrets,” he said, looking back up at her. “I am rather – blunt and brash. To a – I have been called cruel.” He had snapped at her aplenty, he thought ruefully. “So – I would not speak of a thing unless I wished to. And when I of all people say that it really is quite all right –”

Yet more stiffly, wanting desperately to do something, he reached out – just a brush of his hand on her shoulder, as Captain d’Lsigny often did with recruits. He had never been a particularly comforting presence, not like the old man; the first time a recruit had flinched, he had rather stopped trying. “You are uncharitable with yourself,” he said, very quietly, with a small smile.

His hand dropped stiffly to his side, and he cleared his throat.

“Ah. Hmm,” he grunted, glancing aside at Shadow. Pup, as if he could sense what was coming, had come to sit beside his bone, which glistened with slobber. One ear was cocked.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Aurelie didn't think he'd offered in idleness, or with the intent that she ought to turn him down. Desiderio was many things and had changed in many ways, but none of those led her to believe he had grown into the sort of man who made empty offers to be polite. Especially ones she couldn't imagine he thought she expected him to make.

But he had offered, and she had accepted, and that was that. Later she would be showing Desiderio Morandi how to wash the dishes. She had the most irrational urge to ask him not to tell his mother about this. Somehow, Aurelie didn't think that Mrs. Morandi would be hearing much about any part of this. Even without her having to ask.

The plan had been to set the bowls aside, and then come back for the cups and the sugar. To her surprise, Desiderio came up from behind her with the sugar in hand. He put it down precisely where it had been before—it was very difficult for Aurelie not to smile, oddly charmed. He went back for the cups, too, coming up behind her as she started to speak again.

His eyebrows rose as she wound on. I know, she thought rather desperately, I don't know why I'm saying all of this either. But say it she did, and at the end he thanked her again. Firm and not without a sort of warmth.

Aurelie couldn't seem to get over just how tall he was. He had been small for his age as a child; never in all of her life would she have thought he would grow up to be so... Like this. It made her feel quite small, in a way she didn't think she minded in the slightest. Not right now, with a warm summer breeze coming in through an open window that carried the cries of gulls and the smell of salt.

She had the strongest feeling that if she kept looking at him like this, in that morning light with his collar all askew, she was going to do something awful. Something she couldn't take back. Yet, she couldn't make herself look away. It was Desiderio who did first, allowing Aurelie to redirect her attention to something—anything—other than mapping out the way the scars fit over the planes of his face.

Desiderio spoke.

There was something reassuring about all of it. It wasn't delivered with any softness, or anything she might mistake for particular affection. But it was, as he said, rather blunt—direct, Aurelie might have corrected, if she were in mind to interrupt. Cruel she could not argue with, even if her heart wanted to. The whole thing undid a knot in her heart she hadn't realized was tied as tightly as it was.

Aremu, Aurelie thought, had never lied to her. Would not, even if he ought to. (Her mind skittered to Tsadha and away.) And still she felt that the things he said and the way he behaved didn't quite line up, the honesty very careful. He had asked of her very little, and she had tried to do the same. It had left her on odd footing, happy as she'd been.

(And Fionn? He spoke a great deal, but very little directly. And honestly? Aurelie still didn't know. The bracelet at her wrist seemed so heavy.)

"I, uhm, I don't mind if you're bl—" Aurelie cut herself off with a choked sound, surprised by the brush of Desiderio's hand on her shoulder. Hardly even there—nothing inappropriate or untoward, especially not from a friend. Her whole face felt instantly alight; he smiled at her, and she was distinctly dizzy with the sight of it. For once, she couldn't worry about her expression—there was simply no room for worry in her head. All of it was filled with the exact shape of his mouth when he smiled, and the sound of his voice in her ears.

He took his hand away soon enough. Just a moment, really. Nothing at all, she tried to tell herself; she couldn't hear her own thoughts over the pounding of her heart in her ears. "I get told this a lot lately," she blurted out in a daze. Bells and chimes. Had she really been holding his hand just last night?

(That was different, her mind insisted. Then they had been tired, and desperate, and... This was the full light of morning, and... Bells and chimes.)

Shadow trotted up to them, dropping the bone at their feet. It was positively drenched with slobber, and so now was that bit of the floor. Aurelie tore her eyes away from Desiderio to look at first the bone and then the dog—bander, she had to remember. She crouched down to pet him, realizing that he was more or less at a height with her when she did. And that he smelled awful; he really needed that bath.

"I, er. I appreciate... You saying... Uhm. I'll keep that in mind. In the— Darling, please, I'm trying to have a conversation!" Shadow, perhaps excited to have her on his level again, started licking the side of her face. It was terribly sweet, but she felt immediately grimy. Aurelie glanced up at Desiderio, arms around Shadow (and his tongue on the side of her head).

"W-Would you, ah... Should we bathe him now, or did you want to, uhm. Finish... Do your... Er. First?"

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

S

he broke off with the strangest choked noise. You see, he wanted to add wryly. He had taken his hand away respectfully, he thought; it had scarcely been there, and there was a great deal of color in her cheeks, and she seemed to him very small. He was rather looming. He could not seem to help it.

You will know, he wanted to add firmly, if I am angry; when offended, I am even fouler than usual, as you have seen for yourself. He supposed he could not fault her for assuming the worst, when he could not get through something as simple as waking up without coiling as if to strike.

But fear of him – or loathing – he would have understood better than the delicate care with which she tried to step, even unsuccessfully, around the smallest of his motions. More so now than ever, strangely enough, when he was not behaving like a snapping hound.

Well, not like as much of one. She was at something of a disadvantage, if she were trying to read him; nearly everything came out quite dismally.

But he was beginning to think it had very little to do with him at all. The little girl he remembered had stuttered, wide-eyed and hesitant, but she had been a waterfall of enthusiasm, with more trains of thought than he could follow; she had scarcely ever apologized for them, at least to him – did you draw that? Can you draw–? Would you like to–? Did you know –

I can be very quiet, he remembered.

The Inspector was unsettled.

But it was a smile on her face, or so he thought – rather unmistakably, now. If a surprised, oddly dazed-looking one, with how wide her eyes were.

On his face, no less. He felt very self-conscious, but not enough to look away. That had, after all, been the point. That she should look at him, clearly and unabashedly. He was uncertain about the latter part, but the former – something must have been clarified, however small. He could not hold the smile forever, but it lingered a little longer before it fell back into his customary scowl.

She sounded startled when she spoke. “Count me among them, then,” he said dryly.

(Only lately? Since she had left –)

He smelled pup’s slobber before he even looked down. Aurelie crouching beside him put his size into perspective; Morandi raised his brows again, watching his great fuzzy bulk lean in to lick her face. She looked up at him, her hair wonderfully mussed where Shadow’s great tongue had caught it, both of her arms thrown around him and her hands buried in his ruffled fur.

He must have been terribly grimy to hold, but she looked so happy. Morandi was dumbstruck; all he could see was the strand of hair stuck to one freckled cheek in Shadow’s slobber, as if it were the most balanced composition he had ever beheld.

He could not speak for a moment.

“Ah. Yes.” Yes. Businesslike. He cleared his throat. “I was going to, ah – but – Hurte’s grace, best bathe him now. I shall go and make sure that the alleyway is empty.”

Really, he was grateful for an excuse to put off exercising – for once in the last ten years – but Shadow really did stink. With a brusque nod, he went to the door; in the corner of his eye, he could see Shadow leaning, ear cocked.

The warm Roalis breeze, smelling unusually of salt, struck him as soon as he opened the door; so did the light. It did nothing for his headache, and he squinted a moment, stepping out onto the landing.

It looked entirely different in the daylight. Was this really where they had staggered in the night before, Aurelie blind, him bleeding from the nose and delirious from casting? It was narrow and shaded and still, except for the gentle flap of clothes on the clotheslines – a thicket of them – criss-crossing the upper storeys. Something else he would have to come out and sketch. He was noticing a great many things, now.

“The coast is clear,” he pronounced, turning back. “I suppose we have no harness,” he said uncertainly, stepping back into the kitchen, “but he does seem wont to follow you.

“Come, permit me to help you with the stairs.” He held out an arm, then hesitated. “I shall tell you some of the more ridiculous stories recruits have come up with,” he added with a faint smile. “One has it that I was attacked by hatchers which secretly live in the sewers of Vienda.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

The smile had faded from Desiderio's face before Aurelie looked away. It didn't, somehow, feel like the result of her doing something wrong this time. Just like it was a shape he wasn't used to holding, and couldn't maintain for very long. She must find frowning an attractive trait, some part of her noted. A part Aurelie vigorously ignored.

Shadow was very helpful in this way. Both his affections, which seemed to be heavily saliva-based, and his smell. Aurelie would have liked to dispense with the smell, and indeed they would rather soon, but the affections were really quite sweet. Once again she found herself wondering how long he'd been alone—and how anyone could bear to leave him behind. She was here now, at least; she would never do such a thing, not without knowing he would be safe and cared for.

There was another silence after she asked. Had the question been strange? She hadn't thought so. Too intimate, maybe...? No, that couldn't be it. No matter what he might have been willing to discuss about his morning routine in regular circumstances, these weren't regular circumstances. Desiderio could hardly complain about being asked about something he had been fully prepared to do in front of her. Aurelie just waited, puzzled, and pushed Shadow's wet nose gently out of her ear.

"The alleyway—oh. You're right, you should... I hadn't even considered that." They were both fugitives now. Of course it made sense to check if there was anyone around. Especially since they still weren't sure who... Perhaps it was more of a boon that she realized, her ankle keeping her housebound. She would likely have just gone out as usual, at least to walk Shadow and things of that nature. Stupid. No wonder she'd only made it a few weeks in the Rose without... Aurelie watched Desiderio go to the door, feeling unsettled.

Shadow strained a little towards the door in interest. When Desiderio stepped out, a summer breeze swept in after him. It ruffled the fringe of hair across her forehead and Shadow's striped fur. It also made her even more aware of how badly the poor boy smelled. She wrinkled her nose, looking into his golden eyes.

The coast is clear. There was that pinching, uncertain feeling again. Aurelie really was a very poor criminal. This sort of carefulness ought to just become part of her regular life now. (And Desiderio's? Surely not, surely they'd find a way to get him back to... To Vienda, to his work, to his fiancée. They had to.)

"Harness? Oh. Yes I—hmm." He had been so good at staying by her side, she hadn't thought about that. They would need one, though. From wherever one got such a thing. She hoped, with a little worry indenting the space between her eyebrows, they weren't terribly expensive. She didn't spend her pay on much, but she didn't have a lot of pay to spend, either.

Aurelie came only somewhat awkwardly to her feet. By the time she had done so, Desiderio was back in the kitchen, arm held out for her to take. She reached back for it (this already felt like habit) when he went on. Hardly even a smile, but it stopped Aurelie in her tracks for a skipped heartbeat. He really did look terribly handsome when he wasn't scowling. Not that he didn't look handsome when he was scowling, mind, but it was a different sort of—

Aurelie shook herself and put her hand on his arm. Her expression was warm and friendly (and only friendly, she hoped) when she looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. "Hatchers! You're lucky to have made it out from that one alive."

This was nice, she thought dazedly as they went outside. His arm was solid, the Roalis sun warm on her face as she looked at the gently cheery banners of laundry lines that swayed in the breeze. Telling her silly stories from work. If she were to close her eyes and concentrate very hard, she could almost forget... Forget most of it, the last few days, weeks, years—just to live forever in this moment.

Less peaceful was Shadow, who pushed eagerly against her as they tried to go down the stairs. It wasn't a particularly wide staircase. Aurelie couldn't decide if that helped or hurt their progress. He was very enthusiastic, and it almost made her lose her footing more than once. About halfway down she scolded him rather sternly after a particularly close call that had her grasping onto a fistful of Desiderio's borrowed shirt to keep herself upright. After that he seemed to settle a little, waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.

"I do hope we all... fit. In the... We probably shouldn't wash him in the alley. In case... In case someone comes while we're..." Aurelie frowned first at Shadow, and then at Desiderio, thinking. This was going to be a very tight fit indeed, trying to all pile into the washroom.

[Desiderio Morandi]

above the good pan, old rose harbor

morning on the 29th of roalis, 2720

H

e was worried at first that he had misjudged. He was no particular conversational expert, but he thought to – to ‘lighten the mood’, as they said. He had even smiled, which was also an endeavour at which he was not particularly skilled or experienced.

She took his arm and smiled back, at least. The breeze from the open door was ruffling her fringe out of order quite fetchingly.

“Huh! Indeed,” he laughed, and let the smile fall; he thought perhaps, for once, she understood his intentions well enough. “Some of them are impressively close. Still distastefully embellished. I try to make sure they know the truth of the matter. One recruit – new to the division, poor, fearless soul – asked me directly about the chrove-fighting ring I had supposedly broken up…”

They went out on the landing with Shadow a bit too close for comfort, and he found himself juggling an awareness of pup and Aurelie’s ankle and his own feet, still in their socks. He should have remembered to put on his boots, but in the confused haze of the morning, he had forgotten. He moved more quietly without them, at least.

The sun certainly did not help his headache. At least the alleyway was shaded. He did not often drink, but he had been hungover more than once; there was a reason why arcane overexertion was often compared. He found himself squinting and holding somewhat tightly to the railing.

Halfway down Aurelie stumbled over Shadow and caught herself in his shirt.

He was too startled at first to think anything of their closeness. Quite the opposite – he felt his heart lurch, and it was as if all his senses sharpened. He could only barely keep his field indectal, and keep himself from throwing his arms around her; a few spells were on the tip of his tongue, and his eyes darted around, suddenly sharp, for an attacker, for anything.

There was only Shadow at the bottom of the stairs, and Aurelie’s warm weight against him. And her firm scolding, which was as comforting as it was surreal. In control, he told himself.

“I dare say – hmm.” Morandi’s voice sounded to him as even and cold as ever; his heart was lurching still, at least. “I had not thought of it,” he admitted, especially cautious around the bottom few stairs.

He had not in fact been in the washroom. He scarcely knew what to picture.

Aurelie was frowning up at him, and he frowned down thoughtfully. “You are… correct.” In the corner of his eye, the light flickered; distantly at one end of the alleyway, a coach had rattled by. Through the first floor wall, he would have sworn that he could hear – unfamiliar voices – the noises of the bakery, he supposed.

The back of his neck prickled.

If it seemed to him again terribly inappropriate to be near – much less inside of – a washroom with a woman, he was too anxious suddenly to care. When she opened the door, he peered inside after her, frowning.

The space was at least large enough for him, which was more than he might have said of many places he had been in Uptown Vienda and elsewhere (even his flat seemed suited to a much smaller person). It was cleaner and more well-appointed than he had expected, too; his eyes lingered for a moment on the folded linens, some with the edge of embroidery visible, and on the bath, and on the small mirror. But –

“I think perhaps the alleyway is – more –” Shadow trotted in happily and curiously, putting it even more into perspective. “Hmm. If we are careful, and one of us keeps watch, surely…”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 29, 2720 - Morning
Above the Good Pan Bakery

Out of the corner of her eye, Aurelie had noticed Desiderio squinting in the light of the morning. He seemed more out of sorts than he'd said. Normal, he'd assured her; Aurelie didn't like "normal", then.

Casting took a toll on the body, if one did it enough. Aurelie didn't know much, of course—she didn't even know that she was meant to know this—but she remembered it was so. Ana had often complained of it, coming home on breaks from school. A handful of times she had been doing summer homework that had required such concentration from her that she had taken to her bed. A maid had fetched her a cool, damp cloth and kept the lights very low in Ana's bedroom. She had been highly concerned, even as a little girl.

("Come here," she remembered her sister saying, with a wave of an elegant hand. Patting the bedspread beside her when Aurelie had drawn close. "Tell me a story, Birdie. Your voice always makes the headache a bit better." Aurelie had been so happy to do something for her shining, beautiful sister. She would have done anything Ana asked her to, then.)

Aurelie resolved to do something about it later, as firmly as she could manage with half of her mind taken up by Shadow's insistent antics and the other half by the echoes of strange, brief laughter in her ears. There was, after all, the whole rest of the day, and nothing in particular either of them had to do to fill it.

She was drawn back a little more into the task at hand by the way Desiderio tensed underneath her hands when she stumbled. She hadn't meant to lean quite so much of her weight into him, or to paw at his shirt so... It was an accident, that was all. A momentary stumble. She must have been more startled than she realized; her heart couldn't seem to calm down.

Desiderio didn't sound too rattled, which she supposed made sense. They were careful getting to the bottom of the staircase where Shadow waited for them. It wasn't until she took that last step, looking down to make sure of where she was putting her feet, that she realized Desiderio was still in his socks. Aurelie bit her lip and looked away, torn between concern for the state of his socks (they would at least need washing, if not replacement entirely) and laughter at the absurdity of it.

"This way," Aurelie said with a gesture towards the door of their destination. They would just have to... to all pile in, she supposed, as best they could. The prospect of standing in a washroom with a man didn't bother her overmuch; when she thought about that man as Desiderio, specifically, she felt rather flustered. There would also be a rather oversized dog, she reminded herself. That was hardly the circumstance for scandal. Less than watching him sleep, or holding his hands. (Her own shamelessness shocked her sometimes, no matter how natural it seemed in the moment of the action.)

"Oh dear," she fretted quietly, when they both stood in the doorway. It was bigger in her mind. Plenty big enough for her, certainly. She was rather small by herself. Especially by human standards. (She had left a comb down here last night; Aurelie did her best not to look at it or snatch it away. That would only draw attention to it, and it was only a comb. Everyone had them. Desiderio must, considering how long he kept—chimes.)

Shadow nosed his way past them into the room, which only reinforced the difficulty of the logistics. They could certainly all be in the room, but... Washing Shadow seemed very firmly out of the question. She could imagine it, and it involved a rather inappropriate amount of... contact. (Aurelie stopped imagining it, quickly.)

"I think you're right," she agreed reluctantly, frowning up at Desiderio again. Shadow was pushing his face into a stack of linens. That certainly decided which they'd use for this. "We'll just... Uhm. Yes. Be careful."

She had kept her voice down while they discussed it; she didn't think anyone could hear them, not really. She could hear Cass in the bakery kitchen through the door, but not the shop beyond. (The sound of it made her hands itch, but she knew she'd only be in the way.) The lowering of her voice was more for the form of it than because she was truly concerned. Best get in the habit and so on. It all still made her uneasy.

"We can just, ah. Fill the laundry tub with hot water, then, and... If you carry it to the alley, we can...?" This was rapidly becoming more complicated than it had seemed upstairs. Still. They would persevere, for Shadow's sake. And she did feel a bit better with something useful to do. Aurelie carefully rolled up her sleeves above her elbows with the swift ease of long practice and set to it.