[Closed, Mature] I will not ask you

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, Hamis 32, 2720
Dzahix’areq, Laus Oma

Aremu had seen the moment of hesitation before Aurelie took his arm, for all he hadn’t understood it. He felt, too, the way she flinched against him with every field they went past, the tension in the set of her small shoulders and all the lines of her.

She had relaxed, he thought, by the time they reached Feza’s. She said he seemed like he’d been having fun, and Aremu grinned a little, almost sheepishly, smiling at her.

“Feza knows his craft well,” Aremu said, not denying it. He bought from the other man because he knew his parts, and he had good suppliers in Thul Ka, but their debates over suitability weren’t exactly a downside.

“It should,” Aremu eased back against the seat, lifting his prosthetic to ease away the small curtain covering the window. Colorful streets rolled past, the smells of food and perfume drifting in through it. As he watched, they rounded the edge of Dzo Market. Each stall at the end had a brilliant display of spices, heaped high, and Aremu gestured to it and grinned at Aurelie with a little raise of his eyebrows.

“It isn’t quite the part we had before,” Aremu explained, “but I’d planned a redesign already, and it should work well. I’ll try to get it put back together in the next few days.”

They went down a smoother street, the stones beneath the wheels quieter now; their pace slowed as the streets grew busier too, coaches and wagons mingled together.

Aremu tugged lightly on a pull cord by the window; the carriage came to a stop at the next corner. Aremu climbed out, and offered his hand to Aurelie, if she wanted it; the driver leaned down, and Aremu pressed a few coins into his hand.

He left, and they were there, standing on the edge of the street. There were more than a few bookshops and printers; the entire block seemed full of them, storefront after storefront with elegantly bound volumes here, and tally dreadful there. A stand on the street was selling newspapers, both the Laus Oma Tsawos and others from Thul Ka and beyond.

“This way,” Aremu said with a smile. The streets were still busy, though nothing compared to the wharf; doors opened and closed and voices were raised in laughter and conversation. Above the shopfronts were all houses, and the smell of food drifted out; greenery overhung most balconies, and here and there there was a glimpse of it on flat roofs.

“This area is called Dzahix’areq,” Aremu grinned, “which means something like an armful of books. One comes here to buy any sort of book, to have one printed, for newspapers and pamphlets and all the like.”

Aremu led them half a block down, then onto a smaller side street, with still more such shops. One of the first doors was an elegant carved wood door, with only a small cart of books sitting outside as a display; carved into a sign over the door was the word Dzaris in Estuan, and beneath it Mugrobi.

A bell chimed softly as they entered. The inside was full of bookshelves; the air smelled soft and like paper, and there were a few customers browsing, here and there: imbali, mostly, small and elegant, and one or so larger duri.

“Dzare,” Aremu went to the counter, and bowed to the middle-aged imbala standing behind the counter, dressed in light purple silks.

“Aremu, adame,” Dzare bowed back in response. “At long last you grace my shop with the delight of your presence. I began to fear for the books I had set aside for you.”

Aremu grinned. “I’d be glad to take a look at then. Ah - this is a friend of mine, Aurelie,” he smiled down at her, and then looked back at Dzare. “She’d like to browse a bit as well.”

Dzare’s bushy eyebrows lifted, very slightly; he smiled. “Of course. We have mostly Estuan books here, young lady - if you do not read Mugrobi...? If you tell me where your interests lie, I can direct you; a bookstore is as a feast, and no matter how hungry one man cannot eat the whole of the table!” He paused, and grinned. “At least, not all at once.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Late Morning| Dzahix’areq, Laus Oma

Aurelie nodded at the explanation. She knew, or she thought she knew, that she hadn't really much idea about this sort of thing. But she also hoped it was clear she did like listening, and being told. Even if she didn't remember it, or understand, or have much else to offer other than the pleasure she felt at receiving such information.

She thought she could tell when they moved away from the warehouses and the mechanics shops and into a different sort of area. The movement of the carriage was quieter, wheels turning over smoother streets—Aurelie wasn't sure if that was true, but it seemed to be so. They got off not long after, so perhaps she had been right.

Aurelie too his hand as she climbed down easily enough; she let it linger, too, for a little longer than she needed to. She thought to keep it, a wild stray sort of thought. Not so bold a thing, really, and yet she couldn't bring herself to it in the end. After that extra moment, she let it go and folded her hands in front of her again.

Whatever else Brunnhold might have lacked, books certainly weren't one of them. She had been in the library many, many times, and there were bookstores aplenty on the campus and beyond. Certainly, a university was never lacking in printed material—forbidden to her or not, she had been around plenty of it.

Yet, this still felt different in a way Aurelie couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps it was that all of the shops were clustered up together, and in Brunnhold they were scattered about. Dotting the landscape of red brick storefronts, and in between them other things. The greenery could also have been it, cheerfully accenting windows and rooftops. Or perhaps it was the crowd coming in and out of all of them that made it feel so. Yes, she thought; that was the biggest difference of all. Aurelie honestly didn't know quite what to make of it. A smile worked its way across her face.

"I don't think I've seen so many bookstores in one place," she admitted. She hadn't taken his arm again, because it hadn't been offered. She rather wished she had, and walked as closely as she thought she could without being in the way instead. A few times she thought she had gotten very nearly underfoot, and trailed behind a little, only to catch herself up immediately after. She tried not to think of what he made of it.

I am not, she wanted to say, normally this way. She wanted to say it, very badly. She just wasn't sure it was true. Did it count for anything that in her very small world she wasn't so—like this? That in that tiny walled garden she had been used to, she had moved easily enough, sure at least of her steps, of her day-to-day? Honestly, she didn't think it counted for much of anything at all.

The sound of the bell chiming as they entered was oddly cheering, banishing some of her internal fretting. Or at least pushing it to the corners of her mind where it belonged. Aurelie bowed politely enough when introduced—one day, she really would have to get over this faint surprise she felt whenever attention was drawn to her presence—and smiled at Dzare, too.

"Ah, no sir—I'm afraid I don't." Her smile brightened a little more at the metaphor. That, also, was something to which she had not quite adjusted. But certainly in a more pleasant way than many of the other things that she found herself surprised by, over and over. She supposed, if it were organized anything like the library in Brunnhold, like subjects were grouped together. It seemed to her a sensible enough arrangement, she had no reason to doubt it was so.

"But, ah—I suppose language doesn't matter for... Er. I was interested in, ah, if you could direct me to any books on needlecraft you might have...? Please." Aurelie had looked, very briefly, over to Aremu before she asked. Aremu had said he wanted to make a gift of books to her; she didn't think, perhaps, this was the sort he meant. She would pick one, she thought to herself. Just one. That would be easy enough a selection; just the one book that seemed the most useful and instructive.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, Hamis 32, 2720
Dzaris Bookshop, Laus Oma

Aurelie glanced over to him after she asked for boots on needlepoint; there was a faintly worried look on her face, as if she thought he would disapprove. Aremu smiled back at her. He wasn’t sure what he thought she’d choose; somehow needlepoint didn’t surprise him, not quite, not perhaps as it should have.

He thought of the history book she had been working on since she came, slowly and diligently, reading at least a few careful pages each time she sat down with it. He thought, too, with a pang, of the way her lips moved, just a little, just sometimes, when she read.

“Of course,” Dzare said, smiling. “I have a number of books of excellent designs - some which are more focused on technique for a beginner, others of a more advanced nature. This way, little flower.”

Aremu trailed after them, accompanying Aurelie to a large, well-tended bookcase in a quieter corner of the shop. “Here,” Dzare patted one of the shelves, just low enough for Aurelie to reach well, “are the needlepoint books. I have also books on knitting, crochet, macrame - many other fine crafts - please, take your time! One eats first with the eyes, after all.”

Aremu smiled at Aurelie. Dzare turned back towards the counter first, and he took the brief moment of half privacy; he reached out, and touched her back with his hand, lightly, resting his palm against her for just a moment.

He turned and followed after Dzare. They went together into a small room off the back, and Dzare came out a few moments later, carrying a half-full crate, Aremu behind him still.

Aremu unpacked it himself, standing at the counter. There was a new book on kofi cultivation he had been hoping to read, and another on innovations in airship engine design; he took the book on kofi cultivation immediately, and stood studying the engine book a little while, flipping carefully through it.

He looked through the rest of the book as well, and added a slim volume which contained an article on the cultivation of tsug. After a little more thought, studying the book on engines, he set it down in the pile he wished to buy. An extravagance, Aremu told himself, but one which he could afford. Then, after a moment, he set it aside; he knew better than to look back.

Aremu set the two books aside for Dzare, packing the rest back into the crate. He turned and went back across the shop, smiling at the sight of Aurelie’s small head of bright hair bent intently over a book.

“Have you found anything you like?” Aremu asked, coming up to the side of her. He let himself indulge, just a little, admiring the intensity on her freckled face, and the smile too. They were in enough of a corner that - he didn’t need to look around to know they were unobserved, just then. Carefully, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, fingers gentle and light.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Late Morning| Dzahix’areq, Laus Oma

Whatever Aurelie had thought she would be choosing between, an entire shelf was not in her calculations. Dzare had led her to a corner of the shop and indicated a shelf that was, blessedly, well within her arm's reach. Aremu had come as well, smiling at her all the while. There was the briefest moment where he put a hand on her back (and she, of course, got immediately flustered) before both men left her alone to browse while they went off and Aremu could look at whatever had been held for him.

Surely, she thought, it was not the whole shelf. Aurelie realized that it was not only the one shelf, but the ones below it too; half the bookcase was full of books on crafts of all kinds. Some manuals of instruction for the very beginner, some merely books of designs with no instruction at all, and every manner of book in between. She had thought only of embroidery, but there were as promised books on knitting, crochet and, possibly most appealing of all, macrame. Instructions for sewing clothes as well as items for the home, too, and what appeared to be sturdy manuals of patterns from all over. She had no skill with sewing, not beyond the basics one needed to do light mending and some small alterations to clothing that had been meant for someone else, but she still brushed her fingers over the spines.

A feast indeed. Aurelie had no idea where to begin—looking at all of them, the titles and authors and subjects all blurred together. At the beginning, then; she gently pulled a copy of the first book on the shelf and looked through it slowly and consideringly. Her face was bright, eyes wide.

This was not, of course, her first time looking through books on the subject. Niamh had brought her a few, although Niamh didn't know fancywork well and Aurelie didn't know books, and she had read through them all carefully. But this was different—she could have one, to read and reference whenever and wherever she should like. The thought was slightly dizzying.

She had told herself only one. And she only wanted one! The problem, then, came with choosing the best one. She inspected each book on the shelf carefully, and had rather soon found herself with a small pile of final choices to select between. It was rather more difficult than she'd bargained on. Especially since she had, somewhat wistfully, added a few manuals on macrame to the pile. She had never done it before, but she had found herself often admiring the occasional macrame lace valance, a decorative hanging, a bit of a shawl. She frowned at them consideringly. Easier, from looking at it, than tatting, as far as lace went.

Aurelie was still deep in thought, and her pile had grown to about six or seven possibilities, when Aremu came back over to stand next to her. She had pulled, in the end, a very general manual on all sorts of needlecrafts, a book on Anaxi embroidery techniques, two in Mugrobi that she couldn't read but had rather excellently instructive illustrations, one that promised to be a beginner's instruction in the making of macrame lace, and one rather guilty addition of a book on needlepoint lace from Bastia. In her hands she had also a book on knitting, which she also rather didn't need—she had no experience with that, either, and there certainly was no need for sweaters here. No matter how lovely the pattern.

"Aremu! Did you already finish looking at—oh." Aurelie's face broke into a smile, flushed and happy; despite the relative privacy of the corner, her eyes did dart around and over his shoulder before settling back on his face. Bells and chimes. She had lost track of her thoughts completely. What had she been about to say? He had asked her a question, and she was going to answer it. A question about—oh.

"Oh, er. Yes. Well. I seem to have gotten a bit carried away," she said sheepishly, looking at her pile. "I, uhm. I plan to narrow it down to just the... the one." Aurelie looked at the book she held in her hands, the one on knitting. No, she thought firmly. Knitting required tools which she didn't, at present, have. She couldn't ask for those, too, or either the yarn. Not on top of everything else. She put the book back on the shelf, carefully finding the exact place from which it had come and putting it there. Out of habit, she moved around a few other volumes that had clearly come out of order from previous browsing.

"Did, ah, did you? Find something, I mean? Er. Well I assume so, as they were set aside for you... Ah. Hmm. I'm sorry, if you're done I'll—I'll just make a decision now, then." Aurelie looked again to her little pile, frowning. She was rather despairingly certain she was no closer to choosing than she had been at the start.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Morning, Hamis 32, 2720
Dzaris Bookshop, Laus Oma

Aremu wasn’t really sure he’d had to ask; Aurelie had maybe six books in front of her, carefully stacked at eye level, with a seventh in her hands.

She looked sheepish when he asked, in fact, though it didn’t do much to dim her enthusiasm. Obligingly, Aremu turned to look at the books as well; he didn’t know much of sewing or handicrafts, but she seemed to like them. He still used the bookmark she’d made him; it was the only one he had, in fact, and it followed him from book to book, for all that he hadn’t read much lately; reading, he thought ruefully, was the one thing which still challenged him, just a bit.

He did not, in fact, want to admit it, but the effort of looking at the books Dzare had set aside for him had given him a headache – a pinching sort of feeling, with a tightness behind the eyes, not so bad as it might have been. He put it aside, focusing on Aurelie.

Just the one, Aurelie said, almost despairingly. She set the book she held back on the shelf, and then looked back down at her pile.

“I did,” Aremu said, smiling at her. “Several that I liked.” He paused, trying to think this over. Get all of them, he wanted to say; he wanted to sweep them off the shelf into the crook of his arm and march them over to the counter before she could protest.

But – that felt strange, too, like forcing the gift on her. He didn’t know where the line was, how much he ought to yield to her insistence on one book, or whether he ought to insist she buy more. He thought – he knew, when he’d made the offer, that he’d spoken of books and not a book, and so he didn’t know whether permission would be enough.

He looked back down at the stack of books, very intently; he looked back at Aurelie. “I’d like to buy you more than just one,” he said, in the end, a little carefully. He smiled at her, and went on, trying to find his way. “All six, if you like, or - if not then - at least three."

He didn’t reach out to touch her, not then; he didn’t know what to do with the way her eyes jumped about when he brushed her hair aside, or the hesitation she’d had before taking his arm, or the little inhale of breath when he’d set his hand on her back. He felt as if he’d overstepped, already, with touching her hair; for all he wanted to take her in his arms just then, he didn’t let himself do more than consider it, and even that he knew to be too much.

He didn't know, Aremu thought, where the balance was; he didn't even know what line he was trying to walk, let alone how to find himself on it. He had to try; he had to try, anyway, even if he thought he was destined to fall.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Late Morning| Dzahix’areq, Laus Oma

Aurelie paused her contemplation of her own pile to smile, glad to hear that more than one had been something he wanted. He seemed to hesitate after that, and Aurelie looked at him, puzzled. Well, she had to admit to herself, she was looking at him both because she was waiting for him to speak again and because she just liked to do so.

She followed the trail of his eyes to her stack before he looked back to her. I really will pick just one, she wanted to say. She could! It might take some debating, but she was sure that she could do it in the end. The general manual, she thought, would be the most instructive. Or, no. Perhaps the one on Anaxi embroidery would be best—although, she knew some of it already. So one of the two Mugrobi books then. But which one? They were both rather excellent, and overlapped in many areas... Aurelie lost herself in the debate somewhere, and she almost missed it when Aremu started to speak again.

"Oh! Well, ah. Hmm." Aurelie frowned at her stack, and then looked back to his face. The limit of one book had been self-imposed; she knew that. She didn't want to say, again, that she didn't want to be any trouble. That she simply couldn't imagine being worth any of this, let alone all of it. It seemed to her a cruel thing to say, as he smiled at her, as he spoke so carefully.

She relented then; she didn't know what else to do. "N-not all of them, I think. Uhm. But I can choose three. If you're quite certain, I wouldn't—oh. Ah. Thank you." Ungrateful, that's what she sounded like. Still, she couldn't find in her the words to articulate how much she felt like she had already been given so much that this little thing felt like pushing the limits of what one could reasonably expect.

"If I, ah. If I get them all now, uhm. Well, I should like to maybe—come back for the rest." That was said with more warmth in her voice. And a nervous sort of hopefulness, too. She was crossing far more of a line than just accepting all of the books would have been, bolder than anything she'd said or done so far. She had been so carefully avoiding all mention of a future much beyond tomorrow. This, then, was something else again. A declaration of a nebulous next time; she would, ideally, have liked to earn them somehow.

Aurelie couldn't hold that for long; her eyes slid away, back to her stack, even as the tips of her ears colored. She cleared her throat, embarrassed at her own boldness. The Bastian lace she could do without, Aurelie decided then. And the general manual, which was rather more basic than she thought she wanted at the moment. She would keep the one on macrame. But only one of the Mugrobi books. She frowned at them both, then held them up to Aremu.

"T-then, ah. Help me decide which of these... Of course I can't read either, but..." He could, she thought, flip a coin if he really wanted to. She was just terribly torn herself, and knew she would be happy with either. Both of them seemed excessive. For now.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Noon, Hamis 32, 2720
Ipúd Restaurant, Laus Oma

Aremu wasn’t sure what went over his face when Aurelie said she would like to come back for the rest of the books. He smiled at her; he looked down at the pile of them, for a long moment.

There are a lot of shelves, he wanted to say; we’ll have to come quite a few times. The words burned in his chest, and he thought if he opened his mouth too soon they would come spilling out to occupy all the space between them. She didn’t need that pressure from him, Aremu told himself; she had enough to deal with.

“That sounds good,” he said instead, smiling at her.

She sorted through the books, carefully. When it came to the last two, she held them out to him and asked what he thought. Aremu’s eyebrows went up - he knew nothing of it, but he looked down intently at the books nonetheless.

“Do you know what they’re called?” Aremu asked, looking back up at Aurelie. “This one,” he touched the left book, “is called a garden of threads. This one,” he touched the right book, “is called recipes of the needle.” He grinned at her. “So I’ll choose that one.”

They took Aurelie’s three up to the counter; Aremu bought all five, and Dzare wrapped them up in neat waterproof paper, tying off the packages with string and placing them in a small cloth bag. Aremu strung it over his right shoulder, and turned to Aurelie with a smile.

They went back out, but rather than back out to the main thoroughfare, they kept going down the street. They went through a few smaller, residential streets, with the occasional bakery or greengrocer’s, a seamstress here or a carpenter there; greenery spilled over most balconies, and hints of it gleamed on the rooftops above; laundry lines ran overhead, gleaming with color. The only thing strange about the neighborhood was that almost all whom they passed were imbala, here, for these few blocks, without a field to be found.

“This area is called efa’úhof’yito,” Aremu said with a grin at Aurelie. “It means little tortoise. It’s one of the traditional areas where imbala have always lived, in Laus Oma. A long time ago, there was a gate at the edge of the street we entered on, and a few of the others; some of them still stand. Imbala live all over the city now, and even then exile was never enforced here as it was in Thul Ka. But the heart of the neighborhood is imbali still.”

They turned into another street; they went through what looked like it might have been an arch, once, a long time ago, and back out onto another, busier street. Aremu offered Aurelie his arm to cross it, if she wanted it; he wouldn’t, he thought, press it on her.

“Are you hungry?” Aremu asked with a smile. They hadn’t walked long - not even half an hour - but it had grown to midday already, and as if on cue his stomach grumbled. He grinned at her, struggling to hide his excitement; he wanted badly then to take her hand, though he didn’t.

“Come on,” Aremu said instead, brightly. “I think you’ll like this.”

Ipúd was up a short flight of steps, with a brilliant door painted in colorful arching stripes. They waited inside a crowded room, and then they, along with more than a dozen others, were led deeper into the restaurant, up the stairs, and seated to fill all the tables in a room. The crowd was a mix again, human, imbala and arata too.

Aremu sat opposite from Aurelie; waiters came around with glasses of water and bright tart juice. “There’s no menu here,” he explained. “They’ll serve us rice, some fried crackers, and tam’oqap, and then a dozen dishes of the day. Seafood, most likely, and some meat, but at least half should be vegetables - all traditional island sort of food.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Aremu said, after a moment, smiling across the table at Aurelie. He regretted it, for a moment, but he couldn’t take the words back. “I hope you do.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Midday | Ipúd Restaurant, Laus Oma

What was the look on Aremu's face when Aurelie suggested she wanted to come back another time? She couldn't tell; she had been looking at his face rather intently for what was now approaching two weeks, and she couldn't read this one. He smiled, at least. If he had frowned, even just in a way she was starting to think was more considering than miserable, she didn't know what she would have done.

There was nothing she could find in either his face or his words that gave her any reason to think she had overstepped. She knew she would worry about it even still, but at the very least she thought she could set it aside for a later time. Aremu asked if she knew what they were called, and she shook her head. She didn't think he truly meant for her to answer, but she did anyway. She had picked them based on the clarity of the illustrations, not because she could read either of them.

The choice was in the end just as abitrary as she had hoped. Aurelie didn't quite laugh, but the idea of it hung around her eyes and her mouth, remaining there as they brought all of the books up to the counter. All of the books were put into one bag, which Aremu carried before she could protest. It was, she thought with a trace of guilt, a little nice to have someone carry things for her—she was rather used to doing the carrying.

The street they went down was increasingly residential, with shops scattered only here and there. Aurelie hadn't quite been able to put her finger on what was unusual about it until Aremu turned to her and started to tell her a little of the history of it. It was a nice neighborhood, Aurelie thought. Or rather, it was the sort which she liked—small streets and banners of laundry lines, little gardens in pots and baskets on balconies and rooftops and windowsills.

Aurelie thought for a moment to ask what the gate was for, if exile wasn't enforced. But it felt like both a silly question and one with an answer she might not want to hear. Not right now, when they were having what she thought was a rather nice day. So she smiled instead, and asked a few different, smaller questions about things they passed as they wound their way through the streets. The lack of fields in most they passed was both odd and oddly comforting. She didn't hesitate—much—to take the arm offered her.

What she really had wanted to do was take his hand, really. She wondered if he had noticed all her pauses and hesitations and the slight pressure of her hand. He must have; she tried to control herself, but she didn't do a particularly good job. It's all right, she wanted to say, it's all fine. She wasn't comfortable, but she wanted to be—she knew, in her mind, that there was no reason to behave so—and she knew no other way to become comfortable than to be uncomfortable for a rather long period of time.

"I am, actually." It had been a dim concern until he asked—until his own stomach agreed. Aurelie laughed at that, nothing unkind in it. He looked more excited about it than she would have expected, even given the fact that both of them did rather like to eat. It was a good look, and it made her smile a little brighter still.

"Oh?" She didn't add that she thought it unlikely that she wouldn't like it no matter what. It struck her as they climbed the few steps to a colorful painted door that Aremu had said that as if he'd thought of this before they had arrived. Not a place seen by chance, but planned for.

The suspicion was confirmed when they were seated after a brief period of waiting in a crowded front room. "Oh! You... You did? I, ah, hmm." It was hard to control the smile on her face; Aurelie didn't even try. The whole thing sounded very much like something she'd like, of course; he was entirely right. "I'm sure I will," she said, warmly and with no trace of doubt. Too warmly, maybe, but she meant it and she couldn't take it back now anyway.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Noon, Hamis 32, 2720
Ipúd Restaurant, Laus Oma

Aremu grinned, something in him easing in relief, at the pleasure in Aurelie’s voice. He’d thought - he hadn’t been sure what he thought. It had been a nameless, formless sort of dread, lurking somewhere inside him. He was afraid, he supposed, of overstepping, of pushing too hard, of revealing too much. She didn’t - couldn’t - possibly, and if she did, he knew himself better than to think he could be capable.

Whatever he might have been, once, Aremu knew - that now was lost to him. It had always been; it was only that he hadn’t known it until too late, that he had grown up not understanding all that he could not be, and so the learning had carved him from himself.

His stomach grumbled again.

Aremu shook the thoughts away, and grinned sheepishly. She didn’t need that either, he told himself; she had burdens of her own, and he had laid too much on her shoulders already, no matter how strong they were.

She had taken the books; she had smiled at the promise of lunch. She had asked to come back. Perhaps he could be glad of that, and not look too far ahead, and not ask too much of what was to come. He hoped so; he wasn’t too optimistic.

The waiters came out all together, carrying first small bowls for finger washing. They re-emerged with pails of rice; they scooped it out with flat spoons onto the plates, and poured next to it tam’oqap. Next came out trays and platters, each with piles of small cups; the waiters set them down before Aremu and Aurelie, one after the next, until each had a dozen or so, along with several large pieces of thin, crispy fried dough placed atop the rice. Last, they placed down a plate of green-orange strips of mango, chili-pickled.

“Domea domea,” Aremu said, inclining his head to the last waiter.

“May your feast be as bountiful as the floods,” the waiter said, first in Mugrobi, and then slower, in lilting, hesitant Estuan, with a smile for Aurelie.

“Let’s see,” Aremu grinned at her, looking down at the cups. “We’ve got, ah, fish, squid, goat,” he touched each cup with a single finger. “This is the liver of the goat,” he touched another cup, “and this, I think, is another preparation of fish. This, we call bitter gourd. These are the small green eggplants, which we have had in tam’oqap. This, we call lady finger; I don’t know the Estuan for it otherwise.”
He grinned at Aurelie, looking back down at the rest of the dishes, and then back up at her, unable to keep from smiling.

“Ah! This is chili pickled mango,” Aremu grinned broadly at Aurelie. “Go on, try a bit.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Midday | Ipúd Restaurant, Laus Oma

Somewhere between the end of her words and the next rumble of Aremu's stomach, Aurelie was struck by another strange realization. She had not been to a restaurant of any kind, for any purpose, since she was ten years old. Since the day that Mother had taken her and Ana out, and they'd gotten sandwiches wrapped in cheerful blue-and-white paper she could still remember so clearly, even know. The day to celebrate what they had all assumed was to be the start of her attending school.

There were many things she had done today already that she hadn't done at all—she couldn't think that as a little girl she had ever been to a book store, or been on a ferry. Certainly she'd never been anywhere in Laus Oma at all before. Yet it was this which struck her harder and more strangely than the rest. Perhaps it was that they had been cooking together so often at the house, or just that she seemed to always be rabbiting on about food.

Whatever the reason, it came over her like a wave that left a mark on her when it washed out. For a moment she thought to comment on it, but at the same time felt as if it would spoil things somehow. All of the things she didn't know, or had forgotten, were little stones, filling her pockets one by one. They dragged her down, and made her feel small. A child, in all ways but in years. She knew, quite bitterly, that this wasn't so. She hadn't been a child in a very long time in the ways that mattered; but neither did she feel as if she were anything else.

The waiters came out then, shaking her out of her own thoughts. The table between them was soon quite covered with a dizzying arrangement of little cups, dough, rice and—set between them—a plate of something she couldn't identify at all. It was, quite honestly, just too absorbing for her to dwell on silly things like if she was truly anything like a full person.

Aurelie wasn't quite sure she understood, honestly, what it meant, the business with the floods and everything, she did thank the waiter politely before turning back to the spread before her. She was glad that Aremu didn't wait for her to ask what anything was; Aurelie leaned a bit forward without quite meaning to, her eyes following his finger from cup to cup. He seemed so pleased to tell her all of it, Aurelie thought—she could have hated each and every one (which was rather unlikely) and she would still have been happy to have come.

"Well! I was going to say I don't know where to start, but that solves that problem." Chili pickled... mango. She'd not had mango but once before leaving Anaxas. She had yet to have it in any context where the pickling of it seemed to make much sense. This looked rather greener than she was used to seeing, as well. She looked at it, and then to Aremu's grinning face. All right then. Aurelie reached out and picked up what she was hoping was a small enough piece. She raised her eyebrows, but was as willing as ever to try it.

The taste that flooded her tongue was not, as she'd expected, particularly spicy. It was mostly sour, as vinegar was, and somewhat... bitter. The sour was really the strongest part of it; if she didn't think of mango as she did, it wasn't so strange. At first taste, she couldn't decide if she liked it or not. Her pointed, freckled face grew just a little serious as she thought about it, absently taking another bite. No, she really couldn't seem to make up her mind. The sour was pleasing, but... Oh, it was just very odd. A food to try more than once. Until she could make up her mind.

"Hmm." was all she said at first. Then she flicked her eyes back up to Aremu, who was really grinning rather a lot. "It's, very uhm. Interesting. Do you like it?" She wasn't the least concerned with disliking a food Aremu was fond of, but she was curious on a general sort of level.