Noon, Hamis 32, 2720
Aposadi’opib’oqaw, Laus Oma
Aposadi’opib’oqaw, Laus Oma
Aurelie had gone past the animals, and she had smiled, and there had been something on her face that had gone straight to the heart of him. Aremu had swallowed through the ache of it, and he hadn’t gone over, after all, to tell her the names of them. Perhaps she wouldn’t have wanted him to; she didn’t linger, as she had at the other displays, but went promptly to the threads, looking at all the different colors and types.
“Take as long as you like,” Aremu said, when Aurelie asked. She was frowning, very intently, looking down at the array of threads, her eyes skimming over back and forth. In the end, she did choose, a small assortment of different colors; she lay them carefully one after another on the counter, along with what looked to Aremu like a hoop.
The dura shifted, and counted the threads out, one after another, dividing them into piles. She glanced back up at Aremu. “Does she speak Mugrobi?” She asked, looking at Aurelie.
“No, she doesn’t,” Aremu answered.
The dura shifted, looking at Aurelie. “This,” she said in halting Estuan, touching the first group, “one more. This,” she touched the second group, “one more. Less price.” She glanced back up at Aremu.
Aremu raised his eyebrows at her.
“She has two types,” The dura explained in quick, fluent Mugrobi, “and I can offer a sale on each – one more of each type would be only half price.”
“She says to get one more color of each,” Aremu translated, or at least closely enough, smiling at Aurelie. “There’s a sale.”
Once Aurelie had made the last of her choices, Aremu handed over the coin; the Mugrobi bundled everything up in a small drawstring bag, which she handed over to Aurelie. Aremu thanked her with a little grin; she grinned back.
Aremu held the door for Aurelie as they went back outside. They went back past the little cafes, back onto the larger, shady street, making their way deeper into Aposadi’opib’oqaw. He had gone, Aremu thought, the way he knew. All the same, it was with a rush of relief that they made it past Tsadha’s house, with no sign of her; he had not the least idea what he’d expected or what he feared, but it was thoroughly a relief.
“What would you serve?” Aremu asked, suddenly, as they went single file around a large bush studded with dramatic purple flowers. “In your café, I mean,” he smiled down at Aurelie, softly. “If you had one.”
They weren’t alone on the street, not by any means; foot traffic was light, much lighter than it had been on the larger boulevards, and only a few carriages rolled past, with even fewer of the rougher wagons. There was foot traffic: a slender arata brushed past them, clairvoyant field buzzing with agitation; two human girls, elegantly dressed and dripping with gold, giggled to each other the entire time they passed them; another imbala, smartly dressed in an Anaxi-style suit, hurried past them with a case beneath his arm, lips moving silently as if making some rehearsal to himself.
“Aremu!” A carriage rolled to a stop next to them; two elegant moa fluffed their shorn tails, and a coachman in neat tan livery sat on the top. The door came flying open, and Tsadha herself came down the two steps, her eyes bright.
She looked, Aremu thought, a little uneasily, as lovely as ever; she wore all bright purple silk, a long, elegant flared tunic, over neatly tailored pants, with bright red lip color and gleaming eyeshadow, with little gold drops in her ears peeking out beneath an elaborate headwrap. She was just a little taller than Aurelie, and she looked as fresh as if she had just woken up and dressed, though he knew she was in the habit of rising early.
“I didn’t know you were back from Thul Ka!” Tsadha was smiling, her eyes bright. “You should have sent a note,” she giggled. “Or are you tired – oh,” she turned to Aurelie, as if seeing her for the first time. “Another of your Anaxi friends?” She smiled at Aurelie. “Hello!” She bowed, politely.
“Aurelie,” Aremu said, slowly, with the odd feeling of being in a nightmare, “this is Tsadha pezre Marza. Tsadha, this is Aurelie.”
“Take as long as you like,” Aremu said, when Aurelie asked. She was frowning, very intently, looking down at the array of threads, her eyes skimming over back and forth. In the end, she did choose, a small assortment of different colors; she lay them carefully one after another on the counter, along with what looked to Aremu like a hoop.
The dura shifted, and counted the threads out, one after another, dividing them into piles. She glanced back up at Aremu. “Does she speak Mugrobi?” She asked, looking at Aurelie.
“No, she doesn’t,” Aremu answered.
The dura shifted, looking at Aurelie. “This,” she said in halting Estuan, touching the first group, “one more. This,” she touched the second group, “one more. Less price.” She glanced back up at Aremu.
Aremu raised his eyebrows at her.
“She has two types,” The dura explained in quick, fluent Mugrobi, “and I can offer a sale on each – one more of each type would be only half price.”
“She says to get one more color of each,” Aremu translated, or at least closely enough, smiling at Aurelie. “There’s a sale.”
Once Aurelie had made the last of her choices, Aremu handed over the coin; the Mugrobi bundled everything up in a small drawstring bag, which she handed over to Aurelie. Aremu thanked her with a little grin; she grinned back.
Aremu held the door for Aurelie as they went back outside. They went back past the little cafes, back onto the larger, shady street, making their way deeper into Aposadi’opib’oqaw. He had gone, Aremu thought, the way he knew. All the same, it was with a rush of relief that they made it past Tsadha’s house, with no sign of her; he had not the least idea what he’d expected or what he feared, but it was thoroughly a relief.
“What would you serve?” Aremu asked, suddenly, as they went single file around a large bush studded with dramatic purple flowers. “In your café, I mean,” he smiled down at Aurelie, softly. “If you had one.”
They weren’t alone on the street, not by any means; foot traffic was light, much lighter than it had been on the larger boulevards, and only a few carriages rolled past, with even fewer of the rougher wagons. There was foot traffic: a slender arata brushed past them, clairvoyant field buzzing with agitation; two human girls, elegantly dressed and dripping with gold, giggled to each other the entire time they passed them; another imbala, smartly dressed in an Anaxi-style suit, hurried past them with a case beneath his arm, lips moving silently as if making some rehearsal to himself.
“Aremu!” A carriage rolled to a stop next to them; two elegant moa fluffed their shorn tails, and a coachman in neat tan livery sat on the top. The door came flying open, and Tsadha herself came down the two steps, her eyes bright.
She looked, Aremu thought, a little uneasily, as lovely as ever; she wore all bright purple silk, a long, elegant flared tunic, over neatly tailored pants, with bright red lip color and gleaming eyeshadow, with little gold drops in her ears peeking out beneath an elaborate headwrap. She was just a little taller than Aurelie, and she looked as fresh as if she had just woken up and dressed, though he knew she was in the habit of rising early.
“I didn’t know you were back from Thul Ka!” Tsadha was smiling, her eyes bright. “You should have sent a note,” she giggled. “Or are you tired – oh,” she turned to Aurelie, as if seeing her for the first time. “Another of your Anaxi friends?” She smiled at Aurelie. “Hello!” She bowed, politely.
“Aurelie,” Aremu said, slowly, with the odd feeling of being in a nightmare, “this is Tsadha pezre Marza. Tsadha, this is Aurelie.”
