[Closed, Mature] I will not ask you

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aurelie looked at him; her voice was soft and a little uncertain. Aremu looked back at her, and found something which he hoped passed for a smile. “It isn’t necessary,” he said again. He couldn’t think of anything less restful than sitting there, trying not to think of what Tsadha was saying to Aurelie.

“But thank you,” Aremu said, turning back to Tsadha. “It was kind of you to offer,” he thought he did manage a smile, then; he must have, because something on Tsadha’s face relaxed, and softened, and she looked reassured once more.

The carriage came to a stop before the tailoring shop where Tsadha had her appointment. In the carriage, Tsadha leaned forward, just a little, smiling up at him.

“I hope to see you soon,” she said, finally, very softly. As if, Aremu thought, she had not already been terribly forward. He thought at times her husband must know, because he had never seen what he would call from her subtlety.

He let himself answer with a smile, half-hoping it would be sufficient. It came more easily than her expected, than it should have, and Tsadha’s eyes brightened once more.

Arip’dzoqiq was famous for its palm trees, long rows of them which did nothing for shade. Instead, each shop had colorful awnings which ran the length of them, all in their own bright patterned fabrics, a riot of them.

Aremu settled his hat back on his head as they climbed out of the carriage.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Tsadha said with a little smile, taking Aurelie’s hands in hers. She disappeared into the shop, then.

Aremu picked a direction and went, unthinking. I’m sorry, he wanted to say, first and foremost; I’m sorry, Aurelie. He couldn’t, quite; he didn’t know exactly what he meant to apologize for. All of it, some part of him said bitterly, and he couldn’t quite go on.

I’m sorry, he might have said, for accepting the offer to ride in the carriage. That was neat and superficial and seemed to him not at all at the heart of her solemn face. I’m sorry, he might have said, that I didn’t tell you about Tsadha. That perhaps came closer to it, but he didn’t know - he didn’t know what to make of Aurelie, or what she was thinking. It isn’t like you might think, he wanted to say, between Tsadha and I, but he didn’t know what she might think, and he didn’t know, either, that he could tell her what was between them.

“Do you - want to look at fabrics?” Aremu asked; his voice rasped a little in his throat. He glanced sideways, catching the gleam of pale red hair along the edge of her face; he didn’t think he was smiling, but he wasn’t sure either what he was doing. He looked instead at the rows of fabrics in a passing shop window, his head throbbing.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aurelie didn't know if she should take comfort that it looked very much like Aremu tried to smile, or be anxious that it seemed as if it took so much effort. She, being herself, settled on the latter. There was already so much anxiety settling over her like a haze, she might as well add a bit more. He had tried to smile at her, and it had almost worked; he turned to Tsadha and the smile didn't seem so hard. Aurelie swallowed.

They had come to a stop already. The problem with being in a carriage, she thought, was there was a rather limited selection of things to look at. Tsadha, elegant and bright with those gold drops catching light from outside, her well-painted mouth—she leaned forward, speaking softly. Aurelie looked at her hands, or where they were underneath of her bag of embroidery thread. She didn't need to see them to know what they looked like. Small and scarred, rough from years of work. Nails bitten ragged, cuticles just starting to recover. A messy map of all that she was and wasn't supposed to have been.

The door opened, and Aurelie turned to look. Just in time to catch the smile on Aremu's face. Well, she thought. Well. She had never asked. She supposed that was her fault. It usually was.

"Oh, ah, yes. L-lovely to... to meet you, too." She didn't snatch her hands back, or frown. She smiled and bowed. Tsadha disappeared; Aurelie looped the handles of her bag around her wrist and slid her hands into her pockets, out of sight.

For a moment she looked down the street, taking deep, even breaths. It was lined with palm trees, their fronds softly shifting in the rare breeze. They provided absolutely no relief from the sun at all, but at least the shops and their riot of colorful awnings balanced that out somewhat. Aremu started walking without saying much to her; it settled in her stomach, and pressed at the back of her teeth. Aurelie frowned to herself as she followed along after, not sure what to say or how.

"No," she said, sharper than she'd intended. She winced and tried again; she didn't want to give the wrong impression. She wasn't upset, not really. Just a little surprised. She simply hadn't been thinking. Now, or in the carriage, or before today at all. "I mean, yes, but... Is your head all right? I don't have to—we could sit somewhere, or...?" Aurelie frowned, not sure if she'd get a proper answer. His voice hadn't sounded right, she thought.

"It's not so important to me it can't wait," Aurelie added, for clarification and good measure. In case he was worried she would be terribly put out by not going. In case it mattered at all; the thought came to her and she was immediately ashamed of herself for it. She hesitated, and then tried a smile as she went on. "She—er, Tsadha, I mean... She seems... nice."

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aurelie’s voice was very sharp, then, and Aremu stopped walking, for a step, hesitating before he began again. It wasn’t, he thought, wryly, that he knew where he was going; it was more that he didn’t know how to stop.

“It’s fine,” Aremu said, looking away once more, the headache throbbing at his temples, echoing all through his head like a drumbeat. This had to be, he thought, suddenly, the worst festival he’d ever attended. “Um,” he exhaled. He didn’t know what to make of it; he didn’t know what she wanted. No, and then yes; she wanted to, he thought, but she didn’t.

Just tell me, he wanted to demand, and he knew the unfairness of it, asking her to pick back up as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had been strange about all of that. Just tell me what you want, he wanted to say, but it wasn’t cloth shops he wanted to hear about, not really. Aremu closed his eyes for a moment – the light was flooding bright, he thought, even from beneath the brim of his hat. He opened them again.

“She is,” he said, very uncertainly, when Aurelie spoke of Tsadha. Aremu stopped walking; he couldn’t seem to keep going. He looked at her, then, slowly; he knew he was frowning, and he didn’t think he could help it. She was smiling, and he thought it was terribly strained, frayed at the edges, and he didn’t know what to do about that, either.

Tsadha was nice, Aremu thought; she was sweet and pleasant, very pretty and a good deal of fun. They were pleasant diversions for each other, and when her husband was home, she seemed to cheerfully forget about him – until her husband had left again. He didn’t think he could say that; it didn’t seem right.

You’re – that was what he really wanted to say, Aremu thought, something in his stomach clenching and turning over. You’re more than fun, Aurelie, to me – you’re – hadn’t he decided not to put that burden on her? Now that it was uncomfortable, Aremu thought, he was proving himself a coward.

He couldn’t read her face, not really.

Let’s sit, he wanted to say, somewhere – we can get a kofi – we can talk, if there’s anything you want to say. That, too, seemed to him a burden; he thought perhaps he should do the talking, but he didn’t know, either, what he would say. Perhaps it was all in his head, anyway; perhaps Aurelie thought Tsadha was nce, and nothing else of it.

His head really did hurt; Aremu closed his eyes a moment more, and looked down at Aurelie once more. She’d smiled, he thought, so easily all day, and she looked now as if every inch of her face hurt from the strain of the one there now.

He hadn’t started moving again, Aremu realized. He took a deep breath, shifting his weight, his hand and wrist in his pockets, still. “Whatever you want is fine,” Aremu said, finally. “We can – find a café or a cloth shop. I’m all right either way.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Her sharp "no" had brought Aremu to a stop on the street. It must have been—she didn't know, quite, what she sounded like outside of her own head. If you couldn't hear all the thoughts that went with what she was saying, did she seem better or worse? Better, maybe, because then you couldn't hear all of the silly things that didn't make it out of her mind and through to her tongue. But worse, also, because what did make it was often a little broken piece of a thought and not the whole thing.

Aremu said it was fine, so Aurelie knew it wasn't. Or rather, he said so, but looked away from her and closed his eyes. She was being terribly unfair, being so childish now. What did it matter to her? Tsadha was nice, even for just that short time Aurelie could see that. Nice, and pretty, and not... Not some sad, drab little thing who didn't even know when not to get too terribly attached. A real person.

They'd come to a stop proper, and Aremu hadn't started moving again. There was something terribly exposing about standing on the street feeling this way—absurdly, childishly, when she should be fine—and not moving at all. Aurelie wanted to keep moving, but she didn't know where they were going. Just like she didn't know anything else.

Aurelie looked up. "What I want," she said slowly, not sure what words would come out until she'd started speaking, "is to spend time with you. It doesn't terribly matter to me what we're doing. Er, so what I mean is—well, that, but also..." She broke off. That sounded stupid, too. She should have thought. She should have just thought, for once, properly.

He was frowning again; he hadn't been, all day. Not really. She needed to stop. Aurelie took a breath, feeling the ache of it in her lungs. "I think we should sit somewhere," she said at last, frowning herself. She really was very concerned. Perhaps she'd just been negligent in her watching all day, carried away with... with having fun. That struck her as rather likely. Leave it to her to get too excited by books and lunch and thread to do what she had meant to do.

"I'm sorry." She blinked; she hadn't meant to say that. Not quite. Blinked, and then frowned, and looked down. Her hands curled to tight fists in her pockets. She wished, suddenly, for the big pocket on her uniform. The one she had always kept a bit of thread in. These pockets were empty of anything but her own hands, and those weren't as steadying as she might have hoped on her own. Not that she needed steadying, because she was just fine. Or she should be, and so she would.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aremu stood, looking at Aurelie, his hand and wrist in his pocket. There were a thousand things he might have spun off from her words, a thousand places his thoughts might have gone. Does none of it matter, then? Some part of him wanted to ask, petulant and childish and small. Did nothing we did today matter, then? He thought of her bent intently over the beads; something squeezed, tightly, in the center of his chest, and his stomach ached, and to have even entertained the thought felt utterly unfair.

He knew himself for a coward; that, too, he thought, was cowardice, blaming her for his own failings. His eyes closed a moment more; he felt the familiar lines of the frown settling all through his face. It was harder to tame, somehow, with the ache in his head. There was no reason, Aremu thought grimly, for him to be so weak.

I think we should sit somewhere, Aurelie said.

Aremu nodded slightly, though it didn’t help, much, with the ache centered somewhere he couldn’t name inside his skull.

I’m sorry, Aurelie said.

Aremu looked at her, then, his eyes wide; he really looked at her, at the worried frown on her face, at her hands in her pockets and the tense set of her shoulders and arms.

“No,” Aremu said, then. He took a deep breath, as if he could shake it loose, as if he could brush it off, though he knew better than to think the easy peace of the day so far could be so easily reclaimed. “Don’t apologize, please, you don’t – there’s no need.”

Aremu took another breath, and started moving again. “There’s a place here,” he managed, at least.

He didn’t want to stay on Arip’dzoqiq; he didn’t want Tsadha to wander past once she’d finished with her shopping and find them. He knew the thought was unfair; he couldn’t quite sort out how to manage all that he felt just then.

They turned off Arip’dzoqiq, and then again, onto a quieter, shadier street. Unlike the one before, there weren’t many shops or restaurants here – but there was a small café on the corner. Inside was cool and comfortable, and the back was a small garden, well-shaded, with little neat tables painted every different color.

Aremu dropped into a seat at a yellow table; he looked down at it, and then back at Aurelie. He leaned forward a little, his left forearm resting against the wood, and took a deep breath, as if to speak.

The waiter came, then, a slender imbala who took their orders. Aremu ordered a kofi for himself, and left Aurelie to order as she would. He sat back again, his hand coming back down to his lap, and looked down at the table, the knots and whorls of the wood still visible between the even layers of yellow paint. He took a deep breath again.

“I’m fine, really,” Aremu said, first, looking up at Aurelie once more. He took an even, steadying sort of breath. “I might’ve… pushed things a bit too far today,” he tried to smile; he wasn’t entirely sure if it took, “but I’ll be fine.” That seemed to him the first piece, because he thought he’d caused her to worry, and there was really no call for it.

He shifted, a little more, and looked down at the table. He looked back at Aurelie, and he frowned a little more. “I’m sorry,” Aremu said, evenly. “I haven’t known whether to talk to you about things like this; I haven’t known how to do it.” He could have kept going there – I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable, I’m sorry for not – he didn’t know where else to go. He didn’t, Aremu thought, know what she was thinking, not truly; he didn’t know what she needed to hear.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | A Cafe, Laus Oma

No need? Of course there was. The day had been perfect lovely, and she had spoiled it by being strange and childish. What else required an apology, if not that? She was always this way, seeing things that weren't there just because she wanted to.

She hadn't the strength to argue the point. Maybe that was for the best. Aremu started moving again, at least, and she felt a little better then. At least they weren't just standing awkwardly in the street, with all sorts of stupid things churning through her head and words catching in her teeth that she didn't want to say. And at least, too, that when Tsadha finished with her appointment they wouldn't still, somehow, be standing there for her to walk by. She seemed nice, Aurelie reminded herself sternly.

To her great surprised and relief, they turned down a different street entirely. Shadier, and more quiet, although hardly empty. Most of the buildings didn't seem to be shops or restaurants, but for the one they stopped at. Aurelie had held herself silent the whole brief walk over, and Aremu had too. Truthfully, she didn't know what she should say. Talking about things as if none of that had happened seemed—she would have liked to do that, really, but she wasn't capable. She wasn't so graceful as that.

They dropped to a table that matched her tunic; her mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile, thinking that much. At last she brought her hands out of her pockets, setting them gently on her lap. Her eyes were focused first on the table, on the grain of the wood visible still through the cheerful yellow paint, and then briefly on their waiter. Aurelie ordered herself black tea, with nothing in it at all. Hot, which she might come to regret given the temperature of the day—of almost every day, really—but she could think of nothing more steadying in this moment. And she did, she could admit now, need a little bit of steadying.

"If you say so," she said in response to his assurances, doubt in her voice. It wasn't that she thought him lying, not really, but he hadn't proven a good judge so far. Her mouth found the curve of a soft smile anyway, less stiff than before. "But I really... If you aren't feeling well, I don't want..." Aurelie trailed off and looked away, down to the table and down further still to her hands folded in her lap, deliberately flat.

I care more about your health than the shopping or lunch, even if those things were wonderful and I liked them all very much, she didn't say. Choked up on too much fondness. Stupid. She was so stupid. Could she not stop, for even a moment? Must she get so attached to everyone who...? She picked miserably at a thread at her knee. She had to be the strange one here; she always was. Strange and small and naive, that's all she ever was to anyone. Even those, she thought with a little flare of anger, who said they loved her. Which certainly wasn't the case here, she wasn't that stupid.

She was beginning to think she didn't know what that word really meant, anyway.

Aurelie looked up to see Aremu frowning as he started to apologize to her. Whatever for? Her eyes widened, a little. "Things like what?" she asked, and again her voice was too sharp for her own ears. Stop, just stop. Be nice. Be sensible. It doesn't matter. "You don't have to—you don't owe me any kind of... of explanation or..." Her eyes flicked up, and then away again.

"I was just surprised, that's all." She tried a smile, but it was thin on her face, so she let it drop. What a child she was.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aurelie didn’t help him, Aremu thought grimly, in the least. He didn’t think he deserved her help; in fact, he thought instead that he deserved every bit of the sharpness she’d offered instead. It cut, as he thought it must have been meant to. As sharp things did, he thought, inanely, and let out a careful breath.

I know I don’t, Aremu could have said then. He couldn’t; he knew he couldn’t. Tangled up in it was another sentence he couldn’t have said either: maybe I want to. It was an uncomfortable thought, though he knew it wasn’t so different from everything that had nagged at him all day, all the unspoken words which he had not wanted to lay on her.

I’m heavy, he wanted to say; I’m heavy, Aurelie. I’m heavier than you know, and I can’t – put the weight of it on you. She had not, of course, asked him to; she had never asked him to. Selfish and a fool, Aremu thought, and he’d have gritted his teeth if not for the throbbing ache in his head.

He nodded, instead, slowly, and looked away when she went on, not smiling any more than she was.

Aremu breathed in deep, and out again, a long slow exhale through his nose. He nodded, again, though it’d been a moment or two since she spoken. For once, he thought, grimly, she’d been coherent; no stops or starts there, nothing he could read in to as wanting to hear more of it. Things like what, sharp enough to cut, and he thought he was bleeding on the words.

He went ahead anyway. He knew better, and he went ahead, anyway. If it had never occurred to her, he thought, bitterly; if she thought him a fool for – he couldn’t imagine she would, in fact, and that made it all worse, somehow.

“I don’t… intend to go see her,” Aremu said, quietly, “while you’re here.”

He’d known that before they’d seen her today; he’d known it, he thought a little wryly, before they’d ever kissed. Of course, he’d told himself then it was not wanting to leave her alone; it was, he’d told himself then, the memory of her asking him to stay on the ship, even if that’d be a long time ago and differently meant. It was, he told himself now –

The waiter came back; a small cup of steaming dark kofi was set before Aremu, and a larger one of black tea for Aurelie. A small platter with menda, milk and sugar and another with two milk sweets, crumbly little squares with tsug nuts pressed in the heart of them, was set down in the middle of the table. He smiled, bowed and murmured something about savoring, and went off.

“Tsadha is very nice,” Aremu said, evenly, looking down at the cup of kofi. He looked up at Aurelie, weighing the words, and when he spoke, his voice was even and steady through them. She deserved to know, he thought, who he was. “So is her husband, I’m told. We haven’t met.” He hadn’t touched his kofi; his hand tightened on his pant leg, gripping hard enough to cease it, and then relaxed, slowly, letting go.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

Aurelie didn't like discovering this part of herself, this ugly, petulant part that was all sharp edges and unhelpful stubbornness. She hadn't known she could be this way most of her life; she hadn't, she thought with a little twist, had any cause to find out. She would have thought this sort of strange, pinching feeling would get easier to deal with the more it came up. Maybe it would, and she just hadn't felt it enough. Given her record thus far, she thought it was quite likely it would come up again.

She didn't want to feel it at all, not even enough to learn to deal with it. What she should do is cut it off at the source, stop opening herself up to it in the first place.

Aurelie didn't look up, but she heard Aremu take a few deep breaths. She was being unfair. He didn't deserve this from her, just because of her own ridiculous one-sided attachment. It wasn't right, but at the same time she didn't know how to stop herself. He spoke again, and she didn't look up still. Couldn't bear to, because she knew her face would twist into something she didn't want him—or anyone—to see. Ugly, too-honest.

Was that meant to be reassuring? she wondered at the same time. Of course, she could have said, all brittle bitterness. Why travel, when she was right there? Convenience made up for a lot of things. Ugly, ugly thought, ugly feeling from an ugly heart. Aurelie bit her lip, to hold it inside where it could only hurt her and no one else.

The waiter came back then, and Aurelie thought she had to look up or seem even stranger than she already did. She took her tea with gratitude, wrapping her hands around the mug. It was too hot for the day by far, but the warmth on her palms made her feel a little more grounded. She scooted it to the edge of the table, holding it in front of herself but not taking a sip just yet.

Nice, nice, nice. Nicer than her, probably; Aurelie's niceness wasn't real. Aurelie's niceness was a desperate bid for attention, she knew, even if it didn't feel that way all the time. A pathetic sort of ploy to make herself useful, worth keeping around; and it didn't even work. Aurelie looked over as Aremu went on, voice even and steady as he spoke of Tsadha's husband. She let her confusion show through; she didn't understand that, at all. She had guessed a little—they had spoken of her son on the way over, and she thought it would have come up if he were... But she didn't understand, and she didn't understand what Aremu was trying to tell her in making that part clear.

"I see," she said at last, happy that her voice was steady enough at least. "You don't have to... To worry, or not do whatever you... Not on my account, just because I... I know I'm not..." She didn't know what she was trying to say; she frowned. My feelings don't really matter, she thought, but that seemed too dramatic to say that way. However true it was. She retreated into her tea, feeling very fiercely as if she ought to say something. A magic phrase that would make it clear that she understood everything that she wasn't, and that it was fine. So they could both move on with the day.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Mid Afternoon, Hamis 32, 2720
A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

She stared at him for a long moment; he didn’t know what to read into the look on her face, uncertain. He felt an even greater fool than he had before; he’d let himself think, Aremu thought, that he could understand her well enough to guess at what she might want to hear. He should have known better; he did know better, but he’d wanted to believe otherwise.

He’d wanted, he thought, sharp and aching, to think he could make it better. If there was even anything wrong. But, no, he thought, looking at the tight, pained expression on her face, her frown; something was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t what he’d thought, or maybe what he’d said hadn’t come out how he’d meant it. He never knew, he thought bitterly, how the words he offered would be received; sometimes they seemed to twist midair, flip over and land some other way entirely. Silence was easier, but he’d learned these last few years that it wasn’t enough either – not, he thought grimly, when you cared for someone.

I see, Aurelie said, clearly. See what? Aremu wanted to ask. I don’t even know what I meant – I can’t put any of it into words –

He frowned a little as she went on, his gaze fixed firmly on her. It isn’t like that, he wanted to protest; you’re not – I don’t… want to leave you alone, he wanted to say. She went back to it, trailing off mid-thought rather than finishing each of them. He thought he could chain them together, but he didn’t know if that was how she’d meant them, in the end.

Just because I… Aurelie began, carefully, and lost the train of thought.

I know I’m not… she began, again, and then she left off there, too.

They sat in silence for a few long moments; she looked down at her tea. Wisps of steam were trickling out of it and his kofi both, already beginning to fade as they skimmed across the dark surfaces. He couldn’t quite bring himself to take a sip, just then; he didn’t know why. He couldn’t let go of his pant leg, either; his fingers had dug in, and clenched, tightly enough that he felt the ache of it in his leg, an odd rival to the pain in his head.

“You’re not what?” He knew better than to speak, but the words came out anyway, sharp for their quietness. His hand tightened in the fabric of his pants; his eyes closed for a moment, and opened again.

“I know I’m not good at this,” Aremu said, carefully, after a moment, the frown carved deep into his face. He was glad, at least, that it was an awkward hour of the afternoon, awkward enough that they had something close to privacy. “You deserve better,” Aremu said, evenly, “but I’m doing the best I can. Just talk to me, Aurelie, please.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Hamis 32, 2720 - Afternoon | A Cafe off of Arip’dzoqiq Street, Laus Oma

What was she doing? She could hear herself, but she couldn't seem to stop. She didn't even know, precisely, what it was she was so upset about. Although at least she could acknowledge now that she was upset; the thought was a little grim. She held her tea mug very carefully between her hands, and they tightened when Aremu was just as sharp as she had been but they didn't do anything more than that.

Real, she almost said. I'm not real. Not a real person, not even like in the story. You have to be loved, to become real, and she... Well. That hardly mattered. Certainly not right now. Aurelie shook her head, letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"N-no, you're fine—I think. I'm sorry." At least there was nobody else about, even if she rather wished they were at the house and not here. Because she thought if she stumbled through her words enough she would do something terrible, like shout, or even more shameful—cry. Over nothing, over...

Talk; he'd asked, and she thought she should try. She wanted to be the sort of person who could, and once again she didn't know any other way to become something different than what she was that wasn't painful and full of stumbling. Aurelie turned her mug in her hands so the handle slipped over her fingers while she thought. She looked up once, saw that deep-carved frown.

"I'm not good at this either," she said after a moment, and she thought she tried to smile. It didn't work, not quite, but she had tried. "I—I'm acting a child. I'm sorry. I suppose I'm, ah. More than—surprised, I don't know. It's not your fault, it's mine."

She frowned again in thought, and she didn't know how to go on. There was more to say, she thought, but she didn't know how, or if she should, or even what it was that she meant to go on to. She turned her cup again, watching the dark liquid in it slosh against the sides, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Let's try again," she suggested, gently. "Things like what?"