[Closed] Like I am only a wall

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 16 Hamis, 2720
Brunnhold

The refusal of his offer was the brightest he’d seen her. Aremu marked that too. Don’t, she’d said, almost frantic. I wouldn’t want you. He had understood; it hadn’t stopped him from making the rest of the offer.

I know what I am, Aremu didn’t think of saying, and what I am not. He didn’t know if there was more of the sentence, how she might have meant to finish it. He could fill it in, well enough. Had it been selfish, not to offer Niccolette? He knew better than Aurelie how unlikely to was to help; he still didn’t suggest it, and in the silence he knew it was the right choice.

There was no immediate response to his second offer; there was a long silence, and Aurelie tilted her head back, her pointed chin sticking out as she looked up at something he couldn’t see. Aremu looked away, then, politely; he settled his hand back on his leg, where perhaps it should have been all along, and waited once more.

How, she asked.

Aremu took a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure why you sent for me,” he said, looking at her. “I wondered if - I know it was presumptuous of me.”

Aremu looked at Aurelie, intent. The rain was falling harder against the branches overhead; more and more droplets were leaking through, and he blinked them away from his face. “I traveled here with a friend, a galdor, Chibugo pez Kadare, who had plans to deliver something to campus. He has offered to help; we can trust him.” It didn’t feel as strange as he had expected, to call Chibugo a friend; Aremu knew how he meant it, for all it had come as a surprise.

“He’ll be in the fourth room on the left, on the third floor of Bellweather Hall,” Aremu said, evenly. “He plans to leave the campus late tonight. He’s - he brought in a trunk, for what he came to deliver, which will empty by then. It’s large; I think you’ll fit. There are some holes in the design, such that you should be able to breathe, although it will be very dark.”

Aremu paused; he lowered his eyes, and then he looked back at her. “If you want,” Aremu said, evenly, “he’ll bring you with him in the trunk when he leaves. He tells me they don’t inspect luggage, and he’ll be with you every moment of it. From there, he’ll fly us to the islands. After that - it’s up to you, but you’d be very welcome to stay with me a time, if you like.”

It hadn’t come together so evenly as they discussed it. The trunk itself had been Chibugo’s idea; Aremu had the sense he thought of it like a game. I’ve never really thought about gating, Chibugo had said, grinning, but I can’t say I like the notion. What if, he’d said, we just put her in a trunk and carry her out?

Aremu had objected; it hadn’t seemed to him safe. Nothing else had seemed likely to work. He had been the one to try fitting himself into the trunk, because he had known that if he could do fit, Aurelie could also. Chibugo had hoisted him up; his hip was still bruised. He had stayed regardless curled on his side the better part of three hours, making sure he could breathe; Chibugo had offered to let him out halfway through, and he had refused, because they had discussed the timing, and he knew Aurelie might have to bear it longer. They hadn’t tested carrying it around; it had been his idea to line the thing with pillows and blankets in addition to Chibugo’s heaviest coat, because the books left room enough for them. Between them, Aremu hoped, she would be cushioned from the worst of the bruising.

“I would do it myself, if I could,” Aremu said, very quietly. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep, even breath.

“You don’t need to give me an answer now,” Aremu said, turning once more to look at her. “If you want to go, come to his room; if not, that’s all right. It’s your choice. I’m your friend either way, Aurelie, and I’ll - I’ll come again, if you need me to. I’ll find a way.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

16th of Hamis, 2720 - Evening | Brunnhold

"Iwasn't sure either," she added quietly. She was starting to get cold, even though it was Hamis already. Aurelie sniffled while she listened to the plan he outlined. If some of that wasn't cold, she was glad for the excuse. I'm not much for crying, she wanted to say. It didn't feel true right now.

The rain had picked up as Aremu started to explain. A friend, he said. Who was already here. A galdor friend--Aurelie made careful note of his name. Trust; Aurelie didn't think it necessary to say that the only one she trusted in this scenario was Aremu, or how strange that was. It was neither constructive nor kind; nor even, she thought vaguely, very smart.

The third floor of Bellweather Hall. Aurelie repeated that inside of her mind a few more times, for all that she was still uncertain. When Aremu mentioned the trunk, she couldn't help it--a hysterical kind of smile caught the corners of her mouth and brought with it a short laugh. It wouldn't have to be that large a trunk, she thought giddily. I'm not very large. There are children in the kitchens bigger than me. Aurelie remember the bright-eyed scullery girl with her unfunny jokes, and the smile dropped off of her face. She hoped someone else would look out for her. A vain kind of hope--nobody had done much of that for Aurelie.

"The dark doesn't bother me," she offered into the pause, then winced at what an inane thing to say that was. As if that were the chief of the many concerns here, whether or not Aurelie was afraid of the dark. She never had been, at least. Aurelie had spent a few nights in dark and isolated rooms, but she had never been stuffed into a trunk. That would be a new experience.

Aremu continued on, and it seemed so simple on the whole of it that she didn't know quite what to say. As easy as that, she thought a little wonderingly. Just put her into a trunk, and--out she would go. No inspection, no question.

And then what? Where would she go after that? She looked at Aremu and she didn't know what to make of his offer, to let her stay. It was terribly generous--wonderfully so, far more than she deserved. She didn't know quite why he would go so far for her. The recipes she sent couldn't have been that good.

"Oh, no, please don't apologize! Not to tell you what to do, or... or anything I just mean. This is--you don't have to do... any of it. Let alone--" she broke off, and hesitated.

He had retracted his hand, because she had been too slow to retake it in her self-obsessed misery. Aurelie hesitated, and touched the back of his hand, briefly. Gratefully. Just for a moment, and then she put her hands back on her lap. She hoped, at least, her gratitude had come through--she was rather overwhelmed. With all parts of this, up to and including the part where he said no matter what she decided, he would still be her friend. And would waste his time again, if she needed.

There was a question that she hated to ask, but she felt--in light of the offer, the fullness of it, that it was perhaps prudent. Aurelie frowned, trying to think of how to put it. But her head hurt and she hadn't been sleeping; being delicate felt somewhat beyond her.

"I'm sorry if--this may be an... a poor question to ask but I--" She paused, took a breath, and then continued on as quickly as she could. "It is a very generous thing, to offer to let me stay with you for a time and--please don't misunderstand, I'm very grateful. I just have to ask, because. Well. You said, once, that the house you stay in is--was--is... Uzoji's house. What about... Niccolette...?" Oh, what a wretched question to have to ask, in so many ways. Niccolette has met me, she wanted to say, but didn't quite know how. She knows me for Ana's sister. They are friends, they are--they might be-- Aurelie couldn't fully form the thought, but she worried.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 16 Hamis, 2720
Brunnhold

For a moment Aremu had worried Aurelie would panic; there had been such a look on her face, and she’d let out a short little laugh, tinged with something he didn’t want to name. It had calmed, though, and her with it, and when she spoke a few moments later, to tell him she wasn’t afraid of the dark, her voice was calm.

Aremu had nodded, seriously, relieved; a fear of the dark or small spaces would have been it for the plan.

It was, he thought, surprisingly easy, in the end. Easier almost than it should have been. Chibugo had been very certain the luggage wouldn’t be searched.

Aremu had thought about it, a little bit, in his way. He didn’t think of telling his conclusions to Aurelie. They don’t expect anyone to want to take you away, he has realized. So they don’t seem to guard against it.

Aurelie’s voice brightened a little when she told him not to apologize. Aremu smiled at her, although it was mostly at the shy, hesitant touch of his hand. I promised, he wanted to say; it means something to me. He couldn’t bring himself to it; he didn’t want to put that on her, just now.

She was more animated than she’d been; for all that she still looked tired and drained, there was a vibrancy to her voice that he didn’t think she’d had greeting him, or telling him about her sister. Aremu knew better than to take it as confirmation that this was right, but he hoped, all the same.

A little frown came over her face. Aremu waited as she rushed through the question. He nodded.

“It’s a good question,” Aremu agreed. “I told you I think of it as Uzoji’s house - we both do, I think - but it is, of course legally Niccolette’s.” There was no sense in mentioning the long, dreadful fight it had been to make it that way.

“She knows,” Aremu said, evenly. He didn’t think Aurelie needed the details of their conversation in Thul Ka - the hot, furious flex of Niccolette’s field; the surprising news that they had met; the anger he’d felt from her, the way she had sobbed when, finally, she had believed him that it wasn’t true. After all that it hadn’t been much to ask her about Aurelie staying; she told him she found gating horrid, when he’d never thought she’d considered it.

“We were both in Thul Ka, and I spoke to her before I left. It’s with her permission that I make the offer,” Aremu went on. “I wouldn’t...” he shifted, just a little, on the bench, and looked at Aurelie, the faintest frown on his face. “I wouldn’t take advantage of her trust,” Aremu said, quiet but intent, and honest. He knew Niccolette believed it, at least; she had shown him that, time and again.

It’s your house too, Niccolette had said, at one point, after the anger and the sadness had drained away, when they had just been talking it over, once more. No, he had said, it isn’t, however grateful I am for it.

“I didn’t know, of course - she knew it was only a possibility, and I didn’t know exactly... but I had told her it should need to be secret, generally. I can write to her clarifying, if you like,” Aremu offered. She had asked about Ana; he hadn’t known what to say, but that she had sent for him regardless.

There was a brief pause, and he smiled at Aurelie, just a little, though he couldn’t really shake the frown. “You didn’t tell me you’d met her,” he said. “I understand why; Niccolette told me, um, something of it. I think it made things easier, in the end. She liked you.”

He wasn’t sure; he wasn’t sure. He reached out, carefully, and took Aurelie’s hand once more in his. They were both of them soaked, and he thought she was starting to shiver a little. It wasn’t wise - for many reasons, now - to linger. All the same, he held her hand lightly in his a little longer. It’s going to be okay, he wanted to say, but he didn’t quite know how; he only had one hand, but he hoped it would be enough.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

16th of Hamis 2720 - Morning | Brunnhold

All of this was still so strange, like a moment out of a dream. Or a nightmare--but that was mostly all that led up to this moment. She was soaked through every layer of her clothing by now. Eventually, someone would wonder where she had been. She had a little time, between shifts--she should probably be getting some kind of meal now. There wasn't time for that, when she would have to go back to her room and change into her second set of clothes just to be dry. That was fine; she hadn't much of an appetite lately anyway.

They sat under the poor shelter of the Hamis greenery and discussed the practical details of the plan. A plan for her to leave. Last year, she would have said she didn't want to. Last year, her sister had not terrified her. Even now, Aurelie was swarmed with a mixture of fear and sorrow, thinking on what had happened. Ana had stopped--but she had started at all. Aurelie remembered thinking that her sister looked tired, and how tired she must really be if Aurelie could see it in her face.

Should she leave word for her, so Ana didn't worry? Aurelie didn't want to be found, but the thought of her sister looking--of her not knowing whether Aurelie was dead or alive... Guilt twisted in her. Someone would have to know. But nobody could. Fionn, at least, would have to know that she was gone. That struck her too; she had made her decision, and perhaps had made it before this moment, but she felt so unaccountably selfish. If she disappeared--without a word--

Whatever lay between them was not something she always understood. It seemed to her that whenever she thought she did, something would twist, or she would, and she didn't know anymore. But she remembered, at least, the frantic searching for Lars one year ago. At the time she had wondered if anyone would look for her like that, worry like that, if she were to be gone suddenly and without warning. She hadn't thought so; she wasn't sure, still, if that would be the case now. The idea of the answer being "yes" didn't bring her any comfort or joy, not even the grim way she thought it might have then. A problem for later; Aurelie set it aside.

Aurelie asked her question, and Aremu nodded. She held her breath, waiting for the answer. She knew--there was a mix there of relief and dread. Someone would know. If--Aurelie didn't know, really, the depth of her sister's friendship with the other woman. They'd never spoken of it again, and it was a strange subject to ask about. But if she needed Ana to know, perhaps... No, that, too, was a thought for a future time. She couldn't let her mind wander down that path, or she would waiver. Aurelie had to be selfish now; she swallowed against the sickness that made her feel.

"I didn't mean to imply you would-- That is, er, oh no. I'm sorry! That wasn't what I thought--I just didn't..." She flushed, embarrassed and miserable. To imply that he would violate the trust of a friend wasn't her intention, but it was what she'd said, in the end. Aurelie bit her lip and hunched her shoulders again.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and the shame of that washed over her too. Even though he said he understood. She should have said--but she didn't know how, and she hadn't thought it mattered much other than a strange anecdote in her life until now. She hadn't, after all, expected to repeat it. The idea that Niccolette had liked her at the end of all that was just as odd as all the rest of this, if not more so. What, Aurelie wondered, had there been to like? "I should have, I didn't think, er, well. At the time it seemed like just a sort of--"

Aurelie stopped talking when Aremu took her hand again. Her head swam, but it was comforting. So comforting that she wanted to cry again; she held back. That had been enough, now. She wouldn't do it anymore. A decision had been made, and it had been her own. One of the few she had ever made in her life. It was terrifying. Aurelie drew a breath and coughed as she inhaled some rain. The coughing turned to laughter, which turned again to something more like a sob. But any wetness on her face was from the rain. She held the rest inside, as best she could.

Aurelie looked up at Aremu's dark, serious face. She tried to smile; it sat poorly on her face, and wobbled terribly, but she made the effort. There were other things she could have asked, but she thought they were perhaps less important than they felt now. Born of anxiety and not need.

"Do you remember," she began, and swallowed before she continued, "when I said I couldn't imagine life for me--outside of here? I don't think that's... true, anymore. So, ah. Thank you. Uhm." Her smile lost a little wobble then, for all that she felt no less terrified.

But it was true; she could imagine, more than she ever had before, that there was a world beyond these walls--and that she could, perhaps, find some kind of place in it. Not one she knew the shape of, and she wasn't even sure it was there. And still it was a hope she could hold that she had never tried to before. It hurt, and she twisted in guilt and selfishness. But not, she thought, enough to wish to go back to what she was before.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 16 Hamis, 2720
Brunnhold

Aremu hadn’t meant to cut her off; he’d only wanted to be encouraging. For all that he didn’t know what to do with her apologies, didn’t know whether to accept them implicitly by telling her it was all right, or refuse them and argue with her over how she felt, he hadn’t meant to silence her. But his hand settled on hers – lightly, at first, giving her a moment to pull away, and then a little more firmly, though he tried never to hold so hard she couldn’t slip out.

She went quiet, then; she stayed quiet, for a moment, and then coughed, and let out something that was either laughter or a sob, and he couldn’t tell from the look on her small, pale face, the trembling lips and the droplets dripping from her nose and chin. He, too, was wet enough to drip, though he had far less hair than she did; from what he could tell, it was definitely contributing.

She looked up at him, and Aremu wondered if that was how his attempts at smiling had looked. He encouraged it, all the same; he offered back the best smile he could, as if two halves shared between them could be combined.

Aremu didn’t know what to make of her question. He nodded, a little, as she asked it; he remembered that she had said that, and remembered, too, her quiet longing to have a bakery of her own. She went on, and his eyelids lowered, just for a moment. Aremu shifted, swallowing, and then, because he didn’t know what else to do, he smiled again. “You’re welcome.” He said, softly, his hand still on hers.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say; I never meant for that. I thought you would have stopped writing – that you wouldn’t have written back – if you didn’t want it. I offered, and I never thought about the consequences. He thought he could bear it, the heavy weight of this; his smile didn’t falter. He remembered wondering if Uzoji had made her think of the world outside, if he’d disturbed her peace; he thought himself triply a fool, now, for knowing to think such and yet never thinking beyond his own selfish desire to write to her, for recipes and for the simple pleasure of having someone with whom he liked to speak.

They spoke a little more; Aurelie wished to know if she could bring something, and Aremu said yes, he thought she could, so long as it wasn’t much. They sat, too, between the words, until there was no hiding that she was shivering with cold, and he thought he could see her pale lips turning blue, even in the dim rain-filled light.

Aurelie went, then, small soaked shoes squashing through the mud. Aremu stayed behind, on the bench, for it was important now than ever before that nothing raise suspicion. The rain had picked up again; he could hear the wind lashing it about, outside the screen of the branches. Something jerked in the leaves overhead, and a splattering of water hit him in the face.

She wants to leave, Aremu told himself, his eyes closing. He shifted, and he spoke it aloud, very quietly. “She wants to leave.” He didn’t know if it was true; he thought it was. He knew better than to think he could tell.

He stayed there, on the branch, dripping wet and studying the two hands in his lap, the one of flesh and the one of wood, unseeing, until the last bit of warmth from Aurelie’s damp touch had gone. Then, wet enough to drip, Aremu got up and made his way out of the garden, into the campus, to find Chibugo and tell him he thought she would be there tonight, to make his way back onto the ship, to sit and wait, endlessly, somewhere else, where at least he would be dry.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

16th of Hamis, 2720 - Unknown Hour | The Inside of a Trunk

The entire box experience had been, on the whole, extremely strange. That was to be expected, she supposed--it was a strange thing to be doing. But there was very little to do in the dark, aside from get knocked into things and wish very desperately to straighten out all of her limbs. That, or think. Thinking ahead made her anxious, and thinking too far behind made her guilty, so she tried to restrict her thinking to either matters entirely unrelated or the events of only the last few hours.

The galdor who opened the door of the room in Bellweather Hall was obviously Mugrobi; Chibugo pez Kadare wore his hair in many long, thick braids, hanging down to nearly his shoulders all around his head. He wore most of a suit, his waistcoat, cuffs and collar discarded somewhere, his jacket open, his cravat missing, and whatever remained somewhat rumpled. He grinned at the sight of her, and stepped back to let her into the small guest room.

There had been little out, but for the errant cravat draped over the back of a chair. The trunk sat in the middle of the rug, the top of it opened; it was a large enough thing, with patterned holes in the side, small individual dots that, together, formed a swirling wave like pattern. Inside, in the light from the fireplace and the phosphor lamp, Aurelie had been able to see blankets and pillows, somewhat askew but softer than the rest.

Chibugo had let her come in, and then shut the door behind. He bowed, politely. "Miss Steerpike, I hope," Chibugo said, cheerfully, and grinned, rather broadly. "Pleased to meet you," he checked a timepiece, and tucked it back into a pocket; he went and picked up the cravat, smoothing it out against the edge of the table, as best he could. "Whenever you're ready," Chibugo said, glancing down at the trunk, and back at Aurelie, "we'll go."

Aurelie hadn't known what to say, really. There seemed to her to be very little. She had nothing to make ready, besides herself, and she hadn't thought there was much hope of that if she hadn't done it already. In front of her she had clasped the one thing she had wanted to take with her that wasn't the clothes on her back or the contents of her pockets. All that was left was this. Aurelie had nodded; she was, she thought, as ready as she was getting.

And that had been that.

Aremu had said it would take some hours of being in the trunk. Aurelie found that after a little while she couldn't quite mark the time. More than a few minutes, she knew, because of that funny cramped kind of feeling that came of knowing that if you wanted to stretch you couldn't. But beyond that? Had it been an hour, a day, a year? Somewhere she had almost drifted to sleep, which surprised her and didn't. She was, after all, rather exhausted. Then she had slid into something, and that woke her up well enough.

All of this left her plenty of time and room to worry about pointless things. She had tried to leave word for Fionn at least, and she thought she had. She hoped she had, even if what she had said was tangled up and likely didn't make much sense given how difficult it was to walk the line that lay between explanation and caution. She had kept the bracelet on her wrist, and that felt unaccountably selfish.

What if, she wondered, it had been longer than it should have? Aremu had seemed so sure that Chibugo was sure there would be no problems. Aurelie thought she knew what nobody had quite said; who in their right mind would do this in the first place? They were watched, oh certainly, and tabs kept on them. Escaping was pointless. But who would go so far as to help? And why? No, nobody would be checking for that.

But suppose that wasn't true. Someone had once told her in breathless tones that there was, in Bastia, a special force just for finding passives escaped from Anastou. Anaxas had no such thing--that she knew of. There just wasn't a lot of positives to focus on at the moment, so she thought of that. That, and her discomfort, and what an absolute monster she felt to be taking such advantage of someone who called her a friend. Asking him to do something so wholly stupid as take her out of Brunnhold. She should have said no. She didn't want to have said no; even now, she felt firm in her decision. But she shouldn't. If anything happened now, it would be her fault.

She had tried to stay quiet, because it seemed sensible. Just in case. The churn of her mind spun out and filled all the air in the trunk, all the dark. Her eyes were warm, and because she was alone in here with nothing but the dress clutched to her chest for company, she didn't stop the tears from falling out of them. She was silent, at least. That was a trick she learned quite early on, for when she couldn't keep her promise to herself and she cried in her room. Aurelie stared at the holes, the only source of light or sound, and waited.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just before the 30th hour, 16 Hamis, 2720
Aremu’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aremu had waited. He had paced. Earlier in the day, he had gone out onto the deck, and found an easy path up onto the roof of the cabin; there was a flat spot there, sheltered by the heft of the gasbag, from which one could still see the sky, and he marked it. The rain had stopped, by then, lightened to a thin mist, and he couldn’t bear any longer to be indoors.

He climbed the rigging, then; he hooked an arm through the chainmail which wrapped around the leather balloon, bare toes gripping the metal, and he looked down and out at the spread of Brunnhold below. Though he looked down on them the red brick walls were still high, imposing and powerful. They were a symbol, Aremu knew, or maybe a reality.

Were they really what kept the passives inside? How much was gating about the walls, and how much about the heart? Or was it that the walls were needed for the first few years, or that they built them up, even before, with talk of danger and fear, with all the things Anaxi thought they knew?

She wants to leave, Aremu told himself. Had Uzoji done it? Had he? Had her sister, in whatever way she still didn’t want to tell him? Had they all? How did one parcel out blame, or guilt? He felt it, though, perhaps enough for all of them.

She chose, Aremu told himself, watching the sun sink over the walls. She chose, you condescending ersehole; let her have that. He felt a bit better, then, red color spilling out over the horizon, lighting the heavy dark clouds which still filled the sky.

He had thought to eat, at least, though he knew he wouldn’t sleep; for once even that eluded him. The rice cooked with chicken, peppercorns and studded with nuts he took back to the room, and left covered in a bowl with a spoon beside it, and set down the second he’d thought to take earlier in the day. He sat on the bed for a time; he tidied the room, for all that he had already tidied it, and made the bed, slow and achingly precise one handed.

He had left the prosthetic out on a side table; he doubted that, suddenly, and he opened his trunk strapped to the wall and put it away, thinking she wouldn’t want to see it. It wouldn’t be such a bother to get it out.

Time crept by, second by second, and yet it did pass. It was sunset, and then the last of the light went, and then the voices of the crew were loud in the hall, Hessean and Mugrobi accents blended oddly together, and Aremu felt the humming through the ship of engines being checked. He changed, to something he thought he could sleep in, loose linen pants and a dark long-sleeved shirt, and he set a sweater out for himself, thinking of later.

It was a comfortable cabin, spacious; its best feature, Aremu felt, was the window which took up a good third of one wall, and looked out onto the world outside. The lantern was angled not to shine out of it, and the shutters at the top, for flights which needed them, were subtle. From there, too, he could watch the clouds and the beginning of stars through them; it looked out not onto a deck, but the world below, and standing close by Aremu could see the shape of the shipyard below.

He waited.

Surely it was time now, Aremu thought, uneasily. He did not let his mind wander down the path of all that which might have happened, though he did not dare to back up to the roof, and risk missing them, or worse still, any news. He watched the stars, and tried to let the seconds pass.

There was a knock on the door, some time later.

Aremu went and opened it.

“Take off in half an hour,” Chibugo said, cheerfully, voice raised. “Here’s that trunk I promised you.” He winked, and together, the two men levered it into the room.

“Aurelie,” Aremu said, softly, after the door closed. He hesitated and then he turned off the lantern; Benea was all dark, tonight, so it was only Ossa and the stars which lit them, but he thought it would be light enough, after so long.

Aremu knelt next to the trunk; he undid the straps, and eased the lid open, his breath coming harder than it should have. He smiled down at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes, or the tense, worried frown of his forehead. “Are you all right?” Aremu asked, reaching his hand down to her.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

16th of Hamis, 2720 - Just Before Midnight | Aremu’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

She had gotten tired even of crying quietly to herself in the dark after not too long. At some point the trunk was lifted and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from squeaking in surprise; it felt like it had been still a long time. Even after she left her hand there; Aurelie felt the strangest desire to laugh. She heard Chibugo's voice through the sides of the box that surrounded her. She felt it being set down, none too gently. She didn't complain then either, but waited.

Until she heard Aremu's voice, she hadn't realized how tensely she had held herself the whole time. She let out her breath in one great gasp and all of her tension with it. Some part of her had been afraid this was all some strange error, or a joke, or a dream. She would open her eyes and find herself staring at the bottom of Bernadette's bed, exactly the same as every other morning.

Except, she would never see that bed ever again. Or Bernie, or Alethia. That cracked mirror, that water basin and the lopsided flower painted at the bottom of it. They were all back there, and she was in here. Who would fill the water for them in the morning? Aurelie felt a moment of panic, guilt, regret. Someone would do it; they would figure it out for themselves. Aurelie reminded herself of this a few more times while she listened to noises that she very, very much hoped meant the straps were being undone.

The next thing she saw, really saw, was the dim-lit sight of Aremu's face smiling down at her in a worried sort of way. Aurelie could have laughed; then she remembered she didn't have to be quiet, so she did. Nothing was funny. She clutched the package that had the dress Ana bought for her wrapped inside of it to her chest with one hand and took Aremu's with the other.

"I'm fine," she gasp, coming to sit up. "A little stiff, and maybe bruised, but--I'm fine. I'm--" Aurelie stopped, struck by the enormity of it all. Not just the room, which was bigger than she had expected somehow. But all the rest of it, too. She felt it like a blow to her chest, and she gasped. The package was dropped, Aurelie finding herself in need of that hand. It clasped at the side of the trunk she'd been in for so long.

"Did that really work...? J-just like that--? I--" Aurelie had thought herself done with crying, and this month--this day--kept proving her wrong. She had to blink back a sudden wash of tears; relief or fear? They seemed to her a heady enough mix of both. Her legs refused to pull her up, not even leaning into the grip of Aremu's hand. All the strength was simply gone out of them, for now.

"I have a renewed sympathy for luggage." The joke was weakly told and not very funny. Aurelie laughed anyway. Tears, too, kept rolling down her face.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Just before the 30th hour, 16 Hamis, 2720
Aremu’s room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aurelie laughed - Aremu felt a strange pinch of fear for a moment, listening tensely for a hysterical edge - but she seemed very calm at first, taking her hand in his and sitting up.

Up until the moment Chibugo had come, there had been some part of Aremu which had not believed it would work. Aurelie would be stopped on the way to him; they would be stopped on the way out; the carriage would overturn, or the luggage sling. Even once Chibugo had set the trunk down inside, Aremu hadn’t really been sure - not sure - until he opened the lid and saw her looking up at him.

He didn’t know what to make of the relief; it swept through him like fire, setting alight something he hadn’t known he had to burn.

Fine, she said; Aremu smiled at her, uncertainly. Her blue dress was crumpled, she came upright and gasped, dropping whatever it was she had held, small fingers curling over the edge of the trunk.

“Just like that,” Aremu said, uncertainly; he’d lost his smile, his frown tightening. He thought Chibugo would have found a way to mention it, had there been any complications. Aurelie was crying, then, sort of suddenly, holding limply onto his hand. She said something about luggage, tears rolling down her cheeks, and let out a little laugh.

“All right,” Aremu said, gently. He took a deep breath. He didn’t think sitting in the trunk was doing her any favors, and he wasn’t sure why she wasn’t getting up. She was sore, he thought; perhaps her legs had cramped, after laying still so long. “Forgive me for this, please.”

Aremu came up a bit; he let go of Aurelie’s hand, gently, and scooped her up with both arms. Whatever shame he felt at her touching his right arm was offset by the need of it, and the knowledge that whatever it lacked, it was still strong.

Aurelie was startlingly light; he settled her against his chest still kneeling, the arm with no hand beneath her and the other holding her firm. He rose up to his feet, slowly and evenly, and he took a few steps backwards to the bed through the starlit room.

He sat, then, carefully, and shifted her as she wanted; if she clung to him he wouldn’t force her away, but if she seemed to want to go, he would ease her onto the bed beside him, not wanting her to be uncomfortable. He had put a good deal of thought into how he could keep her from being uncomfortable, during this journey; he hadn’t meant to start on such a note, but he hadn’t known what else to do.

“No more need to impersonate luggage,” Aremu said, as lightly as he could, as if he weren’t sure himself it was a joke. There was something a little hopeful in his voice. He did smile at her, then, as best as he could, for all that he, too, wasn’t sure what to do.

Crying was all right, Aremu thought, given the circumstances. He’d learned a lot about tears, this last year; not his own, so much, but something about sitting through them, and waiting, as if with them some people could cast a sadness out of themselves. He thought - it seemed to him - not being ashamed of them was essential, and he resolved to do his best not to make Aurelie feel so.

“Oh,” Aremu reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded handkerchief, and pressed it into Aurelie’s hand; he patted it lightly with his own, in a way he hoped was reassuring.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

16th of Hamis, 2720 - Just Before Midnight | Aremu's Room, The Tsuqeqachye’ki

Aurelie knew she should stand. The trunk was not a comfortable place to be, really. Neither emotionally nor physically, and she had been in it for several hours now. The effort just seemed beyond her, with all the muscles in her legs determined to disobey her at this critical juncture in time.

The smile had fallen off of Aremu's face, but it didn't seem to have shifted his expression greatly. The frown, Aurelie thought, felt much the same: concerned. She supposed that was fair, as she had started laughing and crying both at once. Like her own face couldn't decide how to deal with anything, so it chose to go all directions simultaneously. At least he didn't retract his hand, which she would have thought fair. That might have truly unbalanced her.

"Forgive you?" She looked up then, confused and sniffling slightly. Aremu let go of her hand, and she thought that was it--don't worry, she would have said, I wouldn't want to hold my hand for that long either. I don't know why I'm being so strange.

Her understanding shifted when he reached into the trunk and picked her up, slowly and carefully. Aurelie made a squeak of surprise and grasped reflexively to the dark fabric of Aremu's shirt. She was too surprised to protest much, though she supposed he'd given her warning with the apology. She was not, she found, upset--just surprised, and more than a little embarrassed he would find it necessary to lift her. There wasn't much distance to travel between the trunk and the bed anyway, and that was where he set her down. For a moment she half-held on, startled and a little dazed. Then the details of the situation filtered through her understanding. She mumbled an apology, or several, and eased away.

Of course, of course she was still crying. Not loudly and not with any force, but it almost felt like eleven years of tears had been waiting for their chance to escape. Aurelie didn't know how to stop them, which was rather troubling honestly. She'd never had any issue keeping herself from crying before. With a few notable exceptions, anyway.

Awkwardly she ran her hands over the rumpled fabric of her blue dress. She hadn't wanted to bring it with her, not really--she simply didn't own any others, besides the one her sister had bought for her that winter. That had remained neatly folded in the package from the shop. It seemed even less appropriate than the uniform. Besides, she had to go through the halls to get to Chibugo's guest room first, anyway. The only other thing she owned was her nightgown. Which, she realized uneasily, she had left behind.

"N-no, I suppose--I suppose not." Aurelie did her best to smile back, and she thought she almost managed. The hope she thought she heard in the not-quite-a-joke helped somewhat.

Then her eyes widened, and the smile strengthened a little. "Or furniture, either." That made her laugh again, more of a giggle than anything. It seemed very funny to her, though she wasn't sure Aremu would understand the joke. It was easy to pretend to be some object packed away for transit, she wanted to say. I have had eleven years to practice the art. She didn't think her serious friend would find it as funny as she did. Perhaps that was better. The punchline was rather grim, in the end.

"Oh! Er, thank you. I'm sorry, I--I know this is hard to believe, but I promise I'm not normally so..." Aurelie clutched at the handkerchief pressed into her hand; with the other she gestured broadly at her face. She did not, for the moment, move to use it. She was sniffling rather a lot; it seemed rude to use someone else's handkerchief when she was in such a hideous state. Even though she knew that was rather the purpose of it. There was one of her own in her pocket, wrapped around her small embroidery kit--that, somehow, she could not bear to leave behind.