[raphael] ❝ what do you need from me? ❞
Shame makes her footsteps falter.
Jane remembers a time when they were friends, and when they understood each other. Now, the thought of being in a room alone with Raphael fills her with dread. How is she supposed to fill all that silence with things he’ll actually listen to, and find sincere? Lately, whenever she says anything to him, she’s met with silence, or open disdain. Today, he appears to have opted for a smooth blend of both.
But in Raphael’s defence, lately she has exclusively spoken to him about her husband, or to ask something of him. She hadn’t realised that it had become that obvious, or that he would be offended by this new dynamic; after all, if he won’t be her friend anymore, then he has to accept his role of just the help, and see if he likes that any better. Secretly, she hopes it’ll make him change his mind, forcing his forgiveness. Deep down, she knows he’s too proud for that.
“Do I have to need something to come and find you?” she asks. They both know that she’s just putting off her real request.
Jane trots further into the room, swamped by an over-expensive dress that hardly even suits her. She has decided not to think about how her husband makes the money that keeps her in such fine things, which explains why she tries her hardest to not look Raphael in the eye, even as she asks him for something.
“I want to learn how to navigate, and I’d like you to teach me,” she says. Sensing refusal, she continues. “All the maps I have of this place, they’re… Well, none of them are the same, and so I can’t make sense of them.”
His silence unnerves her. She scowls. “Oh, Raphael. Stop making it all so difficult for us both.”
Raphael smiles, but there’s a cruel curve to it. It’s more a baring of the teeth than the real thing, whatever that looks like. He hasn’t smiled properly in a long, long time. Of course this is what she wants from him. Maps are useful up here in a number of ways. It wouldn’t be hard, really, to show her a good map of Azangaro and the surrounding area and teach her how to read it. It wouldn’t be hard at all. And he isn’t going to do it.
He stretches the silence out until she snaps.
“Difficult,” he echoes flatly. His voice is already raspy. It’s been getting worse, lately, along with the freezing spells: more than once he’s blinked and found that hours have passed and Martel or someone else is tapping him on the shoulder, trying to get a reaction. Raphael waits, watching her, then asks calmly: “Going somewhere? Can’t imagine why you’d need to know how to read a map otherwise.”
It sounds like it hurts him to talk. Jane wants to ask how he’s feeling -- has wanted to ask him for weeks -- but her pride won’t allow it. Showing concern means showing him that she is weaker than he is, and she won’t do that; power struggles only work when you’re each as strong as the other.
Her eye twitches, one suddenly becoming smaller, and she straightens up. “Can’t a girl just want to know things?” she says, facetious as ever. They both know what she’s trying to achieve. Admitting it would just be giving him what he needs to go and tell her husband.
Jane gathers from the silence and the disinterest in his voice that he isn’t going to help her at all and is instead using this as an opportunity to frustrate her. She decides not to give him the satisfaction of winning, and takes a deep breath in an attempt to stay calmer.
“I want to be more useful to my husband,” she lies. “And in order to do that, I need to know what he knows -- hence the map-reading. I can’t advise him without knowing the place.”
