01-20-2015, 05:57 PM
NPC: Azubuike Timbo
Azubuike had listened to Jacques Danjou speak to the press with a singularly pensive frown. He'd fought back from the realm of politics his whole life, choosing God over men. But when it was men who threatened the carefully tended walls of his oasis, he listened carefully to those who painted themselves as leaders. His side amounted only to care of his school, entrusted by his father's hands, but he loved his county as well. It pained him, this brutality. And shamed him, the foreigner who sought to set the balance right.
When the trucks stormed through the perimeter, Azu instinctually sunk back. He was no soldier, nor a violent rebel, but his Temne blood was well known, and he was a man keen on a vision that did not always endear him to his fellows. He fought, not for control or power or greed, but for the slow changes that might bring about a better future for God's children. Forging against the old traditions did not always garner approval, even amongst his own people, though he was generally a man well-liked. Even so, he knew when to keep his head down.
He held his hands loose, buffeted freely by the flood of government troops, avoiding confrontational eye-contact. He had no weapon, but he was a solidly built man; broad and thick, incongruous with the pacifist of his spirit. Dark eyes blinked quickly to the offices Natalie had directed the children, forced suddenly to consider whether she'd had a purpose in doing so, but relieved for their protection. He murmured a prayer.
And as he retreated further, found Ayo.
She cowered over, in a tight and shivering ball, but looked up when he approached. The girl should have been safe with the other children, but her self-isolation these past days had not been an unusual occurrence.
Given her fragility, he'd not had the heart to explain everything. Tight on the heels of Ekene's... well, soon afterwards the town had erupted chaos. A handful of children - those in the camp now - had made it to the school gates before the fury of hell had unleashed, and found themselves stranded from kin. Azu's wounded forearms and head attested the savagery of his protection; the attack had mostly been centred on the town's garrison, but no few rebels had turned to inexplicably ransack the school. Legion Première soldiers had eased the brunt of it, evacuated who they could, but tore children from families in the process. Now those small ones remained under his protection and care.
A duty he took with the utmost seriousness.
But stared down by so many hollow rimmed eyes dependant on his wisdom, how could he have singled Ayo out to tell her that Kofi had died at the hands of his best friend? Speaking made the brutality real. The words had failed, choked in his chest, at first because he waited beyond hope to hear from Natalie. Then because the silence had grown impenetrable. He chose instead to protect her from the knowledge, for now at least, until he could take them all home and she might have the support of her family to cushion their grief.
"Hush, hush, child."
He moved to cup a hand over her head, but she flinched.
"Bloody hands."
The words bubbled and choked. "I saw your bloody hands! You killed my brother! Because... because we are Mende!"
Azu's chest sunk to suddenly comprehend what he had missed, the kernel of knowledge she had cradled to herself. The fear he had misinterpreted. A hurt frown crumpled his expression, then shored up with the severity of her accusation. "No, Ayo. No, you are wrong in this."
"Then who? Then who?"
His voice had been low and steady, but hers pierced with the frequency of a wounded animal, beyond reason or sense. The black pit of her gaze was desperate, but soon unhooked from his. She eyed the soldiers, began to cry.
Azubuike had listened to Jacques Danjou speak to the press with a singularly pensive frown. He'd fought back from the realm of politics his whole life, choosing God over men. But when it was men who threatened the carefully tended walls of his oasis, he listened carefully to those who painted themselves as leaders. His side amounted only to care of his school, entrusted by his father's hands, but he loved his county as well. It pained him, this brutality. And shamed him, the foreigner who sought to set the balance right.
When the trucks stormed through the perimeter, Azu instinctually sunk back. He was no soldier, nor a violent rebel, but his Temne blood was well known, and he was a man keen on a vision that did not always endear him to his fellows. He fought, not for control or power or greed, but for the slow changes that might bring about a better future for God's children. Forging against the old traditions did not always garner approval, even amongst his own people, though he was generally a man well-liked. Even so, he knew when to keep his head down.
He held his hands loose, buffeted freely by the flood of government troops, avoiding confrontational eye-contact. He had no weapon, but he was a solidly built man; broad and thick, incongruous with the pacifist of his spirit. Dark eyes blinked quickly to the offices Natalie had directed the children, forced suddenly to consider whether she'd had a purpose in doing so, but relieved for their protection. He murmured a prayer.
And as he retreated further, found Ayo.
She cowered over, in a tight and shivering ball, but looked up when he approached. The girl should have been safe with the other children, but her self-isolation these past days had not been an unusual occurrence.
Given her fragility, he'd not had the heart to explain everything. Tight on the heels of Ekene's... well, soon afterwards the town had erupted chaos. A handful of children - those in the camp now - had made it to the school gates before the fury of hell had unleashed, and found themselves stranded from kin. Azu's wounded forearms and head attested the savagery of his protection; the attack had mostly been centred on the town's garrison, but no few rebels had turned to inexplicably ransack the school. Legion Première soldiers had eased the brunt of it, evacuated who they could, but tore children from families in the process. Now those small ones remained under his protection and care.
A duty he took with the utmost seriousness.
But stared down by so many hollow rimmed eyes dependant on his wisdom, how could he have singled Ayo out to tell her that Kofi had died at the hands of his best friend? Speaking made the brutality real. The words had failed, choked in his chest, at first because he waited beyond hope to hear from Natalie. Then because the silence had grown impenetrable. He chose instead to protect her from the knowledge, for now at least, until he could take them all home and she might have the support of her family to cushion their grief.
"Hush, hush, child."
He moved to cup a hand over her head, but she flinched.
"Bloody hands."
The words bubbled and choked. "I saw your bloody hands! You killed my brother! Because... because we are Mende!"
Azu's chest sunk to suddenly comprehend what he had missed, the kernel of knowledge she had cradled to herself. The fear he had misinterpreted. A hurt frown crumpled his expression, then shored up with the severity of her accusation. "No, Ayo. No, you are wrong in this."
"Then who? Then who?"
His voice had been low and steady, but hers pierced with the frequency of a wounded animal, beyond reason or sense. The black pit of her gaze was desperate, but soon unhooked from his. She eyed the soldiers, began to cry.