08-27-2014, 06:36 PM
Her condolences about the battle of Jeddah were met with a brief display of pride and sorrow. He hadn't the time nor the right to let their sacrifices slow him though, and so it was carefully returned to that carefully hidden box in his mind, the contents of which were never dwelt on too deeply.
Jacques studied Ekene for a long time in silence, listening to Natalie's words while watching the boy's brief flash of conditioned hatred and the quick drain of emotion that followed it. It was a common thing in Africa; children conditioned to hate, whether by fathers or warlords. If the influence could be removed early in a child's life, there would still be hope they would grow past it, develop their own beliefs and understandings of the world.
He reached out slowly, but with an expression that brokered no argument, and carefully took Ekene's broken hand between his, leaning forward as he did to close the gap between he and the boy. A solid grip on the lad's wrist to prevent him from trying to tear it free, while he inspected the injury and the splint that held the bones in place. "If I had assessed your character wrongly, Mademoiselle Grey, then I doubt you would have been in Sierra Leone to begin with. You, I think, are not one to blindly follow in the trail your parents have set, but rather seek your own path. As should young Ekene, here."
He released the lad's hand and settled back in his seat, "There is no money to be made. The money here is not mine to take. The people of Sierra Leone will need all they can to bring their country to it's feet once more. If the youth are willing to work for it, that is. My men and I shall do all we can to assure they get the chance. I tire of despots and warlords, Mademoiselle Grey. Of babies torn from their mother's arms, of boys with guns and drugs."
He was young in body; not yet into his thirties, but he had seen all that Africa had to show him. Every horror that man could imagine to inflict upon man. Not all had been first hand, but what his men saw he saw. Young in body, but aged beyond his years, a truth carefully hidden behind his mask. He smiled softly at her request of protection for Ekene; it had not been necessary. His men were not child killers. "Ekene will be safe with my men. And we shall do what we can to get you a Wallet. They are not widely used in much of Africa, but I shall get you one as soon as we can. My men have a info-packet for you, to bring you up to date on the situation."
His gaze moved back to Ekene, "Your time with us will not be easy, child. You will work, and learn. You will do your part, and shall be treated as a man unless you prove yourself unworthy of such respect."
They would not be cruel to the boy, but neither would they be easy on him. He would have tasks to do. Some would be mundane; helping in the kitchen, running messages. Others would be far more challenging; helping with the refugees and the wounded. "Masiaka is untenable at this time. Government forces have no hold there, and it was hard enough for my men to get the staff of your school somewhere more secure."
Jacques studied Ekene for a long time in silence, listening to Natalie's words while watching the boy's brief flash of conditioned hatred and the quick drain of emotion that followed it. It was a common thing in Africa; children conditioned to hate, whether by fathers or warlords. If the influence could be removed early in a child's life, there would still be hope they would grow past it, develop their own beliefs and understandings of the world.
He reached out slowly, but with an expression that brokered no argument, and carefully took Ekene's broken hand between his, leaning forward as he did to close the gap between he and the boy. A solid grip on the lad's wrist to prevent him from trying to tear it free, while he inspected the injury and the splint that held the bones in place. "If I had assessed your character wrongly, Mademoiselle Grey, then I doubt you would have been in Sierra Leone to begin with. You, I think, are not one to blindly follow in the trail your parents have set, but rather seek your own path. As should young Ekene, here."
He released the lad's hand and settled back in his seat, "There is no money to be made. The money here is not mine to take. The people of Sierra Leone will need all they can to bring their country to it's feet once more. If the youth are willing to work for it, that is. My men and I shall do all we can to assure they get the chance. I tire of despots and warlords, Mademoiselle Grey. Of babies torn from their mother's arms, of boys with guns and drugs."
He was young in body; not yet into his thirties, but he had seen all that Africa had to show him. Every horror that man could imagine to inflict upon man. Not all had been first hand, but what his men saw he saw. Young in body, but aged beyond his years, a truth carefully hidden behind his mask. He smiled softly at her request of protection for Ekene; it had not been necessary. His men were not child killers. "Ekene will be safe with my men. And we shall do what we can to get you a Wallet. They are not widely used in much of Africa, but I shall get you one as soon as we can. My men have a info-packet for you, to bring you up to date on the situation."
His gaze moved back to Ekene, "Your time with us will not be easy, child. You will work, and learn. You will do your part, and shall be treated as a man unless you prove yourself unworthy of such respect."
They would not be cruel to the boy, but neither would they be easy on him. He would have tasks to do. Some would be mundane; helping in the kitchen, running messages. Others would be far more challenging; helping with the refugees and the wounded. "Masiaka is untenable at this time. Government forces have no hold there, and it was hard enough for my men to get the staff of your school somewhere more secure."