05-28-2014, 04:52 PM
The legionnaire who greeted them was brusque, his attention divided between communications; and those, she suspected, far more vital than the woman standing in front of him. Whereas another of her prestigious standing might have read offense, Natalie was only grateful for the competency she observed in his multi-tasking. She answered his questions succinctly, and was appreciative of the brevity before they were ushered inside. Relief lightened her head, but it also ignited more questions. Had the legionnaires secured her colleagues at St. James? Once she had seen to her immediate priorities, she would pursue the answers burning in her chest, but for now she was content to balance on a wire of patience, and let those around her get on with their jobs.
A provisional morgue welcomed their arrival into the domed foyer. Natalie pressed her fingers to the back of Ekene's head to turn his gaze away, though didn't stop him glancing back at the dozen and more covered bodies arranged on the floor. Her attention lingered upon the expression of his face, but she saw no reason to protect him from the horror. He'd seen enough already, and she wasn't his mother.
The makeshift surgery was unpleasant, permeated with the strong tang of blood and antiseptic enough to make her feel vaguely nauseous. It was not squeamishness; her gaze passed impassive over torn flesh, and if the pained moans of patients touched her she did not show it. Functionality repurposed what had once been a grand room, removing everything extraneous. Natalie was not so prim as to avoid sitting on the floor - and regrettably she did need to sit. Alone she might have let the weight of her head fall into her arms, but under the circumstances she steeled her spine and forged on. Ekene shuffled down beside her. A beleaguered doctor wove between the injured, directing medics and seeing to the worst. The room was a hive of activity, but someone came to tend Ekene relatively quickly. In such an improvised setting she was not sure what they could do for him, though since she was by no means knowledgeable on the sorts of tech they might have to hand she allowed a meagre chink of hope. He probably needed x-rays. Definitely pain meds.
"Smashed with something blunt,"
she told the medic, glancing briefly at Ekene lest she had inferred wrongly, but he was belligerently avoiding her gaze. At least that's what she thought at first; a glance following the direction that stole the spiked wariness of his attention led her to the injured legionnaire, laid out prone on one of the sheeted tables. He wasn't looking at them, in fact his attention was thoroughly diverted and all she could see was his back, but she could feel the tension radiating off Ekene like heat.
"You're afraid of him?"
He had asked about punishment, she recalled, when she'd been too violently dizzy to pay more than cursory heed. The look of horror on his face as she'd pulled him back from the bullets flashed in her mind, making the question all but void.
His brows knit together. The conviction hardened then washed away uncertainly, a complex knot of emotion tinged with shame. Surrounded by so many strangers he sucked into himself, edged by a myriad of wariness and fear and anger that pierced onlookers with a black gaze. To her the pinch of his expression spoke of desperate questions, but he swallowed them down, refused to speak at all. Instead the fingers of his good hand crept out along the floor, seeking hers. Natalie squeezed them briefly. His world had burned, but she was concerned he would unduly attach himself to her if she allowed him to cling now that they were safe, which was why she stood. Alarm blanched his face, but she let the faint swell of guilt hammer at fortified walls. He was in good hands. "Then I'm going to talk to him."
As she walked away, the impure part of her was glad of the respite.
As Natalie rounded the legionnaire's table, she pressed the heel of either hand into its edge, fingers wrapped under for support; she'd rather be sitting, but it was only weariness that weighed down on her, a battle she fought almost without thinking. The light-headedness was mostly peripheral. "I told him not to trust the men with guns. At the time there didn't seem a need to differentiate."
It was a dry commentary on fate rather than an apology, though clearly she felt some accountability.
Her gaze caught on the ball of fur sharing the table before she said any more, but the oddity of a kitten in the midst of chaos didn't appear to faze her. Where on earth did you find that? It tottered at the edge of a milk bowl it was clearly too young to drink from, encased in the legionnaire's arms lest it wobble its way off the table. "Ekene's afraid he's going to be punished for what he did. I've told him no-one's going to hurt him."
From the tone of her voice she didn't expect nor was she imploring for his forgiveness; she was just imparting facts to mediate an unfortunate circumstance. The kitten was mewling pitifully, and she stretched out a hand to curl a finger under its chin; it swayed with the movement, began to purr with a voracity belied by its frail little body.
After a moment Natalie looked up, actually looked at him properly for the first time. Her pale gaze narrowed. "Is there a reason you're lying here unattended? That's hardly a scrape on your leg, and the medkits in those SUVs had no pain relief, because I looked."
A provisional morgue welcomed their arrival into the domed foyer. Natalie pressed her fingers to the back of Ekene's head to turn his gaze away, though didn't stop him glancing back at the dozen and more covered bodies arranged on the floor. Her attention lingered upon the expression of his face, but she saw no reason to protect him from the horror. He'd seen enough already, and she wasn't his mother.
The makeshift surgery was unpleasant, permeated with the strong tang of blood and antiseptic enough to make her feel vaguely nauseous. It was not squeamishness; her gaze passed impassive over torn flesh, and if the pained moans of patients touched her she did not show it. Functionality repurposed what had once been a grand room, removing everything extraneous. Natalie was not so prim as to avoid sitting on the floor - and regrettably she did need to sit. Alone she might have let the weight of her head fall into her arms, but under the circumstances she steeled her spine and forged on. Ekene shuffled down beside her. A beleaguered doctor wove between the injured, directing medics and seeing to the worst. The room was a hive of activity, but someone came to tend Ekene relatively quickly. In such an improvised setting she was not sure what they could do for him, though since she was by no means knowledgeable on the sorts of tech they might have to hand she allowed a meagre chink of hope. He probably needed x-rays. Definitely pain meds.
"Smashed with something blunt,"
she told the medic, glancing briefly at Ekene lest she had inferred wrongly, but he was belligerently avoiding her gaze. At least that's what she thought at first; a glance following the direction that stole the spiked wariness of his attention led her to the injured legionnaire, laid out prone on one of the sheeted tables. He wasn't looking at them, in fact his attention was thoroughly diverted and all she could see was his back, but she could feel the tension radiating off Ekene like heat.
"You're afraid of him?"
He had asked about punishment, she recalled, when she'd been too violently dizzy to pay more than cursory heed. The look of horror on his face as she'd pulled him back from the bullets flashed in her mind, making the question all but void.
His brows knit together. The conviction hardened then washed away uncertainly, a complex knot of emotion tinged with shame. Surrounded by so many strangers he sucked into himself, edged by a myriad of wariness and fear and anger that pierced onlookers with a black gaze. To her the pinch of his expression spoke of desperate questions, but he swallowed them down, refused to speak at all. Instead the fingers of his good hand crept out along the floor, seeking hers. Natalie squeezed them briefly. His world had burned, but she was concerned he would unduly attach himself to her if she allowed him to cling now that they were safe, which was why she stood. Alarm blanched his face, but she let the faint swell of guilt hammer at fortified walls. He was in good hands. "Then I'm going to talk to him."
As she walked away, the impure part of her was glad of the respite.
As Natalie rounded the legionnaire's table, she pressed the heel of either hand into its edge, fingers wrapped under for support; she'd rather be sitting, but it was only weariness that weighed down on her, a battle she fought almost without thinking. The light-headedness was mostly peripheral. "I told him not to trust the men with guns. At the time there didn't seem a need to differentiate."
It was a dry commentary on fate rather than an apology, though clearly she felt some accountability.
Her gaze caught on the ball of fur sharing the table before she said any more, but the oddity of a kitten in the midst of chaos didn't appear to faze her. Where on earth did you find that? It tottered at the edge of a milk bowl it was clearly too young to drink from, encased in the legionnaire's arms lest it wobble its way off the table. "Ekene's afraid he's going to be punished for what he did. I've told him no-one's going to hurt him."
From the tone of her voice she didn't expect nor was she imploring for his forgiveness; she was just imparting facts to mediate an unfortunate circumstance. The kitten was mewling pitifully, and she stretched out a hand to curl a finger under its chin; it swayed with the movement, began to purr with a voracity belied by its frail little body.
After a moment Natalie looked up, actually looked at him properly for the first time. Her pale gaze narrowed. "Is there a reason you're lying here unattended? That's hardly a scrape on your leg, and the medkits in those SUVs had no pain relief, because I looked."