09-08-2016, 05:29 PM
Ekene slipped and darted through the busy camp, arm clutched to his chest as was now habitual to keep it from accidental bumps and jolts. Dark eyes searched the faces of the legionnaires, still a little shy of bringing attention to himself. Until he finally spotted the man he sought. For a moment his expression lightened with the hint of a smile, but it faded almost as soon as he got a good look at Jared.
He'd sought this particular legionnaire out because he'd wanted to pull safety around him like a blanket. Jared had been kind at a time Ekene's faith scraped the barrel, and though he had not yet taken the man's advice to face his demons head on, it had made a profound difference to his mentality. That support.
But the man looked dead on his feet, each footstep a burden. Ekene wavered over approaching him, uncertain of his reception -- old fears making him cautious. But then the man smiled and waved, and Ekene's inhibitions vanished. "Jared!"
He threaded his way closer, hurrying to catch up and match stride. "Are you okay?"
Alarm blanched his face. "Are you hurt?"
A long story? Natalie's lips pursed dissatisfaction with the evasion, replaced quickly by the burn of calculation. She watched intently as he demonstrated his unemcumbered leg, expression thoughtful. Then, after that moment's introspection, she flipped off the blankets and forced her own legs over the edge of the cot, testing the boundaries of her strength. Her muscles protested with the heavy weight of lethargy, and for a while she let her feet dangle, hands braced either side of her thighs. All the while thinking.
"Our house burned down when I was a teenager, with me in it."
Her gaze flicked up, checking for recognition, but he was American; she assumed -- hoped -- he knew nothing of her family's scandal. In any case, that wasn't why she told him. "I spent months recovering afterwards, so I'm grateful to escape the consequences this time. Though you're going to have to tell me who to thank."
A faint smirk touched her lips, accompanied by another more pointed glance in his direction upon the word who. Sly recognition of the detail he skirted. For a moment she wondered if it was him with the gift, but if he'd been able to mend his leg from the start he wouldn't have needed the cast.
Her hands braced, testing her weight before she finally slipped off the cot. The oversized t-shirt drooped half way down her thighs, which were still clad in her jeans. Blood caked the supple denim like rust, and dirt ground deep into the fibres. A large tear ripped across one knee, the skin beneath speckled with flaky blood. She was filthy, and felt it. Ash and grime itched her skin. She could taste it in the back of her throat still. No wonder he retreated to the other side of the room.
Once her limbs began to move the stiffness eased out, and she padded her way to the tray. He didn't ask why she'd been in the foyer rather than tucked somewhere safe behind the embassy walls. Thankfully. Because it seemed a foolish intention now, and such a spectacular failure; she'd been lucky -- more than lucky -- not to have burnt to a crisp. And it would have been due to her own stupidity, too. Her mother would be furious if she ever discovered that recklessness, but Natalie didn't regret it. Because it might have also actually worked.
Instead she had learned something of her limitations.
She considered the light's touch then, soft as feathers, and maddeningly close. She could probably light that flame now. But set the thought once again aside, for now. This time in favour of the pit gnawing out her stomach.
"If you're all healed up, how come you're still on babysitting duty?"
A tease wound her words playful, and not short on self-deprecation either; she hardly relished being the distressed damsel. As she spoke she picked up the cup of -- applesauce? -- twisting it round in her hands, investigating what it was, then abandoned it for the sandwich. She sat herself down on the stool, and offered half of it out. She remembered his excuse about the morphine and doubted he would admit to whether or not he'd eaten himself.
He'd sought this particular legionnaire out because he'd wanted to pull safety around him like a blanket. Jared had been kind at a time Ekene's faith scraped the barrel, and though he had not yet taken the man's advice to face his demons head on, it had made a profound difference to his mentality. That support.
But the man looked dead on his feet, each footstep a burden. Ekene wavered over approaching him, uncertain of his reception -- old fears making him cautious. But then the man smiled and waved, and Ekene's inhibitions vanished. "Jared!"
He threaded his way closer, hurrying to catch up and match stride. "Are you okay?"
Alarm blanched his face. "Are you hurt?"
A long story? Natalie's lips pursed dissatisfaction with the evasion, replaced quickly by the burn of calculation. She watched intently as he demonstrated his unemcumbered leg, expression thoughtful. Then, after that moment's introspection, she flipped off the blankets and forced her own legs over the edge of the cot, testing the boundaries of her strength. Her muscles protested with the heavy weight of lethargy, and for a while she let her feet dangle, hands braced either side of her thighs. All the while thinking.
"Our house burned down when I was a teenager, with me in it."
Her gaze flicked up, checking for recognition, but he was American; she assumed -- hoped -- he knew nothing of her family's scandal. In any case, that wasn't why she told him. "I spent months recovering afterwards, so I'm grateful to escape the consequences this time. Though you're going to have to tell me who to thank."
A faint smirk touched her lips, accompanied by another more pointed glance in his direction upon the word who. Sly recognition of the detail he skirted. For a moment she wondered if it was him with the gift, but if he'd been able to mend his leg from the start he wouldn't have needed the cast.
Her hands braced, testing her weight before she finally slipped off the cot. The oversized t-shirt drooped half way down her thighs, which were still clad in her jeans. Blood caked the supple denim like rust, and dirt ground deep into the fibres. A large tear ripped across one knee, the skin beneath speckled with flaky blood. She was filthy, and felt it. Ash and grime itched her skin. She could taste it in the back of her throat still. No wonder he retreated to the other side of the room.
Once her limbs began to move the stiffness eased out, and she padded her way to the tray. He didn't ask why she'd been in the foyer rather than tucked somewhere safe behind the embassy walls. Thankfully. Because it seemed a foolish intention now, and such a spectacular failure; she'd been lucky -- more than lucky -- not to have burnt to a crisp. And it would have been due to her own stupidity, too. Her mother would be furious if she ever discovered that recklessness, but Natalie didn't regret it. Because it might have also actually worked.
Instead she had learned something of her limitations.
She considered the light's touch then, soft as feathers, and maddeningly close. She could probably light that flame now. But set the thought once again aside, for now. This time in favour of the pit gnawing out her stomach.
"If you're all healed up, how come you're still on babysitting duty?"
A tease wound her words playful, and not short on self-deprecation either; she hardly relished being the distressed damsel. As she spoke she picked up the cup of -- applesauce? -- twisting it round in her hands, investigating what it was, then abandoned it for the sandwich. She sat herself down on the stool, and offered half of it out. She remembered his excuse about the morphine and doubted he would admit to whether or not he'd eaten himself.