12-23-2014, 05:50 PM
She glanced at Jay. There was a bit of irritation in that look, but only because it was a stupid question. The Legion had not found her without enough exquisite details to fill in the appropriate blanks; they both knew that. He probably knew more about her than she really cared to know, though that was not to say the effort at conversation wasn't valued. At one time she had even found that kind of pretend ignorance endearing, to be treated as a nuanced person despite the lines in a thousand tabloids. Aaron had soured the inclination to trust that illusion though, so her retort was playful vicious.
"You figure that one out all by yourself?"
The sarcasm bit hard. She left him hanging a good few moments before she replied with a little less acid, though the crook of a smirk remained. "I've been here six months or so, I suppose. We were working to offer girls scholarships, encourage the families to allow more to enter education. Azu's father was a child soldier. The effort means a great deal to him."
Of her own attachments she said nothing; her dreams, hopes and aspirations for the career she had chosen -- if indeed she had any -- locked away tight from her expression. The way she spoke, she was not involved at all besides as a peripheral observer.
They were almost in the welcome shade of the building when the legionnaire - Vanders - hastened to interrupt. Natalie's pale eyes hovered on his expression, the curt tension square in his jaw, the frustration locked fierce behind the formality. The instruction was delivered professionally despite the obvious anger at their situation. He assumed her compliance. Mistake. "Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson holds no jurisdiction over the Red Cross. Nor does the Legion, for that matter."
The steel in her gaze was uncompromising, the words uttered with a casual conviction that utterly dismissed the order. She had warned Danjou, after all, that she played the game her own way. If he knew anything of her past, she suspected he'd expect nothing less of her reaction anyway.
Natalie continued into the cooler air of the make-shift offices without waiting for an answer, unwilling to linger in case either he or Jay thought it wise to try and force her back. She was grateful for the Legion's aid, and aware they were -- presumably -- still contracted to ensure her safety, but she was not so easily swayed from the set of her own stubborn path.
Inside, the children were helping to sort supplies brought in by the legion's trucks, and a quick head count tallied all but Ayo. Azu was also somewhere outside, but had hopefully tucked himself away somewhere safe. She didn't have the spare thoughts to worry about a grown man, but the variables beyond her control still sharpened the adrenaline singing through her veins. Tension thickened the air inside, already oppressive with heat. Even the children's eyes were wide and frightened by the new soldiers who had already begun rooting through the camp. Outside it was eerie quiet but for the shouts of orders.
Laurene was the first to stiffen at their entrance, then marginally relax when she saw who it was.
"The 'government' is here. Wallace-Johnson wants us out."
The woman's lips drew a thin line at the ingracious way she said it, but didn't speak the reprimand she obviously thought to herself. Here, so many miles from the civility of home, they were not safe in the arms of the Custody. Words were dangerous. Slander, doubt; brutal as knives. Natalie's instincts naturally fought the squeeze of Wallace-Johnson's fist; had it only been her own life in the gamble, she would not be taking this so easily.
"He has no right."
A grim smile offered agreement; they both knew that executions would follow in the wake of their departure. The people here, injured or able-bodied, were not partaking of the hostilities. They were protected. Forcing the Red Cross out; it was a serious breach. But Natalie had no intention of ordering her colleagues to make a stand, nor even to encourage them to such foolishness. The lives weighted no different on either hand; she would not choose.
"Be ready to leave if we must. But we will not make it easy."
To that the woman only nodded, expression tight, and moved to inform the others. Sombre expressions met the the news. Fear. Dogged determination. But little surprise. Natalie's attention returned momentarily to Vanders, considering. He had not looked easy with the instructions he had delivered; he would be even less enthused of the return message. "The Red Cross feels it is needed here. You can report that to whoever you feel is necessary."
When it became apparent what was happening, some of the youngest children began to cry in alarm. The solace offered by the few Red Cross workers was bleak, to these children they had planned to offer so much, but in the end left bereft. Tears blurred many eyes, both young and old, and much anger ignited against the tension, but their time was almost up. There was not much to take, but plenty to organise in order to plug the hole the Red Cross would leave. Every second was precious. They could pretend it was contingency, but the veil that shielded reality was not so thick.
One of the older boys approached. Tears patched his cheeks through the dirt and dust, but his eyes were dry. "You're leaving us."
"Mr. Timbo will take care of you now,"
she told him, tone gentle but firm; maybe he'd find reassurance in her certainty. Abeni had been one of the faster learners; letters came easy to him, lit his eyes with accomplishment when he strung together sentences. She did not like to think that fingers she had taught to write words might come to wield a more brutal weapon. Azu's father had been younger when the civil war had claimed him. "Stay out of the way of the soldiers. Keep your manners. Look after each other."
Her hand reached out in what might have been mistaken as comfort, but it was only to press him back towards the others.
Unlike her colleagues, Natalie refused to involve herself in the goodbye. The shrill cries of abandonment were enough to shred any soul to tatters. But what else was she supposed to do? She fought the battle, knowing they would lose. Acknowledging the ways it hurt would only unravel her, so she watched the haste dispassionately, arms folded, her back pressed against the wall. The power was flittering at the edges of her consciousness, but darting maddeningly in and out of control. She didn't know what she'd be able to do with it anyway. Memories of char and ash, bodies tossed like dolls, limbs askew, darkened the front of her mind. It wasn't a weapon she trusted even if she knew how to control it. The knowledge didn't do much to alleviate her impotence.
She looked to Jay then.
The flat of her stare was a direct challenge, but framed by a question. It was clear she did not intend to leave of her own volition. Jacques had set a world stage; whatever happened here and now, the media links filtered it out to a wider audience. To coerce a little brutality was necessary, the germ of a story to turn heads away from the conflict in the Middle East. Sensationalists like Wilson had their uses, she supposed. Jay might understand that, he might not. She imagined he'd do his duty regardless.
Staring at the blank visor of his sunglasses, she recalled the way he'd forced weight onto a limp leg to press his body between her and a sea of bullets. A job. Not a kindness. But she also remembered a kitten plucked from debris, cradled in strong arms. Morphine made him soft. He was a good man. But he was also Danjou's man, and she was under no illusions where his loyalties lie. Natalie was a contract; a profitable one, currently under his responsibility. And she wasn't budging.
"You figure that one out all by yourself?"
The sarcasm bit hard. She left him hanging a good few moments before she replied with a little less acid, though the crook of a smirk remained. "I've been here six months or so, I suppose. We were working to offer girls scholarships, encourage the families to allow more to enter education. Azu's father was a child soldier. The effort means a great deal to him."
Of her own attachments she said nothing; her dreams, hopes and aspirations for the career she had chosen -- if indeed she had any -- locked away tight from her expression. The way she spoke, she was not involved at all besides as a peripheral observer.
They were almost in the welcome shade of the building when the legionnaire - Vanders - hastened to interrupt. Natalie's pale eyes hovered on his expression, the curt tension square in his jaw, the frustration locked fierce behind the formality. The instruction was delivered professionally despite the obvious anger at their situation. He assumed her compliance. Mistake. "Interim-President General Wallace-Johnson holds no jurisdiction over the Red Cross. Nor does the Legion, for that matter."
The steel in her gaze was uncompromising, the words uttered with a casual conviction that utterly dismissed the order. She had warned Danjou, after all, that she played the game her own way. If he knew anything of her past, she suspected he'd expect nothing less of her reaction anyway.
Natalie continued into the cooler air of the make-shift offices without waiting for an answer, unwilling to linger in case either he or Jay thought it wise to try and force her back. She was grateful for the Legion's aid, and aware they were -- presumably -- still contracted to ensure her safety, but she was not so easily swayed from the set of her own stubborn path.
Inside, the children were helping to sort supplies brought in by the legion's trucks, and a quick head count tallied all but Ayo. Azu was also somewhere outside, but had hopefully tucked himself away somewhere safe. She didn't have the spare thoughts to worry about a grown man, but the variables beyond her control still sharpened the adrenaline singing through her veins. Tension thickened the air inside, already oppressive with heat. Even the children's eyes were wide and frightened by the new soldiers who had already begun rooting through the camp. Outside it was eerie quiet but for the shouts of orders.
Laurene was the first to stiffen at their entrance, then marginally relax when she saw who it was.
"The 'government' is here. Wallace-Johnson wants us out."
The woman's lips drew a thin line at the ingracious way she said it, but didn't speak the reprimand she obviously thought to herself. Here, so many miles from the civility of home, they were not safe in the arms of the Custody. Words were dangerous. Slander, doubt; brutal as knives. Natalie's instincts naturally fought the squeeze of Wallace-Johnson's fist; had it only been her own life in the gamble, she would not be taking this so easily.
"He has no right."
A grim smile offered agreement; they both knew that executions would follow in the wake of their departure. The people here, injured or able-bodied, were not partaking of the hostilities. They were protected. Forcing the Red Cross out; it was a serious breach. But Natalie had no intention of ordering her colleagues to make a stand, nor even to encourage them to such foolishness. The lives weighted no different on either hand; she would not choose.
"Be ready to leave if we must. But we will not make it easy."
To that the woman only nodded, expression tight, and moved to inform the others. Sombre expressions met the the news. Fear. Dogged determination. But little surprise. Natalie's attention returned momentarily to Vanders, considering. He had not looked easy with the instructions he had delivered; he would be even less enthused of the return message. "The Red Cross feels it is needed here. You can report that to whoever you feel is necessary."
When it became apparent what was happening, some of the youngest children began to cry in alarm. The solace offered by the few Red Cross workers was bleak, to these children they had planned to offer so much, but in the end left bereft. Tears blurred many eyes, both young and old, and much anger ignited against the tension, but their time was almost up. There was not much to take, but plenty to organise in order to plug the hole the Red Cross would leave. Every second was precious. They could pretend it was contingency, but the veil that shielded reality was not so thick.
One of the older boys approached. Tears patched his cheeks through the dirt and dust, but his eyes were dry. "You're leaving us."
"Mr. Timbo will take care of you now,"
she told him, tone gentle but firm; maybe he'd find reassurance in her certainty. Abeni had been one of the faster learners; letters came easy to him, lit his eyes with accomplishment when he strung together sentences. She did not like to think that fingers she had taught to write words might come to wield a more brutal weapon. Azu's father had been younger when the civil war had claimed him. "Stay out of the way of the soldiers. Keep your manners. Look after each other."
Her hand reached out in what might have been mistaken as comfort, but it was only to press him back towards the others.
Unlike her colleagues, Natalie refused to involve herself in the goodbye. The shrill cries of abandonment were enough to shred any soul to tatters. But what else was she supposed to do? She fought the battle, knowing they would lose. Acknowledging the ways it hurt would only unravel her, so she watched the haste dispassionately, arms folded, her back pressed against the wall. The power was flittering at the edges of her consciousness, but darting maddeningly in and out of control. She didn't know what she'd be able to do with it anyway. Memories of char and ash, bodies tossed like dolls, limbs askew, darkened the front of her mind. It wasn't a weapon she trusted even if she knew how to control it. The knowledge didn't do much to alleviate her impotence.
She looked to Jay then.
The flat of her stare was a direct challenge, but framed by a question. It was clear she did not intend to leave of her own volition. Jacques had set a world stage; whatever happened here and now, the media links filtered it out to a wider audience. To coerce a little brutality was necessary, the germ of a story to turn heads away from the conflict in the Middle East. Sensationalists like Wilson had their uses, she supposed. Jay might understand that, he might not. She imagined he'd do his duty regardless.
Staring at the blank visor of his sunglasses, she recalled the way he'd forced weight onto a limp leg to press his body between her and a sea of bullets. A job. Not a kindness. But she also remembered a kitten plucked from debris, cradled in strong arms. Morphine made him soft. He was a good man. But he was also Danjou's man, and she was under no illusions where his loyalties lie. Natalie was a contract; a profitable one, currently under his responsibility. And she wasn't budging.