11-03-2014, 05:24 PM
The freedom had bars. She'd agreed to Jacques' terms because she had no choice, and though she both understood the necessity and knew she should be grateful of the care, the restrictions still chafed. She could go to the refugee camp. But she could not stay. It would be too dangerous, a needless risk that would in any case drain resources already worryingly scarce. She'd not argued, nor fought the decision. And yet she knew the good she could do there, given time. The gift hovered at the edges of her senses, the warmth of a promise held silent. But she could hardly offer it to Danjou. He would think her mad. So Natalie bore the frustration without voicing her protest, pale gaze locked upon the passing scenery out the window. And thought.
If she'd wanted her mother's mantle, she need not have travelled all the way to Africa to do it. There were plenty of other ways she might have assisted the Red Cross from the safety and the comfort of the CCD, if she'd so chosen - as her mother had indeed urged for desperately the day she realised Natalie's intentions. As such she didn't desire the responsibility Jacques offered. But like it or not, the prestige of her name was a tool too useful to pass up. Halfway across the world and still the shackles tightened, reminded her that the blood in her veins would not be so easily discarded. Bemoaning it would serve no-one, so she chose only to forge on.
At the camp she left Jacques to dispense the charm, and went obediently in search of her colleagues. They must have realised, by now, that the legion's presence at Masiaka had centred around her; that obscene and abundant wealth had been responsible for the god-like hand sent to pluck her free from the bloody violence, and scooped them up too by virtue of the crosses stitched on their clothes. Days ago she had been one of them, and now she was something else. She felt the division without questing out to search for it. Or maybe elicited it by her own coolness. Either way the reunion was formal.
Natalie was adept at keeping herself apart, anyway, and she saw to her duties with detached efficiency. The camp was in a poor state, lacking too many basic supplies, the plant unfit to house even half its current capacity. Her colleagues, mostly teachers accustom to what passed as peace-time in Sierra Leone, did everything they could to support the sheltering community. Legion Première was a godsend, the foundation upon which anything had been salvaged at all. But she saw the strain. And the fear.
The thorn in her gut did not touch the smoothness of her expression, no matter how it ripped her insides. By the stillness of her reactions and the pale intensity of her stare, she gave the impression she might have been a thousand miles away from the severity of the situation. It was a mask. Masiaka straddled the line between Mende and Temne people, but the majority of its occupants were Temne. As were many of the refugees here. The Red Cross flag flew in prominence over the camp, speaking both sanctuary and neutrality, and yet soldiers pushed for entry. She didn't need to much imagine why. There were not so many legionnaires here that they could stop Mende soldiers eventually forcing their way within if they desired. Her gaze took a glance at Jay's face, carefully calm as she shared that moment of grim certainty. It would be carnage.
The moment she had done everything she could, Natalie took her leave in search of Azu, and found him with the waif and stray children severed from their families in the chaos that had engulfed their homes. Her chest squeezed tight; for a moment she was unsure that she was glad to see him here, trusting to the thin veneer of safety the camp offered. Azubuike was Temne, a prominent and well-liked individual in the town, but the son of a man who'd once been abducted into the life of a child-soldier. And had publicly condemned the cruelty. St. James school had been founded from the ashes.
He stood to greet them, wearied round the edges. Bandages wound his forearms, bruises mottling his dark skin and swelling an eye almost shut. Even then he smiled his earthy smile, like the torments of flesh did not bind his spirit. Word had already spread of their arrival; he was not surprised to see her, only glad. Natalie didn't know whether to envy or despair his tenacity as he opened an arm to pull her into a welcoming embrace, whether she consented to the familiarity or not. As it was, it concealed the moment her expression flickered in reaction to his injuries.
"The legion will do everything it can to protect you,"
she murmured into his shoulder. A paltry recompense for rebel soldiers that had had no business in a school except looking for her. Even Natalie did not have the heart to point out that such protection might not even be enough, at least not with so many young and open ears, but he must have read it in the strain of her expression. Or, more likely, deduced it on his own.
"I trust to God, Natalie,"
he said. She hoped his faith held him in good stead. She did not share it. A dry smirk twisted her lips as she pulled away, but the dull reflection of her eyes put little heart into it.
Rather than linger on it, she turned instead to introduce the two men. "Legionnaire Carpenter. Azubuike Timbo. A teacher at St. James, the school I was working at."
Her gaze paused on Jay's expression, even as Azu moved in to clasp his hand in greeting. Maybe it was cruel to show him the faces dearest to her, the ones who would suffer if Legion Premiere failed to keep this camp safe, a protection already so delicate but hard fought for. She did not think the extra motivation was required; rather it was a glimpse into her own, into an inner world heavily shuttered from those outside it. Cold as she was, she was not bereft of feeling. She'd wished to share this.
Around them the handful of children milled about with solemn curiosity, most Ekene's age or younger still. Natalie refused to pause on the word orphan, but it burned red in the back of her mind. A week ago these children had had the best promise of a generation. Some stared at Jay with wide eyes, a little cautious perhaps but not afraid; the legionnaires had already forged a palpable trust among these people. One child in particular seemed bemused by the stiffness of Jay's leg, shaped oddly beneath his trouser leg as it was.
Ayo was among the faces Natalie recognised, Kofi's small sister. She rested a hand on the child's head, the only care she showed in the smallest of gestures, and even that enough to spark more tears in already puffed red eyes. The girl buried her face in Natalie's thigh.
Ahead, another young one threaded through the makeshift shelters towards them. "Men with cameras!"
he said, breathlessly.
If she'd wanted her mother's mantle, she need not have travelled all the way to Africa to do it. There were plenty of other ways she might have assisted the Red Cross from the safety and the comfort of the CCD, if she'd so chosen - as her mother had indeed urged for desperately the day she realised Natalie's intentions. As such she didn't desire the responsibility Jacques offered. But like it or not, the prestige of her name was a tool too useful to pass up. Halfway across the world and still the shackles tightened, reminded her that the blood in her veins would not be so easily discarded. Bemoaning it would serve no-one, so she chose only to forge on.
At the camp she left Jacques to dispense the charm, and went obediently in search of her colleagues. They must have realised, by now, that the legion's presence at Masiaka had centred around her; that obscene and abundant wealth had been responsible for the god-like hand sent to pluck her free from the bloody violence, and scooped them up too by virtue of the crosses stitched on their clothes. Days ago she had been one of them, and now she was something else. She felt the division without questing out to search for it. Or maybe elicited it by her own coolness. Either way the reunion was formal.
Natalie was adept at keeping herself apart, anyway, and she saw to her duties with detached efficiency. The camp was in a poor state, lacking too many basic supplies, the plant unfit to house even half its current capacity. Her colleagues, mostly teachers accustom to what passed as peace-time in Sierra Leone, did everything they could to support the sheltering community. Legion Première was a godsend, the foundation upon which anything had been salvaged at all. But she saw the strain. And the fear.
The thorn in her gut did not touch the smoothness of her expression, no matter how it ripped her insides. By the stillness of her reactions and the pale intensity of her stare, she gave the impression she might have been a thousand miles away from the severity of the situation. It was a mask. Masiaka straddled the line between Mende and Temne people, but the majority of its occupants were Temne. As were many of the refugees here. The Red Cross flag flew in prominence over the camp, speaking both sanctuary and neutrality, and yet soldiers pushed for entry. She didn't need to much imagine why. There were not so many legionnaires here that they could stop Mende soldiers eventually forcing their way within if they desired. Her gaze took a glance at Jay's face, carefully calm as she shared that moment of grim certainty. It would be carnage.
The moment she had done everything she could, Natalie took her leave in search of Azu, and found him with the waif and stray children severed from their families in the chaos that had engulfed their homes. Her chest squeezed tight; for a moment she was unsure that she was glad to see him here, trusting to the thin veneer of safety the camp offered. Azubuike was Temne, a prominent and well-liked individual in the town, but the son of a man who'd once been abducted into the life of a child-soldier. And had publicly condemned the cruelty. St. James school had been founded from the ashes.
He stood to greet them, wearied round the edges. Bandages wound his forearms, bruises mottling his dark skin and swelling an eye almost shut. Even then he smiled his earthy smile, like the torments of flesh did not bind his spirit. Word had already spread of their arrival; he was not surprised to see her, only glad. Natalie didn't know whether to envy or despair his tenacity as he opened an arm to pull her into a welcoming embrace, whether she consented to the familiarity or not. As it was, it concealed the moment her expression flickered in reaction to his injuries.
"The legion will do everything it can to protect you,"
she murmured into his shoulder. A paltry recompense for rebel soldiers that had had no business in a school except looking for her. Even Natalie did not have the heart to point out that such protection might not even be enough, at least not with so many young and open ears, but he must have read it in the strain of her expression. Or, more likely, deduced it on his own.
"I trust to God, Natalie,"
he said. She hoped his faith held him in good stead. She did not share it. A dry smirk twisted her lips as she pulled away, but the dull reflection of her eyes put little heart into it.
Rather than linger on it, she turned instead to introduce the two men. "Legionnaire Carpenter. Azubuike Timbo. A teacher at St. James, the school I was working at."
Her gaze paused on Jay's expression, even as Azu moved in to clasp his hand in greeting. Maybe it was cruel to show him the faces dearest to her, the ones who would suffer if Legion Premiere failed to keep this camp safe, a protection already so delicate but hard fought for. She did not think the extra motivation was required; rather it was a glimpse into her own, into an inner world heavily shuttered from those outside it. Cold as she was, she was not bereft of feeling. She'd wished to share this.
Around them the handful of children milled about with solemn curiosity, most Ekene's age or younger still. Natalie refused to pause on the word orphan, but it burned red in the back of her mind. A week ago these children had had the best promise of a generation. Some stared at Jay with wide eyes, a little cautious perhaps but not afraid; the legionnaires had already forged a palpable trust among these people. One child in particular seemed bemused by the stiffness of Jay's leg, shaped oddly beneath his trouser leg as it was.
Ayo was among the faces Natalie recognised, Kofi's small sister. She rested a hand on the child's head, the only care she showed in the smallest of gestures, and even that enough to spark more tears in already puffed red eyes. The girl buried her face in Natalie's thigh.
Ahead, another young one threaded through the makeshift shelters towards them. "Men with cameras!"
he said, breathlessly.