08-25-2014, 04:16 PM
"And I see why your men are so taken with you."
Dry amusement wrapped the words, the brief study as he entered the room mutual. Jacques Danjou was younger than she would have anticipated, but it wasn't so much his appearance she commented on as his reputation; it well proceeded him, even after so short a time amongst his men. In the flesh his charm had an unusual sheen of honesty. "I'm sorry for your losses in Mecca."
Words were a paltry recompense for such a tragedy, and not something she would usually indulge in for the sake of politeness. But men didn't come to stand in such awe by exhibiting indifference. She supposed she was searching for signs of sincerity.
Ekene stiffened at the intrusion, shunning the breakfast he'd been tucking into in favour of observing the man who had pulled up a chair in front of them. The darkness in his eyes rested somewhere between fear and venom, the conflicts of a child so very far from the safety of home and everything familiar. It was as if stabbing Jay Carpenter in the back of the leg had demanded an enmity towards the legionnaires he was powerless to release, lest admittance of a mistake received swift retribution. He was only trying to protect himself, but in doing do he painted a demon. "They deserved it."
The condemnation tripped from his tongue almost on the heels of Jacques' question, no thought required, a spew of dogma. "They take our jobs. They take our money. They leave us nothing."
Natalie's eyes flickered to Jacques, but she neither defended or interrupted the boy's hostility. Ekene's mouth snapped shut abruptly anyway. His gaze dipped, and his good hand folded delicately over his broken one, protectively insular. He'd not complained once this morning, but she knew it must be hurting him, and not just physically; it was a constant reminder of the theft of his innocence. If he admitted that his people were wrong he condemned himself. The blood on his hands served no purpose. He killed his friend for nothing.
Natalie's watchfulness over the child bore no immediately obvious symptoms; her posture, while straight-backed, was relaxed, her fingers snug about the teacup, her feet crossed at the ankles. She did not leapt to his defence. But protectiveness lined her gaze, a bone-weary concern that passed with a blink. She caught the subtlety of Jacques' words, of course; the question had a foundation, a purpose. Firm, but not unkind. Despite the displeasing answer, she hoped Jacques did not unduly write the boy off. He was Temne, easily discarded as a complication; one more refugee in a city of them. Not that Natalie would allow it; she searched Jacques' expression for a reaction, and then moved to consider her own situation.
She contemplated carefully the distinction between choice and manipulation. By now the airport had fallen under General Wallace-Johnson's control, complicating the issue of extraction if she should wish it. Had Jacques purposefully waited? A cynic might wonder if he intended to use her presence here as a means to extort more money from her family. Smart; he would presumably need as much financial backing as he could muster if he were truly committed to assisting the provision of aid. "And if you have assessed my character wrongly, and I wish safe passage home?"
There was a murmur of humour in her voice, the tug of a smirk at the edge of her lips. Truthfully the proposed mantel of responsibility sat awkwardly on her shoulders, an unwanted responsibility. Natalie was no natural humanitarian. She didn't consider herself a leader either, and though she had no intention of leaving Africa, her reasons were not altogether selfless. She was not her mother.
"You assume my co-operation requires negotiation, and I'm not sure whether to be amused or offended. I'm not going anywhere - I quite assure you, any attempts at bundling me in a sack and tossing me onto a plane would not have gone smoothly."
She smiled, but the intensity of her gaze suggested sincerity even if she made light of it. "You speak like a business man, Mr Danjou, but there's little money to be made protecting those caught in the middle of civil conflict. I doubt you grew quite so rich on performing good turns, but if you're offering to assist the work of the Red Cross here, I accept whole-heartedly."
There was a spark of curiosity as to his motivations, but she did not pursue it. "Though since you came prepared to entertain requests, I would ask that you offer Ekene your protection until we can return to Masiaka. And a reliable form of communication; my Wallet was damaged at the hospital. That's it."
The first something she rather imagined he had in mind anyway, in some form or other. The second a mere practicality.
Dry amusement wrapped the words, the brief study as he entered the room mutual. Jacques Danjou was younger than she would have anticipated, but it wasn't so much his appearance she commented on as his reputation; it well proceeded him, even after so short a time amongst his men. In the flesh his charm had an unusual sheen of honesty. "I'm sorry for your losses in Mecca."
Words were a paltry recompense for such a tragedy, and not something she would usually indulge in for the sake of politeness. But men didn't come to stand in such awe by exhibiting indifference. She supposed she was searching for signs of sincerity.
Ekene stiffened at the intrusion, shunning the breakfast he'd been tucking into in favour of observing the man who had pulled up a chair in front of them. The darkness in his eyes rested somewhere between fear and venom, the conflicts of a child so very far from the safety of home and everything familiar. It was as if stabbing Jay Carpenter in the back of the leg had demanded an enmity towards the legionnaires he was powerless to release, lest admittance of a mistake received swift retribution. He was only trying to protect himself, but in doing do he painted a demon. "They deserved it."
The condemnation tripped from his tongue almost on the heels of Jacques' question, no thought required, a spew of dogma. "They take our jobs. They take our money. They leave us nothing."
Natalie's eyes flickered to Jacques, but she neither defended or interrupted the boy's hostility. Ekene's mouth snapped shut abruptly anyway. His gaze dipped, and his good hand folded delicately over his broken one, protectively insular. He'd not complained once this morning, but she knew it must be hurting him, and not just physically; it was a constant reminder of the theft of his innocence. If he admitted that his people were wrong he condemned himself. The blood on his hands served no purpose. He killed his friend for nothing.
Natalie's watchfulness over the child bore no immediately obvious symptoms; her posture, while straight-backed, was relaxed, her fingers snug about the teacup, her feet crossed at the ankles. She did not leapt to his defence. But protectiveness lined her gaze, a bone-weary concern that passed with a blink. She caught the subtlety of Jacques' words, of course; the question had a foundation, a purpose. Firm, but not unkind. Despite the displeasing answer, she hoped Jacques did not unduly write the boy off. He was Temne, easily discarded as a complication; one more refugee in a city of them. Not that Natalie would allow it; she searched Jacques' expression for a reaction, and then moved to consider her own situation.
She contemplated carefully the distinction between choice and manipulation. By now the airport had fallen under General Wallace-Johnson's control, complicating the issue of extraction if she should wish it. Had Jacques purposefully waited? A cynic might wonder if he intended to use her presence here as a means to extort more money from her family. Smart; he would presumably need as much financial backing as he could muster if he were truly committed to assisting the provision of aid. "And if you have assessed my character wrongly, and I wish safe passage home?"
There was a murmur of humour in her voice, the tug of a smirk at the edge of her lips. Truthfully the proposed mantel of responsibility sat awkwardly on her shoulders, an unwanted responsibility. Natalie was no natural humanitarian. She didn't consider herself a leader either, and though she had no intention of leaving Africa, her reasons were not altogether selfless. She was not her mother.
"You assume my co-operation requires negotiation, and I'm not sure whether to be amused or offended. I'm not going anywhere - I quite assure you, any attempts at bundling me in a sack and tossing me onto a plane would not have gone smoothly."
She smiled, but the intensity of her gaze suggested sincerity even if she made light of it. "You speak like a business man, Mr Danjou, but there's little money to be made protecting those caught in the middle of civil conflict. I doubt you grew quite so rich on performing good turns, but if you're offering to assist the work of the Red Cross here, I accept whole-heartedly."
There was a spark of curiosity as to his motivations, but she did not pursue it. "Though since you came prepared to entertain requests, I would ask that you offer Ekene your protection until we can return to Masiaka. And a reliable form of communication; my Wallet was damaged at the hospital. That's it."
The first something she rather imagined he had in mind anyway, in some form or other. The second a mere practicality.