09-07-2014, 06:09 PM
As a child Natalie had never questioned her mother's devotion to the faceless masses, deserving of her aid over the needs of her daughters, but as she'd grown to adulthood she'd never understood it either. The optimistic future of which Jacques Danjou spoke reminded her of that, so it was his interactions with Ekene that touched her more than the passions in his words. The attention he paid to the boy, the purpose and importance he bestowed, showed her more than hope. A simple squeeze of the shoulder offered more comfort than grand talk, even if Ekene's own reaction was guardedly quiet. So if Natalie couldn't bring herself to share Danjou's vision, she found at least that she did trust him. Despite the flamboyant charm. And despite the short roads good intentions so often paved to hell. These legionnaires followed him for a tangible reason.
His request still did not settle easily, though for all appearances she accepted the responsibility with confidence. The risk did not concern her as much as it should, but not because she was in any way immune to the harsh realities of Africa. And an Africa, too, that had until now had been in peacetime. The accountability was a little harder to stomach though; maybe those faceless masses haunted her more than she might like. The ones she did recognise certainly did. The demon boy and his bloody past, who, head still bowed, earned her gaze now. The dead boy and the gleaming white of his skull, a ghost in both their dreams. A school of innocent faces. An impossible task. Not that her concerns penetrated the cool of her expression, of course.
In the moments she deliberated her feelings on this new role, Danjou had stood, presumably ready to leave. Ingrained courtesy lifted her to her own feet as he took her hand, pressed his lips to it. That was certainty an old-fashioned formality, a little theatrical in its charm, and she indulged an amused smile despite the dark mire of her thoughts. He was a strange one, for sure. A contradiction of archaism and earnestness. And hardly bad to look at. She imagined her mother had liked him.
"Then I'll try not to disappoint."
If he knew anything of her, and she supposed he did, then he'd be aware she was not exactly known for doing things by the book. A little self-aware dryness eroded the promise. He was stuck with her now, anyway. By conscience or by contract.
Then the door clicked open. If the legionnaire had knocked she hadn't heard it, though she wasn't particularly displeased with the intrusion. "Mr Carpenter. You've saved me a journey."
A modicum of surprise lit the address, until it occurred to her that he had probably already received notice of his assignment as her liaison. Which explained the visit if not the expression on his face. Her gaze dropped to his cast leg, then lifted back up. Sweat sheened his skin, face drained. He'd already turned away, mumbling. "Though I think it ought to have been the other way around. You look like you're about to keel over."
From the little she already knew of Jay Carpenter - of the legionnaires in general, actually - she thought duty would be enough to halt his shuffling escape, particularly in the shadow of his superior. Her eyes hovered on Danjou in askance, since she doubted she had the sway. Actually, it was probably more like curious accusation, the echo of his earlier words providing at least a hint of context. In the end she didn't wait on hierarchy. "For goodness sake, don't make me chase you, soldier."
It was probably cruel - Jay looked in pain - but she couldn't refrain from the morbidity of the dig. Besides, the tone was playful enough. The smirk soft. Hopefully this liaison had a sense of humour. And the ability to string together a coherent sentence.
His request still did not settle easily, though for all appearances she accepted the responsibility with confidence. The risk did not concern her as much as it should, but not because she was in any way immune to the harsh realities of Africa. And an Africa, too, that had until now had been in peacetime. The accountability was a little harder to stomach though; maybe those faceless masses haunted her more than she might like. The ones she did recognise certainly did. The demon boy and his bloody past, who, head still bowed, earned her gaze now. The dead boy and the gleaming white of his skull, a ghost in both their dreams. A school of innocent faces. An impossible task. Not that her concerns penetrated the cool of her expression, of course.
In the moments she deliberated her feelings on this new role, Danjou had stood, presumably ready to leave. Ingrained courtesy lifted her to her own feet as he took her hand, pressed his lips to it. That was certainty an old-fashioned formality, a little theatrical in its charm, and she indulged an amused smile despite the dark mire of her thoughts. He was a strange one, for sure. A contradiction of archaism and earnestness. And hardly bad to look at. She imagined her mother had liked him.
"Then I'll try not to disappoint."
If he knew anything of her, and she supposed he did, then he'd be aware she was not exactly known for doing things by the book. A little self-aware dryness eroded the promise. He was stuck with her now, anyway. By conscience or by contract.
Then the door clicked open. If the legionnaire had knocked she hadn't heard it, though she wasn't particularly displeased with the intrusion. "Mr Carpenter. You've saved me a journey."
A modicum of surprise lit the address, until it occurred to her that he had probably already received notice of his assignment as her liaison. Which explained the visit if not the expression on his face. Her gaze dropped to his cast leg, then lifted back up. Sweat sheened his skin, face drained. He'd already turned away, mumbling. "Though I think it ought to have been the other way around. You look like you're about to keel over."
From the little she already knew of Jay Carpenter - of the legionnaires in general, actually - she thought duty would be enough to halt his shuffling escape, particularly in the shadow of his superior. Her eyes hovered on Danjou in askance, since she doubted she had the sway. Actually, it was probably more like curious accusation, the echo of his earlier words providing at least a hint of context. In the end she didn't wait on hierarchy. "For goodness sake, don't make me chase you, soldier."
It was probably cruel - Jay looked in pain - but she couldn't refrain from the morbidity of the dig. Besides, the tone was playful enough. The smirk soft. Hopefully this liaison had a sense of humour. And the ability to string together a coherent sentence.