06-25-2014, 02:48 PM
"Yes?"
She was still trying to coax the Wallet into life, jammed lifeless where the screen had smashed and leaked black into the flickering colours. The old-fashioned computer screen in front of her blinked insistently for a password she didn't have, so there was not much choice but to try and navigate the broken bit of tech. Her eyes glanced up as the door opened, then stayed there, and the prospect of food was suddenly almost as important as the need for information. She hadn't eaten at all yesterday.
A faint smile greeted the tray-laden legionnaire. "Just Natalie."
Though she wouldn't correct him again if he insisted. Her stiff posture and crisp accent might suggest otherwise, but she was not wedded to a shield of grandiose formality. Neither did she fight it like an indolent child. Ma'am sounded like something he'd call her mother, though. The man entered to set down the ornate tray, grinning curiously as he did so. On the couch Ekene shifted, a sigh of sleeping breath, then softer. Her first thought to ask: "How did the surgery go?"
Then a pause as her focus reoriented from the food to his bandaged face, and she added, "Jay Carpenter. Cut hamstring."
How many injured are there?
After that assurance - and before he had the chance to point out the post-it note, or she to notice it stuck to the tray - she had charmed out of him the other names of the men in the group that had pulled her and Ekene out of Freetown's chaotic streets, then his own name. Jacques Danjou was expected soon, she discovered, and in the meantime his legionnaires had been busy securing the area. The man didn't seem to mind to talk, and her tone was conversational rather than an interrogation. As the last thing before he left, he unstuck the note and offered it out. It took her a second to understand. "Apparently I am utterly transparent."
A smirk lifted her lips at the quaintness of a post-it note as she plucked it from his finger, and for the forethought of whoever had arranged for its gift.
"Thank you."
She uncurled from the chair to stand before he retreated fully, offering her hand. Ripples bloomed as the light stirred, the pain blissfully absent - thank goodness. Silver chords disappeared into his wrist, and she caught a hint of the damage beneath his bandages. The light sort of misted, dispersing something like a wish, an intention. Not that she was being entirely benevolent; it had come way down on today's list, but after the trials of yesterday and the violently sharp pangs in her head after the hospital explosion, she'd been concerned. The return to normality made her feel better. Probably it did him, too; he looked at her strangely before the door closed.
Back in the leather chair, she ate a little while she waited for the Wallet to sync with the computer, now unlocked. The progress blinked on screen until the arrangement of her clog feeds unfurled. "Oh."
The curse died, and her second sip of tea only made it halfway to her lips, the cup supported by suddenly leaden hands falling to her lap. DV scrolled bloody chaos across all the newsfeeds; Operation Jeddah, they were already calling it, as details leaked out from the Middle East. The CCD had yet to make a statement. Horror cooled her blood for several minutes while she read, until she forced herself away, frowning hard, closing herself off to the concern. If she had been religious she might have prayed for the lost souls, but since she was not it only reminded her of her smallness in a hard and cruel world. She snapped the feeds closed, pressed the tea onto the desk, and pulled up her contacts.
"Azu?"
The line was bad, crackling with static, and there was no image. A camera blinked a red light on the flat-screen her end, but not his, which didn't surprise her. The school's line was still dead, but now that she could properly navigate the information on her Wallet, she'd tried his personal, a beat up pocket phone that predated the Wallet by several generations.
"Natalie? Natalie?? Thank God."
They spoke for several minutes until the line began to beep warning of a cut-out, and Azubuike's voice distorted an apology moments before abrupt silence. A brief exchange of circumstance didn't exactly lighten her heart, but it settled her. She'd passed on the news of Kofi like a first confession, to the uttering of Azu's prayers. Afterwards she asked after Ekene's family, but said nothing of what she'd learnt. The children of the school were safe, as were the teachers and her colleagues, though Temne soldiers had ransacked the place - looking for her, she guessed grimly, though either Azubuike did not realise it or he chose not to level her with the blame. The assault on Masiaka's military base had not gone as well as the attack on the capital. The presence of legionnaires had helped tip the balance. The town had suffered, but it would survive.
The second call was more formal, to her HQ, giving her current location, explaining her lack of mobile communication, confirming she was safe. She could hear the cacophony of noise in the background, and understood; the Red Cross had finite resources, and Mecca would suck them dry. Her voice grew heated as she discussed the minutiae of Freetown's situation, such as she understood it from the facts she had gleaned. The Temne had attacked a hospital. Her silver tongue spoke with an authority belied by her twenty-two years; she fought for extra and immediate relief-aid insistently, though she knew what the answer would be. Help would come when help could come. But for now, Sierra Leone was on its own.
When they began to broach the subject of getting her out, she hung up. The St. James school project lost its momentum if the country rocked around the edge of civil war, and that project was her sole reason for being here. The Red Cross presence in Sierra Leone needed to regroup, recalculate; they were scattered and mostly unequipped for the sudden and tumultuous turn of events. Their mandate was not political. They were supposed to be neutral.
But she wasn't leaving.
A shuffling and light groan announced Ekene's stirring. "Breakfast."
She gestured to the tray without turning, still idling on the screen. She should contact her mother, but a childish resistance stilled her. Ekene hovered darkly in her peripheral, the brevity of his eye contact morose. "How are you feeling?"
He blinked away, silent, and she supposed he was entitled to the self-pity. Honestly, she preferred the silence to the tears, and while the child was probably going to need help to sort out the horrific mess in his head, Natalie was not a therapist.
She was glad she'd already eaten given the voracity with which he attacked the remainder, pecking at it one-handed. Natalie reclaimed her cup of tea and leaned back in her chair, contemplating the screen, brow low over her pale eyes. The Legion must have reported their success to her mother; there was no need for her to open a channel of communication.
She was still trying to coax the Wallet into life, jammed lifeless where the screen had smashed and leaked black into the flickering colours. The old-fashioned computer screen in front of her blinked insistently for a password she didn't have, so there was not much choice but to try and navigate the broken bit of tech. Her eyes glanced up as the door opened, then stayed there, and the prospect of food was suddenly almost as important as the need for information. She hadn't eaten at all yesterday.
A faint smile greeted the tray-laden legionnaire. "Just Natalie."
Though she wouldn't correct him again if he insisted. Her stiff posture and crisp accent might suggest otherwise, but she was not wedded to a shield of grandiose formality. Neither did she fight it like an indolent child. Ma'am sounded like something he'd call her mother, though. The man entered to set down the ornate tray, grinning curiously as he did so. On the couch Ekene shifted, a sigh of sleeping breath, then softer. Her first thought to ask: "How did the surgery go?"
Then a pause as her focus reoriented from the food to his bandaged face, and she added, "Jay Carpenter. Cut hamstring."
How many injured are there?
After that assurance - and before he had the chance to point out the post-it note, or she to notice it stuck to the tray - she had charmed out of him the other names of the men in the group that had pulled her and Ekene out of Freetown's chaotic streets, then his own name. Jacques Danjou was expected soon, she discovered, and in the meantime his legionnaires had been busy securing the area. The man didn't seem to mind to talk, and her tone was conversational rather than an interrogation. As the last thing before he left, he unstuck the note and offered it out. It took her a second to understand. "Apparently I am utterly transparent."
A smirk lifted her lips at the quaintness of a post-it note as she plucked it from his finger, and for the forethought of whoever had arranged for its gift.
"Thank you."
She uncurled from the chair to stand before he retreated fully, offering her hand. Ripples bloomed as the light stirred, the pain blissfully absent - thank goodness. Silver chords disappeared into his wrist, and she caught a hint of the damage beneath his bandages. The light sort of misted, dispersing something like a wish, an intention. Not that she was being entirely benevolent; it had come way down on today's list, but after the trials of yesterday and the violently sharp pangs in her head after the hospital explosion, she'd been concerned. The return to normality made her feel better. Probably it did him, too; he looked at her strangely before the door closed.
Back in the leather chair, she ate a little while she waited for the Wallet to sync with the computer, now unlocked. The progress blinked on screen until the arrangement of her clog feeds unfurled. "Oh."
The curse died, and her second sip of tea only made it halfway to her lips, the cup supported by suddenly leaden hands falling to her lap. DV scrolled bloody chaos across all the newsfeeds; Operation Jeddah, they were already calling it, as details leaked out from the Middle East. The CCD had yet to make a statement. Horror cooled her blood for several minutes while she read, until she forced herself away, frowning hard, closing herself off to the concern. If she had been religious she might have prayed for the lost souls, but since she was not it only reminded her of her smallness in a hard and cruel world. She snapped the feeds closed, pressed the tea onto the desk, and pulled up her contacts.
"Azu?"
The line was bad, crackling with static, and there was no image. A camera blinked a red light on the flat-screen her end, but not his, which didn't surprise her. The school's line was still dead, but now that she could properly navigate the information on her Wallet, she'd tried his personal, a beat up pocket phone that predated the Wallet by several generations.
"Natalie? Natalie?? Thank God."
They spoke for several minutes until the line began to beep warning of a cut-out, and Azubuike's voice distorted an apology moments before abrupt silence. A brief exchange of circumstance didn't exactly lighten her heart, but it settled her. She'd passed on the news of Kofi like a first confession, to the uttering of Azu's prayers. Afterwards she asked after Ekene's family, but said nothing of what she'd learnt. The children of the school were safe, as were the teachers and her colleagues, though Temne soldiers had ransacked the place - looking for her, she guessed grimly, though either Azubuike did not realise it or he chose not to level her with the blame. The assault on Masiaka's military base had not gone as well as the attack on the capital. The presence of legionnaires had helped tip the balance. The town had suffered, but it would survive.
The second call was more formal, to her HQ, giving her current location, explaining her lack of mobile communication, confirming she was safe. She could hear the cacophony of noise in the background, and understood; the Red Cross had finite resources, and Mecca would suck them dry. Her voice grew heated as she discussed the minutiae of Freetown's situation, such as she understood it from the facts she had gleaned. The Temne had attacked a hospital. Her silver tongue spoke with an authority belied by her twenty-two years; she fought for extra and immediate relief-aid insistently, though she knew what the answer would be. Help would come when help could come. But for now, Sierra Leone was on its own.
When they began to broach the subject of getting her out, she hung up. The St. James school project lost its momentum if the country rocked around the edge of civil war, and that project was her sole reason for being here. The Red Cross presence in Sierra Leone needed to regroup, recalculate; they were scattered and mostly unequipped for the sudden and tumultuous turn of events. Their mandate was not political. They were supposed to be neutral.
But she wasn't leaving.
A shuffling and light groan announced Ekene's stirring. "Breakfast."
She gestured to the tray without turning, still idling on the screen. She should contact her mother, but a childish resistance stilled her. Ekene hovered darkly in her peripheral, the brevity of his eye contact morose. "How are you feeling?"
He blinked away, silent, and she supposed he was entitled to the self-pity. Honestly, she preferred the silence to the tears, and while the child was probably going to need help to sort out the horrific mess in his head, Natalie was not a therapist.
She was glad she'd already eaten given the voracity with which he attacked the remainder, pecking at it one-handed. Natalie reclaimed her cup of tea and leaned back in her chair, contemplating the screen, brow low over her pale eyes. The Legion must have reported their success to her mother; there was no need for her to open a channel of communication.