02-12-2019, 10:23 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-12-2019, 10:29 PM by Natalie Grey.)
Cayli sat at the edge of the pool, leaning back on her hands and kicking her feet idly in the water when Natalie returned. Her eyes widened at the pad of footsteps, a suspicious note of panic in the way she moved, but her expression quickly fell to something more sheepish when her baby blue eyes recognised the company. She giggled. "I thought you were Jay. Or mom."
Natalie eyed the three empty glasses. She supposed she ought to be suitably disapproving, but the ghost of a smile shadowed her expression anyway. Seriously, Cay? Her hands planted on her hips, mock stern, while the girl tried to coax her expression into contrition, but the ruse slipped into amusement. It wasn't like she was Cay's parent. What kid wouldn't have sneaked the opportunity? Still, Natalie really didn't want to shoulder the blame for rebellion should her mum or dad happen upon the scene.
She offered out her palm. "We'll skip the part where I remind you all the reasons that was a terrible idea. But take the advice of someone who knows; probably best to sleep it off."
Cay wobbled to her feet, grinning as the woosh of tequila made jelly of her legs the moment she stood, and Natalie grabbed her elbow before she toppled backwards. Laughter fluttered, though apparently Cay wasn't so drunk as to forgo the necessity for a little secrecy. She pressed a finger to her giggling lips and urged a loud shush.
It felt like an age passed negotiating the grand staircase, despite Cayli’s best (she promised) efforts to assist. In the hallway her shuffling steps halted beneath Natalie’s supporting arm, and her large eyes peeped upwards. For a moment she looked very young. "I wish you weren't all going to leave me." Solemnity blinked in her gaze, and it pulled somewhere deep in Natalie’s chest, despite her best intentions to keep her distance. Maybe the power forged bonds of kinship, an illusion of family. Either way the guilt burrowed uninvited.
"That's the margarita talking," she murmured, smoothing the fall of dark gold hair from Cayli’s brow. She’d forget that sisterly affection by the time she woke. Or at least Natalie hoped she would.
Safe passage finally reached the threshold of the guest room, with some relief. A moment later Cayli practically face-planted into the bed. A battle with the bed sheets tucked a blanket over her shoulders. She was asleep before Natalie even closed the door.
The house seemed to breathe quiet around her. Natalie returned to clear the poolside glasses, stalling only a few minute's distraction before she found herself at a loss. She ought to rest while it was an option, but the nip of exhaustion was not so much she thought she would not dream. Her thumb brushed the inside of her wrist despite the telling burn of tired eyes. Instead she searched the kitchen for coffee.
She leaned against the counter while it brewed, mind stalking warily around the decision she had resolved to make like it were some sleeping beast. One apt to bite. Little regret marked the sacrifice, just ample recognition for the finality. The wallet lingered in her palm a long minute before she finally sent the message, the tech banished to her back pocket after and further thought pushed aside.
Afterwards she took the drink outside, feeling less intrusive in the surrounding grounds than in the house. Jay mentioned surveillance, which she did not doubt, but no one chose to bother her. In that quiet moment she recalled the early morning she had walked the school with Azu, coffee in hand, before they had stumbled upon the carnage. Manicured gardens were a long way from the red dusty school yard, though. The sun beat down gentle. She squeezed her thoughts away, seeking distraction.
In the Jasiri compound the women kept themselves occupied, in the classroom and gardens and kitchen. Self-sufficiency bred plenty of diversion for pained hearts and minds. They wove baskets and made jewellery to sell in the city markets, else they found sanctity in god. Masiaka had similarly kept her busy, chafing until she had slowly warmed to the environment and work. Even in Moscow she had inserted herself into the Consul's project whether he wished for her help or not.
Inactivity sparked restlessness. Ironic, considering the respite she preached to others.
Any distraction would have been welcome then. When did solitude become a burden?
She wandered to find somewhere to sit with enough shade to take the glare from her screen. Doubt gnawed the edges of Jay’s favour, but at least it was something practical to pass a few moments. Money wasn’t an issue; these days she had access to the Northbrook accounts for whatever she needed, though it hadn’t always been the case. Finances proved a virulent argument in the months following her father's arrest, when she'd drowned every available coin into chasing oblivion. Those restrictions ended once it became clear it was an ineffective punishment, though, and since her relocation beyond the affluence of the Custody’s borders she barely thought about the resource. She had not chosen the apartment in Moscow and nor did she pay for it. Her family's wealth peaked the sort of obscenity that meant Natalie had never needed to have regard for basic necessities, and beyond that provision she spent little on frivolity.
The withdrawal of so much money was going to be noticed.
It didn’t stop her, though she briefly considered smoothing the path ahead by calling her mother. Sensible, probably. Extortion rarely ended with a single satisfied transaction, but her tired mind couldn’t conjure a suitable explanation to wave the sudden need away. Eleanor knew where she was, and with whom. That alone would colour any believable shine she could give to a mistruth. If her mother severed her account authorisation she would cross swords with that battle then. Ask forgiveness not permission.
The buzz of her wallet brought a momentary touch of dread to her chest, banished when she read it to a swipe of irritation.
I am not a messaging service.
It wouldn’t kill you though, she replied, uncertain any longer if it was annoyance she felt, or relief.
Another coffee followed the first. She found herself mired in the discomforting company of her own thoughts, robbed of the distractions that usually prevented them unravelling so far. Imani had told her once that Amidah thought her as broken as the other girls at the shelter; that God brought her there for a reason. Maybe she’d burned that opportunity with the risk she had taken, though she rarely regretted it. A family won and lost; not the first nor last since then. Considering the weight of fresher scars, she found faint surprise to discover for the first time that it was a weight she could accept. Idle, she traced the letters kuwa jasiri into the grass. The light of the power pulsed softly.
Maybe she dozed for a while.
Another vibration of her wallet roused her. This time it wasn’t Alvis. Natalie’s brows narrowed at the deadline, about to respond when the second message chimed on the tail of the first. A faint smirk met that demand. She slipped the phone back into her pocket without replying. Intentionally belligerent with the silence.
You're not coming.
As if he had the remotest change of swaying her. She paused to brew a fresh pot in the kitchen. Away from the sun, her skin burned with a faint blush of warmth, too late to remedy but prompting a curious check for the time. The heat of the afternoon lulled her into a quiet mood. The rhythm of simple tasks soothed. She filled a glass with water from the faucet and took the coffees up black, pausing to lean her back against Cay’s door and poke her head in. The girl was gently snoring still, face mashed against the pillow hugged tight against her chest, blankets kicked off. Natalie deposited the glass of water by her bedside.
A brief tap against the door warned her entrance further down the hall. “Probably ought to save the ultimatum for after you have the money, Jay.”
Natalie eyed the three empty glasses. She supposed she ought to be suitably disapproving, but the ghost of a smile shadowed her expression anyway. Seriously, Cay? Her hands planted on her hips, mock stern, while the girl tried to coax her expression into contrition, but the ruse slipped into amusement. It wasn't like she was Cay's parent. What kid wouldn't have sneaked the opportunity? Still, Natalie really didn't want to shoulder the blame for rebellion should her mum or dad happen upon the scene.
She offered out her palm. "We'll skip the part where I remind you all the reasons that was a terrible idea. But take the advice of someone who knows; probably best to sleep it off."
Cay wobbled to her feet, grinning as the woosh of tequila made jelly of her legs the moment she stood, and Natalie grabbed her elbow before she toppled backwards. Laughter fluttered, though apparently Cay wasn't so drunk as to forgo the necessity for a little secrecy. She pressed a finger to her giggling lips and urged a loud shush.
It felt like an age passed negotiating the grand staircase, despite Cayli’s best (she promised) efforts to assist. In the hallway her shuffling steps halted beneath Natalie’s supporting arm, and her large eyes peeped upwards. For a moment she looked very young. "I wish you weren't all going to leave me." Solemnity blinked in her gaze, and it pulled somewhere deep in Natalie’s chest, despite her best intentions to keep her distance. Maybe the power forged bonds of kinship, an illusion of family. Either way the guilt burrowed uninvited.
"That's the margarita talking," she murmured, smoothing the fall of dark gold hair from Cayli’s brow. She’d forget that sisterly affection by the time she woke. Or at least Natalie hoped she would.
Safe passage finally reached the threshold of the guest room, with some relief. A moment later Cayli practically face-planted into the bed. A battle with the bed sheets tucked a blanket over her shoulders. She was asleep before Natalie even closed the door.
***
The house seemed to breathe quiet around her. Natalie returned to clear the poolside glasses, stalling only a few minute's distraction before she found herself at a loss. She ought to rest while it was an option, but the nip of exhaustion was not so much she thought she would not dream. Her thumb brushed the inside of her wrist despite the telling burn of tired eyes. Instead she searched the kitchen for coffee.
She leaned against the counter while it brewed, mind stalking warily around the decision she had resolved to make like it were some sleeping beast. One apt to bite. Little regret marked the sacrifice, just ample recognition for the finality. The wallet lingered in her palm a long minute before she finally sent the message, the tech banished to her back pocket after and further thought pushed aside.
Afterwards she took the drink outside, feeling less intrusive in the surrounding grounds than in the house. Jay mentioned surveillance, which she did not doubt, but no one chose to bother her. In that quiet moment she recalled the early morning she had walked the school with Azu, coffee in hand, before they had stumbled upon the carnage. Manicured gardens were a long way from the red dusty school yard, though. The sun beat down gentle. She squeezed her thoughts away, seeking distraction.
In the Jasiri compound the women kept themselves occupied, in the classroom and gardens and kitchen. Self-sufficiency bred plenty of diversion for pained hearts and minds. They wove baskets and made jewellery to sell in the city markets, else they found sanctity in god. Masiaka had similarly kept her busy, chafing until she had slowly warmed to the environment and work. Even in Moscow she had inserted herself into the Consul's project whether he wished for her help or not.
Inactivity sparked restlessness. Ironic, considering the respite she preached to others.
Any distraction would have been welcome then. When did solitude become a burden?
She wandered to find somewhere to sit with enough shade to take the glare from her screen. Doubt gnawed the edges of Jay’s favour, but at least it was something practical to pass a few moments. Money wasn’t an issue; these days she had access to the Northbrook accounts for whatever she needed, though it hadn’t always been the case. Finances proved a virulent argument in the months following her father's arrest, when she'd drowned every available coin into chasing oblivion. Those restrictions ended once it became clear it was an ineffective punishment, though, and since her relocation beyond the affluence of the Custody’s borders she barely thought about the resource. She had not chosen the apartment in Moscow and nor did she pay for it. Her family's wealth peaked the sort of obscenity that meant Natalie had never needed to have regard for basic necessities, and beyond that provision she spent little on frivolity.
The withdrawal of so much money was going to be noticed.
It didn’t stop her, though she briefly considered smoothing the path ahead by calling her mother. Sensible, probably. Extortion rarely ended with a single satisfied transaction, but her tired mind couldn’t conjure a suitable explanation to wave the sudden need away. Eleanor knew where she was, and with whom. That alone would colour any believable shine she could give to a mistruth. If her mother severed her account authorisation she would cross swords with that battle then. Ask forgiveness not permission.
The buzz of her wallet brought a momentary touch of dread to her chest, banished when she read it to a swipe of irritation.
I am not a messaging service.
It wouldn’t kill you though, she replied, uncertain any longer if it was annoyance she felt, or relief.
Another coffee followed the first. She found herself mired in the discomforting company of her own thoughts, robbed of the distractions that usually prevented them unravelling so far. Imani had told her once that Amidah thought her as broken as the other girls at the shelter; that God brought her there for a reason. Maybe she’d burned that opportunity with the risk she had taken, though she rarely regretted it. A family won and lost; not the first nor last since then. Considering the weight of fresher scars, she found faint surprise to discover for the first time that it was a weight she could accept. Idle, she traced the letters kuwa jasiri into the grass. The light of the power pulsed softly.
Maybe she dozed for a while.
Another vibration of her wallet roused her. This time it wasn’t Alvis. Natalie’s brows narrowed at the deadline, about to respond when the second message chimed on the tail of the first. A faint smirk met that demand. She slipped the phone back into her pocket without replying. Intentionally belligerent with the silence.
You're not coming.
As if he had the remotest change of swaying her. She paused to brew a fresh pot in the kitchen. Away from the sun, her skin burned with a faint blush of warmth, too late to remedy but prompting a curious check for the time. The heat of the afternoon lulled her into a quiet mood. The rhythm of simple tasks soothed. She filled a glass with water from the faucet and took the coffees up black, pausing to lean her back against Cay’s door and poke her head in. The girl was gently snoring still, face mashed against the pillow hugged tight against her chest, blankets kicked off. Natalie deposited the glass of water by her bedside.
A brief tap against the door warned her entrance further down the hall. “Probably ought to save the ultimatum for after you have the money, Jay.”