10-23-2019, 10:02 PM
Natalie watched the other patrons; the staff; the dancers. Her gaze skipped to the next when each face inevitably slackened to the empty expression of those children. She lounged comfortably enough in her chair, for all appearances at least, but where her hands rested quiet in her lap her nails methodically dug at the ridges where blood still faintly stained, until her skin stung. By the time the server came to collect their plates she roused enough to offer a sardonic smile for his rote performance.
As Jay set to work on the procured wallet, she wondered briefly at adding Ryker to the list of inquiry, but didn’t suggest it. He seemed the type to abandon a sinking ship rather than help bail the water, and she imagined he would find it amusing to watch her beg for his help a second time -- enough that he might at least answer a call. But she had nothing of value to offer him, and she doubted he had any help to give even if he did choose to leave Amengual to rot across the border.
Retribution itself she did not question, its method left in Jay’s hands for now. Instead she thought on Amengual’s apparent involvement with Jessika, discovered right on the cusp of her announcement. And his presence at the fundraiser. It seemed Brandon watched the players with little care for the winner, so long as someone won, but did he really turn a blind eye to the travesty of that school? Her mind buzzed through the grand words he had spoken, of guardianship and purpose; how close she had been to hearing a truth she could follow, and a future she could fight for. Setting her feet on that path had been a thoughtless sacrifice, albeit reluctant. Now the memory sparked with rebellion.
She slid the returned wallet back into her pocket without checking for missed messages. The pin was in that pocket too, a cold reminder of the promise she had made and broken. It was the only identity Jay had left now. No longer a brother or son. A defected American and ostracised legionnaire. She bore witness to the hard forging of a weapon and it did not sit comfortably; less when she considered what might happen, once Amengual was dealt with, if they found themselves on opposite sides in this war.
Back in the truck she was content, for a while, to listen to the engine; a comfort she couldn’t really explain, but eventually she reached to flick on the radio. The station didn’t matter. At some point after that she must have fallen asleep, because when she jolted awake the shadows had receded. The phantom of a dream ran her cold; all she managed was, “I’m going to be sick,” reaching for the door before she was sure he had heard or would slow. Two steps away she retched as the fleeting images faded. Twinges of red announced the beginnings of sunset across the desolate highway, but she did not much glance at it. On her return a swill of water rinsed the sour taste, but she did not climb back in. Her dour expression suggested it was better not to comment. “You should sleep. Let me drive for a bit.”
As Jay set to work on the procured wallet, she wondered briefly at adding Ryker to the list of inquiry, but didn’t suggest it. He seemed the type to abandon a sinking ship rather than help bail the water, and she imagined he would find it amusing to watch her beg for his help a second time -- enough that he might at least answer a call. But she had nothing of value to offer him, and she doubted he had any help to give even if he did choose to leave Amengual to rot across the border.
Retribution itself she did not question, its method left in Jay’s hands for now. Instead she thought on Amengual’s apparent involvement with Jessika, discovered right on the cusp of her announcement. And his presence at the fundraiser. It seemed Brandon watched the players with little care for the winner, so long as someone won, but did he really turn a blind eye to the travesty of that school? Her mind buzzed through the grand words he had spoken, of guardianship and purpose; how close she had been to hearing a truth she could follow, and a future she could fight for. Setting her feet on that path had been a thoughtless sacrifice, albeit reluctant. Now the memory sparked with rebellion.
She slid the returned wallet back into her pocket without checking for missed messages. The pin was in that pocket too, a cold reminder of the promise she had made and broken. It was the only identity Jay had left now. No longer a brother or son. A defected American and ostracised legionnaire. She bore witness to the hard forging of a weapon and it did not sit comfortably; less when she considered what might happen, once Amengual was dealt with, if they found themselves on opposite sides in this war.
Back in the truck she was content, for a while, to listen to the engine; a comfort she couldn’t really explain, but eventually she reached to flick on the radio. The station didn’t matter. At some point after that she must have fallen asleep, because when she jolted awake the shadows had receded. The phantom of a dream ran her cold; all she managed was, “I’m going to be sick,” reaching for the door before she was sure he had heard or would slow. Two steps away she retched as the fleeting images faded. Twinges of red announced the beginnings of sunset across the desolate highway, but she did not much glance at it. On her return a swill of water rinsed the sour taste, but she did not climb back in. Her dour expression suggested it was better not to comment. “You should sleep. Let me drive for a bit.”