01-24-2018, 10:59 AM
She waited patiently. Not that there was another option. Her disinterested gaze took in the decor a thousand times before a buzz from the depths of her purse drew her attention. She pulled out the cheap smartphone -- a new one, since apparently she had developed a habit for losing them, fully expecting it to be Jared with news. The number flashed unknown, though, and when she pressed it to her ear a cloud of deafening static choked from the speaker. "...Natalie?..."
A confusion of words followed, before the line fell dead mid-sentence. Coldness touched her spine, spreading out to wrap the pit of her stomach. She didn't recognise the distorted voice, but for a moment her mind whispered a disturbing what if.
In the silence that followed she recomposed herself, staring down at the phone in her lap until the glow of it faded. Frowning.
*
Time passed before the door opened.
Natalie had expected her visit to be managed by a bureaucrat, but if the procession of individuals who streamed into the room surprised her she did not show it.
She stood to shake Nikolai's hand, making no pretence of her study. "She is well. Busy, as always. And my grandfather is nothing if not traditional; he thought it important that I present myself in person."
There was a message in it of course; that the Northbrooks chose not to hide a channeler, even though they could. More than that, rather than keep her safely hoarded away in the heart of their own seat of power, they sent her here openly and in trust. Though maybe they didn't quite count on the wildcard of Natalie's caustic nature in smoothing this reaffirmation of loyalty. Her face was still as she processed her thoughts.
She'd agreed easily to the registration, much to her mother's blatant shock at the family's carefully planned intervention. And she had agreed to fly to Moscow because it suited her purposes at the time. But she'd never agreed to do this blindly.
Her father had never liked this man.
It settled like a stone in her gut, the realisation. Alistair had allowed his family to rip apart at the seams chasing that cause, and she never even knew why. Confronted with the reality of Brandon's existence, she was for a moment caught by the great heave of emotion in her chest. What did you do? What did you do that made him hate you so? Sometimes she could still smell the paper in her father's office burning, the edges curling and crisping in her hands as the pictures and words blackened away. A blur of memory. Action without thinking. It remained a mystery.
And there were no answers revealed in the affability of the man before her.
Her thoughts reflected, calculating. She remained aloof; polite, but superficial.
Alistair had never been the type enamoured of small children. He did not kiss small toes or chase after squealing laughter. Natalie recalled how Isobel had been frightened of his stark mannerisms and cool distance, particularly on those seldom nights he tucked them up into bed with the sweeping darkness of bloody and brutal fairytales. Natalie luxuriated in their savagery, their strangeness, but most of all in those quiet moments when their father really saw them. Looking at Brandon now suddenly reminded her of those dusty memories. Koschei the Deathless. A Russian tale. He'd been priming them even then; not to follow heedlessly, to always question authority. To suspect it.
But Natalie would make up her own mind.
Brandon was perfectly cordial, broaching on friendly; a clear indication that he did not hold her to account for her father's transgressions. It would be so easy to play the part her family briefed her for, to let the words wash over her and paint whatever mask she most thought he would care to see. She was perfectly capable of that; could even rationalise that in the long run it would be to her benefit to make this meeting both easy and forgettable. She could murmur rote words. Loyalty and pride and gratitude. Familial duty fulfilled, until it later returned to yank on the leash she so docilely let circle her neck.
But something in his assumption was like nails on a chalkboard. The Custody will call when the time comes? The arrogance was to be expected. Her family had served since the ASU'S inception, so of course her compliance was both assumed and celebrated -- it was why she was even here. But it sounded too much like the bestowal of a favour to make her truly comfortable with the implication. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Natalie needed something on which to hang the mantle of respect; she needed more than formal platitudes and a firm handshake. Greatest power in the world or not.
There was an infinitesimal shift in her bearing, like a sleeping creature roused. As angelic as she appeared, her eyes had the truth of it; she was composed of ice and steel.
"I was in Africa until very recently, teaching in Masiaka, a village some miles south of Freetown. On the morning the conflicts began, one of my students bludgeoned his best friend to the brink of death -- because his friend was of the Mende tribe, and he believed he and his Temne people had been oppressed. Such an arbitrary difference between them, from the outside looking in. Two children. Ten years old. Such a tragic and avoidable outcome.
"Your city is beautiful, there's no denying; the apex of the modern world. And yet last night I found myself in an alley torn apart by a channeler forced to defend himself. The emergency services arrived quickly, but are you aware it's considered procedural for your police to tranquillise suspected channelers? Like my student, the man in question had also been beaten to within an inch of his life -- because of what he is, so I gather. He could barely lift his head, and yet they treated him with a contemptuous lack of dignity, like he were no more than a vicious animal. He needed medical attention, not sedation. Any other man would have received it.
"Tell me, is this a part of the grand empire you wish to build? Is this how we are to be treated until we are understood?
"Answer that, and then I'll decide if you may call on me 'when the time comes'."
There was no heat in her words, no apparent investment. Beyond the obvious. This gift they shared shattered the world and made it anew; she wanted insight into that vision. What were other channelers to Nikolai Brandon? The revelation of their existence was still raw. People were scared. This power was dangerous, she of all people understood that, but it was not the necessary changes to laws and legislation she questioned. It was more fundamental than that.
Africa tore itself apart over its differences. She didn't expect to see such division in the heart of the CCD, and yet all she saw were the cracks -- and the self-proclaimed Ascendancy staring down upon it all.
Natalie's stare was solid. Unblinking. But afterwards the flicker of a smirk ghosted her lips; the closest thing she offered to a smile. The irony of questioning his authority only to ask a favour. But he had asked and it stoked a desire she hadn't even come here for. "Though yes, if you're still inclined, there is something you can help me with. Are you aware one of Jacques Danjou's men is missing? He was arrested last night, but he was not processed at the police station. In fact I cannot find any trace of him."
A confusion of words followed, before the line fell dead mid-sentence. Coldness touched her spine, spreading out to wrap the pit of her stomach. She didn't recognise the distorted voice, but for a moment her mind whispered a disturbing what if.
In the silence that followed she recomposed herself, staring down at the phone in her lap until the glow of it faded. Frowning.
*
Time passed before the door opened.
Natalie had expected her visit to be managed by a bureaucrat, but if the procession of individuals who streamed into the room surprised her she did not show it.
She stood to shake Nikolai's hand, making no pretence of her study. "She is well. Busy, as always. And my grandfather is nothing if not traditional; he thought it important that I present myself in person."
There was a message in it of course; that the Northbrooks chose not to hide a channeler, even though they could. More than that, rather than keep her safely hoarded away in the heart of their own seat of power, they sent her here openly and in trust. Though maybe they didn't quite count on the wildcard of Natalie's caustic nature in smoothing this reaffirmation of loyalty. Her face was still as she processed her thoughts.
She'd agreed easily to the registration, much to her mother's blatant shock at the family's carefully planned intervention. And she had agreed to fly to Moscow because it suited her purposes at the time. But she'd never agreed to do this blindly.
Her father had never liked this man.
It settled like a stone in her gut, the realisation. Alistair had allowed his family to rip apart at the seams chasing that cause, and she never even knew why. Confronted with the reality of Brandon's existence, she was for a moment caught by the great heave of emotion in her chest. What did you do? What did you do that made him hate you so? Sometimes she could still smell the paper in her father's office burning, the edges curling and crisping in her hands as the pictures and words blackened away. A blur of memory. Action without thinking. It remained a mystery.
And there were no answers revealed in the affability of the man before her.
Her thoughts reflected, calculating. She remained aloof; polite, but superficial.
Alistair had never been the type enamoured of small children. He did not kiss small toes or chase after squealing laughter. Natalie recalled how Isobel had been frightened of his stark mannerisms and cool distance, particularly on those seldom nights he tucked them up into bed with the sweeping darkness of bloody and brutal fairytales. Natalie luxuriated in their savagery, their strangeness, but most of all in those quiet moments when their father really saw them. Looking at Brandon now suddenly reminded her of those dusty memories. Koschei the Deathless. A Russian tale. He'd been priming them even then; not to follow heedlessly, to always question authority. To suspect it.
But Natalie would make up her own mind.
Brandon was perfectly cordial, broaching on friendly; a clear indication that he did not hold her to account for her father's transgressions. It would be so easy to play the part her family briefed her for, to let the words wash over her and paint whatever mask she most thought he would care to see. She was perfectly capable of that; could even rationalise that in the long run it would be to her benefit to make this meeting both easy and forgettable. She could murmur rote words. Loyalty and pride and gratitude. Familial duty fulfilled, until it later returned to yank on the leash she so docilely let circle her neck.
But something in his assumption was like nails on a chalkboard. The Custody will call when the time comes? The arrogance was to be expected. Her family had served since the ASU'S inception, so of course her compliance was both assumed and celebrated -- it was why she was even here. But it sounded too much like the bestowal of a favour to make her truly comfortable with the implication. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Natalie needed something on which to hang the mantle of respect; she needed more than formal platitudes and a firm handshake. Greatest power in the world or not.
There was an infinitesimal shift in her bearing, like a sleeping creature roused. As angelic as she appeared, her eyes had the truth of it; she was composed of ice and steel.
"I was in Africa until very recently, teaching in Masiaka, a village some miles south of Freetown. On the morning the conflicts began, one of my students bludgeoned his best friend to the brink of death -- because his friend was of the Mende tribe, and he believed he and his Temne people had been oppressed. Such an arbitrary difference between them, from the outside looking in. Two children. Ten years old. Such a tragic and avoidable outcome.
"Your city is beautiful, there's no denying; the apex of the modern world. And yet last night I found myself in an alley torn apart by a channeler forced to defend himself. The emergency services arrived quickly, but are you aware it's considered procedural for your police to tranquillise suspected channelers? Like my student, the man in question had also been beaten to within an inch of his life -- because of what he is, so I gather. He could barely lift his head, and yet they treated him with a contemptuous lack of dignity, like he were no more than a vicious animal. He needed medical attention, not sedation. Any other man would have received it.
"Tell me, is this a part of the grand empire you wish to build? Is this how we are to be treated until we are understood?
"Answer that, and then I'll decide if you may call on me 'when the time comes'."
There was no heat in her words, no apparent investment. Beyond the obvious. This gift they shared shattered the world and made it anew; she wanted insight into that vision. What were other channelers to Nikolai Brandon? The revelation of their existence was still raw. People were scared. This power was dangerous, she of all people understood that, but it was not the necessary changes to laws and legislation she questioned. It was more fundamental than that.
Africa tore itself apart over its differences. She didn't expect to see such division in the heart of the CCD, and yet all she saw were the cracks -- and the self-proclaimed Ascendancy staring down upon it all.
Natalie's stare was solid. Unblinking. But afterwards the flicker of a smirk ghosted her lips; the closest thing she offered to a smile. The irony of questioning his authority only to ask a favour. But he had asked and it stoked a desire she hadn't even come here for. "Though yes, if you're still inclined, there is something you can help me with. Are you aware one of Jacques Danjou's men is missing? He was arrested last night, but he was not processed at the police station. In fact I cannot find any trace of him."