Andross goes still at the news, then, slowly, slowly, he smiles. The kind of smile that suggests he's already re-writing the universe around such an idea.
"The nice list," he repeats, savoring the words. "How gratifying."
He rises, hands clasped behind his back, pacing with an easy, yet predatory rhythm.
"And surpassing Mother Teresa, no less? I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. Her reputation has always depended on... shall we say, a very... selective accounting of her deeds." His tone turns velvety, dripping with mock sympathy. "Compassion can be such a performative art when one doesn't understand the machinery of suffering."
A huff of amusement escapes him, dark and indulgent.
"I have never hidden behind such sanctimony. I act. I rebuild. I transform a dying world with my own intellect while others cling to moral theatrics and call it virtue."
He stops pacing, the grin widening ever so slightly.
"If Santa has finally seen fit to elevate me above the ranks of glorified martyrs, then perhaps the universe is learning..." A pause. "...Belatedly."
He lowers his voice to a murmur edged with menace.
"Do convey my thanks to the old man. Tell him I expect something worthy of a benefactor of worlds."
A thin, razor-sharp smile.
"And if he finds himself short on resources... well. I've spent a lifetime turning wastelands into empires. I could teach him a thing or two about true charity."
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