“You’re Apolline Degarmo, are you not?” the woman who had pulled the Sebastos aside said. She was a sharp woman, both in her manner of speaking and in the harsh angles exaggerated by her funeral couture. There was an air of authority about her; she was an important figure, whether Apolline knew it or not, she was the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care. “I was Sebastos in ‘89,” she explained. “And I wanted to hear it from you, darling. Did you — ” she said, hand moving in an expansive motion to refer to a larger you than simply Apolline. After all, she was their leader, and she represented them with her every word. “ — have anything to do with this mess?”
Her guard was up from the moment the stranger’s eyes met hers; lips pursing and gaze lowering to the palm that grasped her elbow and led her to a secluded corner. Apolline silently followed, standing across from the woman and regarding her with elegant expectancy. Despite the utter tranquility of her demeanor, there was no denying the soft-edged sharpness of her gaze as it skirted over the palm still shackling her before rising to observe the shadowed features of the woman before her. It was difficult to glean anything off of her expression, pinched and ironed-out as it was, but there was a tangible hint of urgency in the stranger’s words when she finally addressed her. Apolline grabbed the silken end of that thread and pulled, answering with a curt, “Yes, I am.”
Brow hiking in an elegant arch, Apolline was careful to rearrange her own expression to reflect the required degree of reverence, chin inclining as she sent a mild smile in the woman’s direction. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”
Her expression sobered, however, when she registered the woman’s following question. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, ma’am,” She answered with a delicate frown. “If you’re referring to Edward’s death, then I feel obliged to correct you. His death is not a mess, it’s a tragedy, and a grave loss to our societies. It deserves better than to be reduced into an inconvenience.” To Apolline, words were like coins; fickle things to be fiddled with and exchanged for a worthy bargain. But just like the currency they were likened to, some words stood to bring losses rather than victories and Apolline wasn’t ready to take that risk. If she had to demean a former Sebastos in order to maintain her narrative, then so be it.
“But if you’re referring to the… looming danger,” She paused, allowing the silence to emphasize the implicit meaning behind her words – if you’re referring to our potential exposure... “Then rest assured, we have as much involvement with that as we do with the heinous act that prompted this danger in the first place; none.”
Placing her hand atop the woman’s, Apolline lowered it from her arm before clasping it in a feather-light grip. But when she spoke, it was with steel-tinged words. “Pandidakterion’s pride will be preserved no matter what it takes. I promise you.”
Losses and victories were so easily bought with words…
But then again, so was the promise of immortality.