11-28-2013, 09:55 PM
Americans. What a ridiculous culture. Half an hour into their conversation and Mr. Smith only now properly introduced himself. Yet still abstained from the honorific use of Armande’s titles. He would not have been so informal with the Holy Father, but Armande did not accept the responsibility of his position for honor and glory. The opposite, in fact: he was the blade in the dark.
He shook Mr. Smith’s hand, a firm but accepting gesture. Armande wore no rings. His nails were trim and meticulous, but the callouses in his palm etched deep. His gaze was unfaltering, piercing, and his voice sharp as a sword. “I will not call you Doulou, Mr. Smith.” He released the man’s hand after their clasping lingered an unsettling few moments too long.
The ten-fold increase in donation did not so much as flicker a reaction from Armande. For a man who mentioned his billions, ten million was barely a percentage of his total net worth. Furthermore, he was wrong about the income at Armande’s disposal. There was great segregation between the Atharim and the Church as Armande assumed that was what was meant.
His consideration of Mr. Smith’s service expanded beyond financial philanthropist. “You are correct in your assumption that I will go to any measure to win this coming war.” He circled toward the bodies, studying their cold flesh academically.
“What I want is a champion for our cause. An arrow to aim at Apollyon. You could be that man, Mr. Smith. I propose an exchange.” He turned back, finally offering the rare gift of his hand and knowledge. “Your service to the Atharim in exchange for my mentorship. I will warn you, that acceptance is for life. That your soul will likely be sacrificed in the name of humanity’s salvation. That orders come from the acting Regus, the office currently held by myself. Disobedience of this office means death. Betrayal of the Atharim means death. To be Atharim is to be the ouroboros itself: never ending. We bear an eternal duty because our legacy is forever – until war itself is forgotten. Ad vitam aut culpam.”
He offered his hand once more, palm down and fingers uncurled. “You may still decline without repercussion. I will accept your donation and we may exchange proprieties as proposed before. Or you can kneel and kiss the hand of your Regus. If so, I will take you before the Conclave and you will become one of the Remnant.”
It was Mr. Smith’s decision.
He shook Mr. Smith’s hand, a firm but accepting gesture. Armande wore no rings. His nails were trim and meticulous, but the callouses in his palm etched deep. His gaze was unfaltering, piercing, and his voice sharp as a sword. “I will not call you Doulou, Mr. Smith.” He released the man’s hand after their clasping lingered an unsettling few moments too long.
The ten-fold increase in donation did not so much as flicker a reaction from Armande. For a man who mentioned his billions, ten million was barely a percentage of his total net worth. Furthermore, he was wrong about the income at Armande’s disposal. There was great segregation between the Atharim and the Church as Armande assumed that was what was meant.
His consideration of Mr. Smith’s service expanded beyond financial philanthropist. “You are correct in your assumption that I will go to any measure to win this coming war.” He circled toward the bodies, studying their cold flesh academically.
“What I want is a champion for our cause. An arrow to aim at Apollyon. You could be that man, Mr. Smith. I propose an exchange.” He turned back, finally offering the rare gift of his hand and knowledge. “Your service to the Atharim in exchange for my mentorship. I will warn you, that acceptance is for life. That your soul will likely be sacrificed in the name of humanity’s salvation. That orders come from the acting Regus, the office currently held by myself. Disobedience of this office means death. Betrayal of the Atharim means death. To be Atharim is to be the ouroboros itself: never ending. We bear an eternal duty because our legacy is forever – until war itself is forgotten. Ad vitam aut culpam.”
He offered his hand once more, palm down and fingers uncurled. “You may still decline without repercussion. I will accept your donation and we may exchange proprieties as proposed before. Or you can kneel and kiss the hand of your Regus. If so, I will take you before the Conclave and you will become one of the Remnant.”
It was Mr. Smith’s decision.