Calling in a press conference is both the first thing she does Monday morning and the last thing she wants to do. In the wake of the high profile nonhuman outings (Vladimir Putin springs to mind), it’s a surprisingly simple task for a prominent businesswoman to get attention with a press release for reasons unspecified beyond that they are relevant to recent concerns in San Pedro Sula and the world. Only minutes after contacting local news outlets, international reporters call and email in requesting more specifics as far as time and location are concerned. Oh goodie.
In the hours leading up to the conference, Nessa changes her hair and practices her glamour no less than eleven times and her outfit twice. Which is less threatening? Hair down or hair up? Is it appropriate to wear white? A hat and sunglasses would be ideal in the current weather, but would they make her less trustworthy? It is easier to pretend that her indecision comes from a desire to look her best and not from a gnawing anxiety chewing a hole in her gut.
The car she hired arrives precisely two minutes early and the driver is courteous enough to meet her at the door, then hold it open for her. Someone is going to get a hell of a tip. He cements his generous gratuity by turning up the air conditioning and directing the vents towards his passenger. The cooled air is not quite cleared of the foul smell from outside, but it is refreshing and soothing nonetheless.Â
By the time she arrives, a small horde of reporters are already present, an impromptu podium tossed together in the town square with microphones of all shapes and sizes duct taped to the front. She smooths the front of her dress and checks to ensure her hair has stayed properly pinned, tucking a few renegade curls back into place only for them to spring free seconds later. Her modest flats manage to clack mildly on the questionably sturdy steps to the equally questionable podium and her smile is mild to match.
"Good afternoon. In another two minutes, we will begin with a brief question period afterwards. I would request that any flash kindly be turned off." Bright lights in her natural eyes will do nothing but hurt and flash photography always tends to be harder for her to fool.
Two minutes pass in what feels more like two seconds and in that time, the square fills with curious locals and journalists alike. She suspects many of them are here to confirm their suspicions that she’s been a demon from the start but that is simply the way the world is now. It cannot be helped. Not yet. Not for another minute or two.
"I am sure you are all wondering why I have called this conference now of all times when international shipping concerns are mine and mine alone." She smiles a little wider at her attempt at a joke. There are a few snickers but mostly more suspicious stares. "In light of recent events and tensions, we find ourselves in a time of fear and paranoia, where the line between violence and self defence has become blurred. I recognize that your local officials and leaders have not been forthcoming with reassurances or explanations."
"But my own officials and leaders are different." The glass of water left for her to sip looks tempting and she wishes she could curl up in it and hide. Instead, she sucks in a deep breath and eases back on her glamour, allowing some traits of her true self to slip through, though only those that would be least alarming. Her skin pales and takes on a blue-grey tint, her freckles glow blue, and the thin skin of her exposed throat splits to allow gills. Someone screams and she acts quickly, drawing the water from the glass and encouraging it to form a ring behind her head, a traditional and cliche symbol but an effective one. "Though Our message has not changed."
"And that message is one of tolerance, of love and of peace. Your writings of Our words have all included codes, rules, and commandments. We remind you now of the one most here are familiar with "Thou shalt not kill." There is no species modifier. It is not "Thou shalt not kill humans." Our message is only one of nonviolence. Were there truly an evil spreading and threatening the earth, We would deliver you from it as We have always promised. Please have faith and hope. Show kindness and love, acceptance and tolerance. You are not alone and you are not in any new or pressing danger. You are loved. We will now take questions."
An old woman in the crowd drops to her knees. Her son follows, then his friends, then those around them save for a handful of reporters too intent on asking their questions to bow. Nessa cringes and flushes and gestures for that nonsense to stop right now. But they’re calmer. It’s a start. A lie and a big one and one that will inevitably bite her in the ass, but if it brings peace in the meantime and keep the people in her city safe and the children in her city happy, it will have been worth it.
The questions take a solid hour and keep coming even after that, the most prominent of which is why she has gills if angels are winged. She claims herself to be a guardian for sailors and their wives and that seems to clear things up. The driver she’d hired earlier is quick to usher her into the car and lock the doors, providing her with a blessedly quick, clean escape from either the best or worst idea of her life. She pulls her hair free from its pins and chews her nails. Business is about to take another hit.
germansingergirl
origamiaround
andulkaphoto
