"you're looking out for me, aren't you?" // from maxima to apollodoros
apollodoros says that with a smile. that is not the whole truth, of course; the truth is never whole when it comes to him, and shattered beyond recognition while the magister is concerned. they both know they'll make it work, somehow. maxima, as the eastward wind that carries the scent of home, comes back to haunt himâlike dust, it's a ghost that settles in the folds of his clothes, in the way he shakes hands and his accent tilts when he forgets to roll his r's. reminders he cannot escape, that come filtering like moonlight when he lays down to sleep. she knows there's no distance wide enough to make him forget about her and, simultaneously, the imperium; and she knows that because she knows him, that the things he cannot forget about he puts away like neatly stacked papers, ready to check and ready to burn.
maxima is his guest, and rumors has it he treats his guests better than they would be treated in their homes. it is not far from the truth: altus mages, especially magisters, are self-indulgent creatures and apollodoros longs to impress. impress who, that is not up for speculation. he's tasked trusted servants to handle her every need, and the entire west wing of his estate has been polished clean twiceâwhite marble liquid with candlelight, the thick herbal scent of incense burning, and soft feather pillows freshly plumped up.
âbetter than you would look out for yourself, or you would not have taken the risk of a week-long travel just to see me.â the smile that sticks in his voice is drowned in a gulp of sweetened wine. imported, this one, and he carefully eyes maxima in search for a glimpse of recognition at being served a taste of home. wine is one of the things antiva does unequivocally better, but apollodoros is a man of secret pleasures, and refuses not to share one of them with his oldest friend. his dark eyes, circled with gentle wrinkles, shift to her. âyou know i enjoy subtler flattery.â