He glances from the finger pointed in his face to her, and back again, entirely unimpressed. The satisfaction of finally venting his recent frustrations is starting to wear off a little, and this argument is becoming less and less gratifying by the second. He's beginning to regret coming back to the Sanctum in the first place.

"You come to me like this, drunk to the point of near-incoherence and attacking me with only mere scraps of information you've got off a Greensworn, of all people," he says, with a laugh so scornful it sounds more like a cough. "And you expect me to confide in you? Make you privy to my 'big, grand plans?'"

"No, you can't be just stupid -- not even the village idiot would think I'd do that. You're practically insane." He leans in now, face mere inches away from hers, bending over just slightly so he can look down his nose at her. His great height is easily the most intimidating part of a not-so-intimidating person, but as tall as Apollo is, he can't loom over her the way he normally likes to. Still, he'll take what he can get.

"Ask any of our flightmates," he practically spits. "Anyone here can see you'd sell our flight's secrets to our enemies for little more than a bottle of drink."