((Logged 3/24/01 by Dirah))
One should be thankful that the arena is currently all but empty- what with no battles planned until later, and with the rather late time it has reached. For this alone Dirah is thankful, as she walks down the hallway with even steps, which resonate down the hallway in every tone she could hope to give to them- even, but rather sharp in falling, signal to some quiet, careless annoyance that she does not care if she emits. And she carries with her, coiled and held tightly, two very used, but nonetheless high quality whips. And despite the success of what she went out to do, there is such a punctuated annoyance about her... One that echoes that she didn't have the funnest time in doing so.
Tifa leans against the wall, decked in her cloak, and looking down at the floor. As she hears footsteps, her head slowly turns towards the source, and a smile crosses her face. "I knew you'd succeed!" she says, in an almost happy bouncy tone, but not so loudly. After all, this would cause confusion. "Such perfect timing too...my rendezvous nears."
Dirah glances up as the sound of a voice, tensing a moment but calming- calming being a relative term, since she's still rather obviously irritated- not much later. Walking up to the cloaked woman, Dirah gives a mildly irritated huff of a noise, noting merely, "Of course I suceeded. It doesn't take someone remarkable to take a pair of whips out from beneath an unconcious man." And she offers them, in a sort of graceless action, her voice held in a wryly irritated tone, "But these better well be the trouble of having to deal with him when he -woke-."
Tifa sweatdrops, accepting the whips. "Oh, my...don't tell me you got noticed, Dirah. I really hope you're not telling me what I think you are...," a frown comes across her face, she was looking forward to this.
"Yes, I murdered the prince." She pauses, and rolls her eyes faintly, if just to break into quiet laughter a moment later, "No, no, nothing of the sort. Actually, on a.. -technical- standpoint, it couldn't have gone better. He honestly thought I was a certain unfashionable man, and did not suspect the mildest thing." A minor pause, as Dirah adds, in all her traditional vanity, "Although I'm not all that sure that is very complimentary for me." A pause, and she shrugs, brushing silver bangs from before her eyes as if she was restrained from such an action for long enough, "It just was... uncomfortable. And unpleasant. He's so... So..." She pauses, to wrinkle her nose a bit in distaste, searching for a word, "..Dumb."
Tifa twitches, "...Dumb? This is the man that was responsible for thwarting Solaris on countless occasions...how "dumb" could he possibly be?" she takes a moment to defend the person she's supposed to be, not because she actually cares, but because she's supposed to be this man. From the fight, she imagined him as more a crafty and arrogant person...but...DUMB? No, she's not dumb! No, no, NO! She looks at her whips and falls into silence a moment.
Dirah pauses for a moment to cast a curious sapphire gaze to her, almost perplexed that Tifa seems.. Unsettled by this. Mildly, Dirah chuckles, an unhostile sound, as she grants a vague gesture, "Well, I'd think the odd conversation and headstrong agression in the tournament would be enough to betray that much of him. Nonetheless... Yes." She shrugs, as if it were an unfortunate, but helpless happening, and one she merely had the misfortune of relating, "He did not suspect the faintest thing at me.. And.. And he reminisced at me! Something about how he had a bad dream about how Sigurd grounded him and took his whips away when he was 9." And Dirah laughs anew at the irony, or perhaps only at the childishness of the event, shaking her head faintly, "How rediculous! Ah, don't be glum about it, though Tifa." And she smiles, offering instead, "Perhaps his second in command does all the clever thinking for him." Wait.. That was intended as -helpful-?
Tifa sweatdrops, "I...refuse to believe that!" she says. "He must have found you out, and tried to catch you off guard so he could make sure you were the real Sigurd. He hides his strategic intellect behind his seemingly dumb exterior!" she then hmphs and crosses her arms. She's NOT mimicking someone dumb. She takes minor comfort in this fact. "......."
Dirah breaks once more into laughter at this, although she does her best to mute it as to not echo down the full of the very hallway. She puts a hand over her mouth to attempt this affect, but.. Well, still the humor is there. Painfully, clearly there, "Oh, right...!" As if Tifa had just said some charming, wonderful joke. "Oh, -sure-. A keen intellect behind a seemingly dumb exterior... How perfectly worded!" And yet, at that, finally, Dirah trails off into quiet, dropping her hand and dulling her smile, in realizing that Tifa.. Looks cross. Wait.. She was -serious-? Whoops! "Ah, but.. Well, one never knows. He -did- just wake up from being pummeled unconcious. And maybe he babbled so because he thought I was the real Sigurd. There are.. Possibilities, yes." And from her tone of voice, its obvious that she believes absolutely none of them. "But in any case, it was -remarkably- annoying. Silly boy..." And she shakes her head mildly, and adds, softly, "But you needn't pout about it."
Tifa sighs, "...I'm not pouting. I just had much higher expectations than this. I've even heard someone's writing a novel about him! Though that last one could easily be a rumor, i'm not going to believe i'm charged with imitating someone...dumb," she looks at the whips he used, "Ah...i've heard of these, they're designed in the Thames...called 'Cobra Cracka'. They're designed especially to be used in a pair...I wonder how a pirate like Bart managed to come across the money to buy these....I heard they were very expensive..."
Dirah chuckles mildly, although there is not a hint of cruelty in it. Apparently, Dirah is just.. Amused. "And I'm charged with imitating a fashion-stunted old -man- of all things. When I have such a lovely girlish figure..." Ah, right. One of these days her vanity will kill her. One should be grateful that Dirah brushes the comment aside with a wave of a hand and adds, "We all have our regrets about this job. But don't let it get to you, Tifa. After all, there is a possibility that he has.. Other qualities. You know.. Being a good leader, good under stress... Hell, maybe he's more clever around other people. But either way, its no reflection on you. God knows that hideous 2nd in command of his is no reflection on -me-." And Dirah chuckles, glancing down to the whips as Tifa swaps subjects to them, and grants a mild shrug in responce, "Who knows? Maybe they get a gold or two from those Aveh ships they are known to occationally fire on. If they didn't just steal the silly things."
Tifa looks at Dirah, "I understand...," she then looks down. "...I believe I have a plan for my match with Sigurd," she starts. "Since we coincidentally put on the same 'disguise', I feel I can create some interesting development between the boy and his second in command...," she smirks. "This will go perfectly if I do this right."
Dirah grins mildly, and nods, "Glad to hear that. I'd ask what you were planning, but..." Another vague gesture. Talk about a drama queen.., "I'll leave it as a surprise, hm? Besides, who knows who might be listening. This hallway echoes a disturbing amount." But she grins, obviously amused to more a thought or three, and adds, "But no matter what.. I'm sure this is going to be -quite- an interesting fight. Let them wonder what is going awry. This still will be -delightfully- fun." A smile, and she somehow avoids the necessity to chuckle once more, merely noting, "I'll certainly be watching. And I wish you luck, Tifa."
Tifa nods, "Thank you," she muses a bit over what she plans on doing in the battle, looking at the coiled Cobra Crackas she holds in her hand. "...Yes, it will go well, i'm sure of it!" she says with a nod.
Dirah smiles lightly and nods in responce, "It will go -wonderfully-. We have everything planned for and planned around, and.. You seem to have a well thought out plan of your own. What could possibly go wrong?" And Dirah nods, and then adds, a bit of an oddly amused tone to her voice, "And your battle is later today, correct? Then perhaps I ought to tell you something like I told that brat of a prince." And how odd it seems, and amusing in its own right, to take Dirah take up a lecturing poise, and narrow an even gaze that remains free of a grin by only force? "If you intend to do well, you need to rest, Young Master." And there her poise breaks, and she grants a little grin, "After all... The more help one can get, the better."