((Logged 3/23/01 by Dirah))
Bart lies down on a cot in the corner, his face bruised as it is. He's mumbling incoherently, with the occasional form of coherence once in a while, as he sleeps. "MDEXrssidii..xcjxsjxisjn....Clod...sksojiwhnxjwnjsxn..t.he no. 1...." he continues this incoherent mumbling. He hasn't really had time to think about the whole Fei-lose ordeal, since he's been asleep since the fight, which was about a day ago.
The tedium of work. Well. One can not always pray to have it be something massively important, dramatic, or worthy of whatever state of glory that one expects. Dirah, after all, was.. Hardly expecting to have his second task to be.. To fetch whips. He represses the sigh which wishes to rise in the face of this fact, but gives it no more heed- there will be plenty of time to complain about how he was not put on this team to pick up whips merely because Tifa hadn't the sense to get the design right the first time later. So. Quietly, carefully, Dirah opens the door to the room, turning that uncovered sapphire eye into the room... And noting Bart to be yet unconcious, just as quietly moves into the room. Quietly as he can, he starts to shift through anything in the open, wondering where the Prince's whips may be.
Bart mumbles some more. My he's a loud sleeper. If you'd look, there's an interesting ordeal that comes up, as the whips are -directly under the cot-. "...ah don't wa....n..n..a...go today...maison always talks about boring...stuff," he mumbles as he turns back over. He then murmurs something else, "...he's the man..."
Not in the chests meant to store the battler's gear... And there's not all that much out in the open. Wonderful. Dirah pauses, drawing away from the rather poorly covered up search to tap his foot in somewhat irritation, wondering where on earth those blasted things could ....be? A mildly pained expression reaches his face as he pauses, and kneels to glance across the room, noting that the whips were neatly stored beneath the cot. Charming. With the soft lilt of a grumble, Dirah edges over to the cot, carefully as he might, and kneels, reaching under the cot for the whips.
Bart mumbles again, slowly opening his eyes. A groan comes from him, as he holds his head, "Ugh....man....Fei? Damn...did I lose?" he sits up and looks around. Not having the common sense to discern Dirah from Sigurd, he blinks, "Sig? How long have you been here? And...er...where am I?"
Of all the remarkable luck... Dirah startles mildly in responce to the suddenly more concious words of the young prince, jerking away just a moment before grasping one of the whips. And a moment draws itself out, a shade long for fluidity of acting, as Dirah tries to rather swiftly shift through how to react. Well, at least he passes for Sigurd, of all things. Even if that is not entirely a wonderful thing to Dirah himself. "You are awake... Young master?" Ah, play along, and hope that the prince is groggy enough to realize that Dirah's voice is, even disguised, a shade too high, even in close quarters, "You are in the resting areas beneath the tournament grounds." He notes, evenly, trying not to say entirely too much at once, lest such be obvious. A pity, then, that Dirah knows so little of the specific character and manner of speech of the one he is so trying to impersonate.
Bart holds his head, "ouy....Sig....I wonder...you were watching our fight, right?" he looks at 'Sigurd' rather critically. "...That man...he wasn't Fei...he would never do what he did there...something's wrong Sig," he sighs. "I...can't put my finger on it, but...," he shrugs. "What do you think?"
Don't squirm beneath the prince's glance, Dirah, no matter how tempting it is to turn your glance aside or move, if just to put that much more distance between you, and make sure that Bart doubts nothing. But, realizing quite simply how that would be more obvious, Dirah.. Attempts to keep an even gaze, a steady glance, and ponders up what to say in responce.. Very, very quickly. Now, what did he overhear Sigurd complaining about in the box? Ah, yes.., "I agree that something is awry, young master." Careful of the voice, and hope that Bart is still disoriented enough to continue thinking, even face to face, that there is nothing odd here, "As it doesn't seem like Fei to use that staff.. Or to conduct himself as he did." Ah, pray that the word choice is close enough not to sound odd, and hope that the wording went well, and that you didn't mishear in the box.. And quietly, he curses himself, annoyed to the moment, wondering how he can get the whips without raising the interest of this irritating prince.
Bart coughs a bit. "Well, Sig, I think so too...I wonder if that guy's still here. I'm gonna get him back for impersonating Fei," he moves to the side of my cot. "...damn...but my head hurts...I don't feel so good...just the greatest time to get beaten down...and...," he sneezes to the side, away from Dirah, "...I think i'm getting a cold..."
"I'm afraid that is unlikely. You've been unconcious for the most of a day since your battle, and almost everyone has left this area in preparation of the next match.." Fooling someone disoriented and with a cold? Ah, well, it might not be the greatest success on Dirah's part, but at least his generally neutral comments have managed not to raise any huge concern over just how -many- people are delighting in pretending to be other people as of late. Well, keep it up- if nothing else, be grateful that he hasn't just stared you down and wondered aloud just what was wrong with the way you spoke. "Nonetheless, you're still weak. I believe you should rest, young master." Yes, rest, doze away, and leave me to do what I came to do. And later, perhaps someone will come by that has an honest concern for your health.
Bart groans, "Yeah...maybe you're right, Sig," he sighs slowly. "I really should listen to you, just this once anyways. Come talk to me later, ok?" he smirks, then rubs his head, "Oww....hey...i'm wondering...I was just having a dream about when you dragged us to Maison's instructions one day, me and Margie...back when I threw a fit over how his teachings were useless, remember that?"
Yes, be a good prince and listen to Dirah. Rest, doze off, find your whips missing and blame it on someone else. Its all that simple. "Of course." Oh, there's a charm. Blame the real Sigurd if he doesn't fit this promise. And, yes, you should listen to hi-.. Ah, fudge. The instant reaction to that comment of Bart's- quoting a memory Sigurd knew, of all things- is to flinch. Rather, Dirah resists the urge to look mildly ill, running frantically over options in his mind.. Right, well, you can hardly deny remembering, as you don't know Sigurd's tendancy to remember things.. And you can't very well fake what you don't know. Vague.. you need something nice and.. -Vague-. "Of course I remember that, young master. You dreamt of that?" Ah, yes, er.. Don't be specific. Just hope that this requires no feat of memory on your part and try to sound absolutely casual in it. The last thing you need now is suspicion on you.
Bart nods, "Yeah, it was really weird. Me and Margie were what, about 9 then?" he chuckles. "Remember what you did then? It's really funny that this' what I remember," he crosses his arms. "I remember you took my whips for a week because of that, since I liked using them so much," how interesting. Deja vu? "Ah, well. I guess I should rest...but I wanna see your fight, now that I can't fight you, which sucks."
Dirah chuckles very softly beneath his breath. Ah, what irony! And if only Bart knew exactly why such a thing was so amusing. Dulling that amusement to something reasonable- yes, Dirah is just laughing as if he had the faintest clue what you were talking about. And nod and smile, nod and smile. Suspect a thing? Please, don't. "Well, it occationally amusing what people will remember from when they were young, young master." Grin mildly and hope.. Hope that Bart isn't realizing how irritating Dirah is becoming. Right. -Please-, stop trying his patience. Why not doze off and recover? And.. Mental twitches once again. How much do they know of whom Sigurd is going to fight? Goodness, goodness.. More vagueness is necessary. "I'm scheduled to plan not all that long from now. It will be.. interesting, how that turns out." Ah, indeed it will, wont it? With the real Sigurd out there and Tifa.. "But for now, it would be better if you got some rest. You took some hard blows from that so-called Fei."
Bart nods slowly, "Eh....yeah, your right. Come back before you fight to wake me," he yawns. "Maybe i'll feel up to watching then!" he laughs, and turns over, closing his eyes. "Ah, yes. 'I don't care'. That's right....I lost....and I don't...," he starts snoring lowly then, back to his incoherent mumbling, "XZ_S_CDSDede.e.r...."
Dirah rolls his eyes dramatically the moment that the prince looks asleep again- and by some miracle unnamed, manages not to grumble a 'finally' beneath his breath. Moving carefully as to not wake Bart once more, he reaches for the whips beneath the cot, trying to silently take the both of them. Leave Bart to worry about what happened later- with any good luck, he wont even remember the most of this happened, and any blame can be cheerfully put on someone else. Someone far else, not Dirah, and, with all preferance, that atrocious Sigurd. Just as long as Dirah gets a -nice- long moment to complain about how frustrating this 'simple' task actually was, he'll be happy.