(7/26/02-7/27/02)
The TV's off, for once, but the lounge is no cleaner. No surprise; all the Elements are male, and evidently none of them (save perhaps Hyu) are very tidy. A seventeen-year old Sigurd technically shouldn't be inhabiting these forgotten hallways- by the time he was seventeen, he was already boarding with Jessiah- but in dreams, the illogical reigns supreme. And so a lone figure- which would have been half familiar, half alien to his charges- can be seen here tonight, lying on his back on the lone sofa in the lounge, a pair of brilliant blue eyes half-sheathed idly beneath long black eyelashes, a single long silver bang trailing languidly down the right side of his face. He's reading a book, though what it is called is anyone's guess; the cover is as barren and mutilated as the plaque on the door down the hallway.
Dreams are supposed to make sense. They're supposed to ring familiar. At least.. That's how it's supposed to go, right? Reality viewed through a filter, the subconcious given full reign. So why is Dirah dreaming of a foreign hallway, marked with foreign names? Nothing looks like recollection, nothing feels like Kislev. And settling into a dream like that... Can be puzzling to the poor dreamer caught within it. So the young woman walks slowly, steps slow and confused, trying to find some reason or meaning to a world lacking familiarity or even some sense. She seems to be dreaming tonight of a lost day, herself--Looking every inch a Kislevi woman--Lost in the old outfit of her internship days beneath the Public Relations and Media administration of Kislev. Nearly twenty, with neat black pants and a formal jacket, she'd nearly look the image of formality if not for the shirt she wears beneath the open jacket--A low-plunging button-down that rings as vain as it is walking the thin line of tasteless. Soft black hair falls long past her shoulders, with bangs fallen before a pair of what could easily pass for faux-Fatima eyes... All reminders of a time before she had to -pretend- to get by. Happier days, and more frustrating days. General teenage days, one supposes. But wandering down the hall she finds that one door wide open, the sign before it mutilated and showing the only signs of habitation in this entire baffing hall. Almost distractedly, she gives a sharp rap on the door with the back of a knuckle. And says.. Excuse me? No, manners were never her high point, "...Hey, you. Do you have any idea where this is? I seem to be a little lost."
Sigurd glances up at the voice, peering over the top of his book, slight disbelief at the nature of the inquiry in his eyes; he may be a teenaged male, but he does know where the line between manners and rudeness starts. But as his critical eyes fall upon the young woman at the door... the expression in them changes slowly as the gaze trains first on her face, and then slowly makes its way down her entire length. The low-plunging neckline receives additional attention, as Sigurd's countenance changes from mildly piqued to -very- interested. Yes, this is a Sigurd which would have made those who know him at twenty-nine flee screaming from the room. And as to her question? Well, answer it, of course; it buys more time for this shameless womanizer to scrutinize. "Here? Jugend Military Academy, Dorm C, Block 7, Floor 4, Hallway 5, Room 29." A little smirk follows up that matter-of-fact statement; a statement almost teasing in its sheer length and formality. "So you're lost, eh? Maybe... I can help you?" he asks slowly, putting the book aside and rising to a sitting position, legs apart and elbows propped on knees. Though from the look in Sigurd's eyes, it doesn't seem like he quite shares her idea of what would be helpful to her.
Rude? Who's being rude? Dirah just isn't bothering with beating around the bush. And it's not quite in her nature to play the pretty angel to perfect strangers. For now, now! -Where- is Sigurd looking? Yet Dirah does not even seem to mind, although be of no mistake to think she hasn't noticed. In fact, in response to such attention, she merely leans somewhat against the door, resting a hand on her hip in some odd mix of pausing and posing in the doorway. It's quite a sad thing, though--Sigurd long outgrew all of this. Dirah is only four years past this, and hasn't quite changed at all. Although her makeshift pose does nearly fall as surprise overlays her features, "...Jugend Military...?" She's never heard of that. But Kislev is full of military establishments--That she was always far too good to be sent to, of course. It's perfectly concieveable that she could be in one of them, right? So her surprise is more short lived than it ought to be. "...I must have gotten more lost than I thought." A smile draws back into her features then, so terribly sweet despite that being not the best word at all to describe her. "Oh, I don't know... I wouldn't want to waste your time helping a poor young lady find her way..." Oh, she -is- a born actress.
Who said Sigurd outgrew it? There's still a hint of the younger Sigurd layered beneath the seriousness and formality of the older one... it just rarely, rarely ever shows. And now... well, he's certainly finally found a woman who knew just how to reciprocate his attentions; attentions which were rabidly and wildly sought by most of the women who attended Jugend... and beyond! Sigurd stands at this, and gracefully crosses the room in a heartbeat, the quickness of his approach creating an almost vertiginous effect; one moment he is on one side of the room, the next, he stands right before you. It should please Dirah to know that her pose is very much appreciated by its target. Leaning against the doorframe himself, Sigurd notes with slight pique that she quite matches him in height. How disturbing; he did quite prefer the normal male-female height configuration. Oh, but we can make exceptions, can't we? Sigurd's gaze turns into something intense and almost predatory as he glances at her. It is an expression you definitely do not want to see on the face of an armed madman; however, on Sigurd, it's merely something to make the ladies' knees weak. "Who said it'd be a waste of my time? It wouldn't be polite of me not to... help you." Again that certain undertone that suggests that Sigurd has a unique definition for the word 'help.'
Alas, Dirah's height was not one appreciated by most men--Dating a woman significantly taller than you seems to be an idea most unfavorable to so many of them. Well! It's their loss now, isn't it? Oh, but Dirah seems to be enjoying this attention quite a lot--It's only to be expected with her good looks and stunning charm, after all--And being a woman of strong will and obvious tastes, she does not back down in the least, as any shyer lady might. The smile on her face reeks so much of innocence that it could be nothing -but- a game, meeting that pretatory gaze with eyes quite nearly the same shade without the barest flinch. "Oh? What a gentleman you are!" She says, voice light and quaint while she rather gently brushes her hair behind an ear. Oh-ho! 'Help'? She does not even blink at the insinuation, the tonation, the wording. "But now, now, certainly I must know your name if you're to offer such a kindness." Oh, -now- she shows that she has manners. Or.. something that might pass for them in certain circumstances.
His name? Why, can't we skip the formalities this time? Sigurd is infinitely familiar with the courtesies, the small words exchanged before anything significant occurs- he's gone through the motions so many times- but goodness, must all women play hard-to-get? It's obvious she is enjoying his attention- and why wouldn't any woman enjoy it?- and it's also obvious that she's worthy of the attention he's giving. Sigurd's direct gaze is meant to separate the wheat from the chaff, and thus far, Dirah hasn't been winnowed. A gentleman? Well, yes, he is one. Sometimes. Wait, what do you mean you can't see his halo? "Sigurd Harcourt," he enunciates, the syllables a light murmur, a purr, a breath shaped and given meaning. "At your service...?" The blank after those words is obviously left for Dirah to insert her name into; Sigurd hangs silently, physically and mentally, waiting for her response, sapphire gaze beginning to wander suspiciously again. Naughty child! What -would- his mother say if she could see him now? Or Marguerite, for that matter. X_X Be glad she isn't here.
Halo? What halo? It's as good a thing as any that Dirah can't seem to make it out--After all, that tended to make things a little... -Dull-, didn't it? But playing hard to get is half the fun, didn't you know. For she never, ever was the melty sort to swoon at the very first lilting note of a man's voice. Oh, goodness no--Toying with them made it ever so much more.. Entertaining. "Dirah. Dirah Truscour." Of -course- she's worthy of such attention, and she'd be the first one to tell you that. But it's not every day that she has the luck to meet one of such stunning looks as well, much less the charm and intent to use them. "A pleasure to meet you." And the emphasis is on the obvious word in that sentence so blatantly that even the innocent few bats of her eyes can't throw off of the quite -not- tone of her voice. And naughty boy indeed! But then again, Dirah didn't wear a shirt like that to be -ignored- now, did she?
Of course. Sigurd wasn't given all this prodigious beauty just to waste it, you know; even better, he knows -exactly- how to use it. That subtle emphasis doesn't escape his notice either, but his only reaction is the graceful arch of a single, amused silver eyebrow. And goodness, but that shirt does catch attention! But Sigurd pries his eyes from their journey for a moment to calculate his next motion; a smooth taking of Dirah's hand. Keeping his eyes trained on her face, he drops a light kiss on the back of her hand, a smirk somehow managing to remain firmly on his face throughout the entire motion, "The pleasure is all mine... Dirah," he says, a note of laughter in his otherwise smooth voice, a slight purr adding an interesting little roll to the 'r' of Dirah's name; a small mark of an accent foreign to Kislev, to Solaris, and even to the Avites of Bledavik: the accent of the Nolnite. Dirah may be toying with him, but Sigurd is completely aware of that; he knows exactly how and what to reciprocate her coyness with. It is a knowledge born of prodigious experience.
Come, now! What's that arch of an eyebrow for? Dirah merely gives an oh-so-sweet smile in reponse to that, as if she did not do or say the slightest thing out of the ordinary. Oh, was there a certain tone to her voice, a certain word choice? She can look /perfectly/ innocent. Just as she can giggle gently to the kiss on the hand. Oh, as if she were the bashful type! Nonsense. But she plays innocent so terribly well. "Oh, you /are/ a gentleman. How lucky I am, to find such a helpful and charming young man." And one who is so appreciative of her at first sight, to boot? Dirah is not a slut by any stretch, mind you, but she has always been one to glory in such attention. Can it be helped if she feels she's worth it? And it's always nice when the man you meet has a perfectly darling foreign accent, too. Nothing she's heard, at least.
Sigurd wouldn't quite call it -darling-, but it is a rather beautiful melding of Solarian, Avite, standard Ignas, Nolnite, and nomadic accents into a single flowing accent, isn't it? And of course he's a gentleman! Cough. Why would you think anything else? Er, ignore those wandering Fatima-blue eyes while you answer that question. "Lucky indeed," he smirks, letting her hand slip from his like water from his grasp. "Some of these people here are... such philistines." Goodness, Sigurd, where did you pick up -that- word? Guess you're far more intelligent than some give you credit for. Though why anyone would think Sigurd was coarse and uneducated is anyone's guess; we're talking about the honor student who graduated third in his class and now commands the elite Special Forces here. Maybe it's his habit of picking up any woman he thinks worthy of basking in his glorious presence. And, of course, only a few select women are lucky enough to be on the receiving end of his much-sought attention; though goodness knows -he's- on the receiving end of countless women's longing fantasies.
If Dirah wants to consider the accent darling, she darn well can! It's such a rare luxury to hear something foreign in Kislev, after all. And he simply can't keep his eyes focused on hers, can't he? Tsk, tsk! But that only gets a little muted chuckle out of her, before she shakes her head gently, "Is that so? I had no idea. I really do seem to have gotten so -terribly- lost. But that's.. Not seeming to be an unpleasant thing at all, really." Oh, she's -quite- enjoying this, after all. And it's not like she has anywhere else to be--She.. works at a branch of the Kislevi government, right? Psh! Superiors can wait. Nothing they have for her to do can be worth skipping out on this. But she can continue straying on to casual conversation, toying all the way, "What -is- this little Jugend like? I've never heard of it, myself."
Sigurd cocks another elegant silver eyebrow. Little, eh? She really doesn't know about Jugend... but then, that's no surprise at all; she looks quite the -Lamb-. However, that doesn't stop Sigurd in the least. But then again, few things ever stopped Sigurd once he had his eye set on a lady. And as to Sigurd's feelings about this? Well, he's quite enjoying this little -meeting- as well. "It's an elite military academy that trains officers for the military... I used to attend here. It's pretty strict, but I got through it." Sigurd's eyes flicker a moment, as if just remembering something; but that expression is evanescent, passing quickly. After all, Sigurd needs his eyes right now for..... other endeavors. "But enough about me... I'd like to hear about you." And all this while, Sigurd's tone lowers until it reaches just the right volume to attain a suggestive little undertone.
Oh, but one never knows--Even if Dirah knew the truth of Jugend, she'd likely use a diminuitive word such as 'little' anyway. She never was fond of military establishments in general. Of course, she can more than easily make an exception for attractive soldiers. Just as long as -she's- not doing the dirty work, hm? "How very quaint." She responds, with a small shake of her head, "It certainly sounds... interesting." Interesting? A military academy? Nonsense. But -he- is. "And.. me?" She almost sounds surprised and flattered. Goodness knows she's not. Although along with it, she gives a gentle gesture towards herself, and in doing so puts a hand momentarily between where Sigurd's been so intent on glancing down at for this conversation and his oh-so-curious glance. "I'm afraid I'm nowhere near as interesting as a graduate from an elite military school. I'm only a little intern under the department of Media and Public Relations. But, well.." An innocent bat of her eyes, "..I'm certain something must come of it eventually." Like crossdressing for a living? Not quite what she had in mind in those years, one bets.
Sigurd notices that gesture. He notices it with a passion. Forgive him if his jeweled eyes linger a bit long, he can't help it! But finally, after a moment, he raises his gaze to her eyes, Fatima Jaspers meeting those eyes- a shade off from his- directly. As to her words... well, of course he notices those too, he's not entirely rude. And Sigurd's current -definition- is attractive soldier. Well, actually, he's more than a soldier! He's -the- Fire Element, an elite commander! He's a prince, a secret son of the proud Fatima dynasty! He's the son of a pagan desert priestess, exoticism defined! No wonder women want him.... and no wonder he seems so... vain, for lack of a better word, right now. Well, Sigurd may be a tad self-confident and vain right now, but at heart he's a good child. He isn't insufferable and inconsiderate, at least, and will turn out to be a much more practical person in the future. We think. "Media, eh? Well, that's interesting too. Less dangerous than being in the military, at least." Sigurd smirks at her. "In media, you have a higher chance of getting to keep all your limbs." And as to her last statement? "Well, sure. -Something's- going to come of anything you do. I went into Jugend, and came out a Fire Element." Which is quite the accomplishment for a little -Lamb- like him.
Oh, I'm sorry! Did I block your view? Oh-ho! That wasn't intentional. Really. Dirah would -never- be so cruel... Would she? Insert amused inteneral laughter here. She slides her hand away a little bit--Oh just a little bit--Almost casually as she talks, smiling all the while. With amusement glinting in her eyes. "Oh, the media is absolutely /fascinating/. Propoganda, advertisement, all of it.. It's delightful how one... gets messages out to the public." Deception, to put it neatly. But that was something that Dirah was terribly good at, wasn't it? Something she would eventually make a job out of, honestly. "Although with the way that me and the lady in charge get along, I bet you wouldn't think that it's a less threatening job than yours." She laughs a little at that. Oh--Insufferable and inconsiderate? Dirah was never really the latter and too -much- of the former. But she was vain to the point of irritation. "A Fire Element, though? That does sound -quite- important. How very interesting."
Propaganda, eh? No wonder this young woman is so adept at... communicating. Both verbally and nonverbally. But as that hand slides to the side a bit, Sigurd for once doesn't sneak a peek; he's already peeked so much that, if Margie had been present, Sigurd would be quite dead right now. Instead, he backs from the door, and crosses to the closet, opening it and rifling through the contents. "Oh, I can imagine. Educating the public is an.... important duty." Sigurd grins slightly to himself. "And killer bosses... well, that's practically just like the military. Half of the words spoken at you here are yelled. Though now that I'm an Element, -I- get to do most of the yelling." Sigurd smirks in a rather questionable manner at this statement, as, pulling a garment that looks suspiciously like the top to a Solarian Element's uniform, he casually strips his shirt off, tossing it carelessly amongst the other clothes and revealing a well-crafted torso dotted with a trio of... rather shocking piercings: one at the navel, and the remaining two in the only other places where piercings on the torso go. Now, are we exhibitionist, or is this something else? It's apparently the latter, for Sigurd doesn't seem to think anything of this action; there is no turned head, no coy glance darting over to Dirah to observe her reaction. It's simply something he -does-; perhaps a habit born of desert life. "Speaking of that, I've got a meeting I've got to head off to in a few," he remarks as he pulls on the uniform, "but I still have a little time: I can show you around, or something."
Oh... my. Not much for the modest type, is he? Not like Dirah has too much room to argue, mind you--She is, after all, wearing a shirt that does not by any means scream 'professional'. But who's to protest? It makes for an entertaining view. And it gives Dirah an excuse to have her gaze drift down and away and linger far from the eyes and face. Not like it's particularly as rude as Sigurd's glancing about for the extent of this conversation, but... Fair -is- fair, isn't it? And it doesn't seem like he'd notice even if she was staring. Although... Hey, hey, now! He said something. And so she blinks her way back away from watching at that, "...Oh, educating the public is quite important. Although it's much more complicated than it seems, as well. And that must be wonderful to be higher up the chain of command... I don't deserve -half- the trouble being at the bottom of the ladder gives." Of course. She's brilliant, meant to be higher and more important than just a measly intern! Despite being young and inexperienced and completely ignorant of more complicated details. Regardless! "What a pity... And just when we were getting aquainted, too." That -is- a little disappointing, all things honest. But the actress wouldn't dare let on to that. "Although a little tour before you must be off would be absolutely lovely." She has to be back too eventually, after all. But that can wait. Certainly. That can wait.