(9/18/02-10/11/02)
That... -is- strange. Strange enough, not surprisingly, for Dirah to become suspicious. A suddenly soft voice? Retreating from his previously offended tones and simply accepting her jibe? Oh, it doesn't take a large blinking sign to throw off the warnings in her mind. Playing something, are you? Or.. Hm. Dirah certainly can't guess his plan simply by will alone. But a tone of suspicion alights in those beautiful eyes of hers, her poise remaining guarded all the while. Neatly, she crosses her legs at the knee, watching him with intent eyes that settle in a curious peer. "Quite." Is her curt responce, short and sweet. Or... Er, maybe not so sweet. But certainly short.
Ah... well, aren't we clever? Sigurd has his pride, yes, but he also knows when to be sweet and charming. Be as the serpent beneath the flow'r, indeed; with apologies to Shakespeare for the mangling of the quote! "Come now," that soft, almost teasing tone continues, "I -have- been rather abrupt with you; hardly the way to treat a lady such as yourself." Wow. What a regression. This speech was more typical of the teenaged Sigurd than this twenty-nine year old. Still, past experience is sometimes helpful in the present. "In fact, I've been... a little too businesslike with you in the past, I fear." Businesslike. HA. What a euphemism.
Ha, ha, ha. Businesslike. 'I think I'll haul you over a shoulder for kneeing my charge' sort of business like? Dirah raises an eyebrow anew at this suddenly flipped tone, suspicious yet. But at the same time, despite how she tries, she still seems affected by it. Silly girl! "Well, yes." She says, in a tone that is as softly reluctant as it is curious, "You -have- been nothing but crude since I was brought here... There's no need to fret, though. I know what's unreasonable to expect from someone." Well, er. She's more talkative, but she's still not particularly friendly. Distrust and suspicion shine through again and again in words that are guarded as much as they are caught offguard, "Unless you -do- know how to be a gentleman?" From a silly little pirate? So says the poor woman, still sitting halfway in costume, who threw a glorious fit when she was captured. Well. She can pretend that never happened now quite easily.
Hey, kneeing my charge is a very serious matter. That reluctant tone is duly noted, but Sigurd seems too intent on the act of bringing his other nature to the surface to dwell on it. Instead, he demurs, insisting, "Ah, but I see that you seem to expect nothing but crudeness from me; you think it unreasonable to expect courtesy from me. But you have seen nothing but my worse side since we've... met." Cough. -Met-. Yes. As to that last question? Why, Sigurd is the very definition of gentleman! When he feels like it, at least. "I've never intended to give you the impression that I was anything less than a gentleman," he drops casually as he sidles unobtrusively towards her from the door. All that businesslike, efficient stoicism and grim -seriousness- that characterizes the twenty-nine year old guardian of the Fatima prince has been more or less dropped; that certain teenaged /edge/ and almost impatient grace that he had put on the shelf twelve years ago is being dusted off for renewed usage. If you can't intimidate them, seduce them. ...Oh wait, did I say that aloud? I was joking. Really.
...That is so. Very. Wrong. Or, well, this could all become potentially so. Right now it's just -weird-. What is Dirah to think? The guy who hauled her in here has gone in a full 180, with all that seriousness and calmness and grim efficiency brushed aside for a sort of politeness that can't help but make her -wonder-. Although, oddly enough.. There's something about the tone and poise that he's taken now that scares her far more than him in 'intimidation' mode ever did. What is he -up- to? Her mind races, wondering just what he thinks formality is going to do--She's not the sort to betray her fellow Kislevi, and she's no idea what information he thinks to get out of her. But right now she's more concerned that he just edged a bit closer. Those eyes narrow, ever so slightly, even as she sounds confused through and through, "That would make you quite the exception for an Avehan, dear." She says, lightly. And suspicion drifts into her voice once more, "Just... what are you getting at?" What are you -doing-? Hint, please?
She's confused? Good. That's Sigurd's aim, after all. Dirah certainly knows how to react to a Sigurd in 'intimidation' mode, yes; but she apparently hasn't the faintest what to do with a Sigurd in 'suave' mode. It's completely unexpected, because she has never seen this side of the ex-Element; his charming side. A little half smile- almost a smirk, but not quite- flickers on his face, half there and half not there; tenuous yet present enough to be unsettling, obscuring his purposes and intents. Like fire itself, Sigurd can flick between many levels; one moment a fierce wildfire, the next a purring candle veiling itself behind layers of smoke and ash. And so he halts his slow advance a moment, cocking his head at her words. His actions aren't seductive- no, not at all- but merely smooth, laced with charm; the perfect picture of a completely self-confident gentleman. "What am I getting at? Well, I merely think we have... started off on the wrong foot, so to speak. Though you are the enemy and a prisoner- " spoken so evenly, Sigurd! "-you are also a lady, undeserving of such unnecessary treatment as I have given you in the past." Right. Translation: You're the enemy, but I've done one or two over-the-top things in the past.
Well, that's rather on the mark. Dirah knows very well how to deal with people trying to be intimidating--It goes along with the logic of knowing how to deal with someone who is naturally your enemy--But dealing with someone who can, in the blink of an eye, go from that to being so simply... What ever he's doing... Makes her all the more -on- guard, while giving her this itching feeling that it'd be safer, say, hiding behind a table. Or hitting him with a chair. "I... see." Slow and reluctant that line, paired with eyes that absolutely -glint- disbelief. And slowly, almost leisurely, she rises to her feet. Arms still crossed, it is almost defensive--She matches him quite nearly inch for inch in height, as if that could give some notion of security against whatever he's doing. Even as her voice is still quite calm, and in the same pompous tone as ever, "Well, you're correct about that. I -am- a lady. And I would hope I deserve -some- glimpse of dignity, despite the.. unfortunate situation I'm in." Oh, lovely understatements. So says the girl who's still wearing most of the generic Sigurd's outfit she was in when she was dragged her. Sigh. So hard it is to use the word 'dignity' sometimes. "...But, you must understand... How strange it seems for you to be concerned with that."
Yes, Sigurd is capable of lightning switches. It's in his nature. As she rises, he lets his single-eyed gaze remain locked with hers, until they stare eye-to-eye. This causes one of Sigurd's silver brows to quirk a bit; it's rare he ever has to deal with anyone as tall as he is, something which sort of nullifies his usual ability to use greater height, or size, or superior reach as an advantage... but we digress. Sigurd isn't about to engage in physical combat with her, after all; he's armed, and she's not. "Hmm. I see. Well, if you are a lady, why can I not be a gentleman?" That'd be a change, Sigurd. Have you forgotten this is one of the people who held Marguerite hostage and caused you and the rest of the crew such grief? But there is a difference between simply being harsh on the enemy, and actually humiliating them; Sigurd knows that, revengeful though he may be. ...Or maybe he simply has ulterior motives.
Oh, it's even more pitiful than that, if you can imagine! Not only is Sigurd armed while Dirah's not, Sigurd can -fight- while Dirah can not. He also has ether, when she has barely enough to light a candle. The odds are... Ahem... Only -slightly- in Sigurd's favor. Right. So her standing is entirely nothing more than an act of defense. "Hm, well, I wouldn't -complain-..." Her arms finally slide out of crossed position, albeit reluctantly.. Rather, her hands settle neatly on her hips. She doesn't look convinced, no. But she at least seems to be going along with it well enough, "I fail to see why you would care to bother, but." A shrug. "I do suppose it's only acceptable." And before you leap off on the train of thought of 'Gods, her ego expands by the moment!' she adds, "After all, we were -ever- so sweet to the little Marguerite, if nothing else, despite how you may have your doubts. But." Her tone is almost civil, despite the wariness in her eyes. It's... So very hard to put a -label- on this man. He's not being predictable, and there is a certain degree of... Unnervingness to that. "If you expect me to give you all means of information about my dear crew just because of that, I'm afraid I will not."
Defense? Why, but I'm not being frightening, am I? Sigurd sits calmly in one of the various chairs, tipping his gaze back to continue looking into her face; a seeming reversal of position, now with her standing over him. Crossing his arms in a non-intentional mimicry of the position she had held just a few second ago, he cocks his head slightly to the right, favoring his remaining left eye. Cold Fatima blue flashes briefly from the fourth finger of his left hand as light glances off a ring he wears. "Well, you were -ever- so sweet to Marguerite, apparently... so I suppose that is the current fashion when dealing with prisoners." That glint in his gaze almost looks rebellious and calculating now. A serene and equilibrious Sigurd this is not. But he can still ignore her last statement.
Hey! But... But damn it! That last line was the most important! Agh. Well, if nothing else, his complete insistance on being nonthreatening is, at the very least, erroding her need to be a complete uber-bitch in defense. She remains standing, but one hand slides off of her hip, relieving her of the apperance of being so marvellously hostile and instead sending her back into utter disbelief mode. That hand flicks her hair back and over a shoulder, her responce is nothing but a soft 'Hmph'. Silence, then, until she reasons out something to say, "I do hope that's not sarcasm." She acts as if she expected him to fry her where she stood at any given moment. Her twin blue eyes remain focused upon him. Wary, disbelieving, critical all the while. "Well, then. What do you want?" So direct! Oh, there's got to be something. There's no other explanation for why he's doing this.
Sigurd tosses his own bangs out of his face as he flicks his gaze back up to regard her.
"Sarcasm? Of course not," he demurs. Whether or not he's being truthful is up for debate. And he wouldn't fry her! That would be a waste of EP. ...I didn't say that. Really. You didn't hear that. "What do -I- want?" he repeats, cocking a single silver eyebrow at her. "A name would be nice," he finishes.
...Of course I didn't hear that. Bastard. Dirah doesn't look like she really believes him entirely, either. He's not precicely easy to read. And that's what irks her most of all! Hrmph. Well. She chuckles gently at his comment, basically humorless. "Well, your darling charge's nickname is a bit irksome, otherwise I wouldn't bother. But, well. It beats the alternative." She sits back down finally, crossing her legs at the knee. She tilts her gaze at him only slighty, as if considering just what to give him... A false name, perhaps? Hm, well. It's not like knowing her real name is going to do her any harm. And so she only softly offers, "Dirah."
Sigurd cocks his head slightly as she gives her name. There's still the chance it's a false name, but it's- as she said- far better than the alternative. 'DuoSig'. Ergh. "Dirah," he repeats, just as softly; a slow testing of those two syllables. "Yes. That is preferable to the alternative." And so a pair of silver-haired lookalikes sit quiet in this Silver Room, and the hostility- while still present- seems to have toned down a bit. And Sigurd has no real plan left; it's obvious that Dirah won't give a bit of information unless it's pried out of her along with her fingernails. And he would -not- do that. Really. A little sigh escapes him; a barely audible noise.
Let him wonder about whether it's real or not--Half the security of a name is the fact that it could be either or, and hurt her neither way. So. All good and well. She gives a brief smile at that so-soft sigh--Something dancing the line between a smirk and something sincere, and all too soft to tell the difference--And nods. Hey, the vowel pronunciation might be slightly dissimilar, but a Kislevi does not expect anyone else to say a Kislevi name quite as perfectly. So. It's her turn to flip personalities at the drop of a dime, then. "Run out of questions already? I do fear that you can guess the rest of whatever curiosities hold you. I'm not so interesting..." That smile is still there, so faint, her voice shifting to a tone much softer and gentler in comparison, "So, you don't really have a -reason- to keep me here, do you? I'm sure it's just another stress on you anyway, and if I've no information you need..."
Well, forgive Sig his imperfect pronunciation. One of the few languages he -doesn't- speak is Kislevi; a language which is pretty different from Avite, or Nolnite, or Solarian, or standard Ignas for that matter. And he hasn't run -out- of questions! He just doesn't have any more -at the moment-. But at her sudden change of personality, he flicks a slightly guarded gaze to her. He knows exactly what she's trying to do, but still, she could be aiming for something more complex than meets the eye. And so he flexes his empathy, experimentally tasting the air; however, little hangs in the space between them save a sort of mellow craftiness, laced with an undertone of still-present annoyance. "On the contrary," he replies, his tone wary and soft. "I find you inordinately interesting." A gentle cock of the head, a slight, guileless half-smile.
But Kislevi is such a superior language! Especially if you happen to -be- Kislevi. Logic like that is phenomenal, isn't it? And Dirah knows well enough that Sigurd has a legion of questions to ask--But for that very reason, she's trying the more graceful means of dodging questions that her ego blocked her from doing before. Awww, the poor pretty lady doesn't have the information you need, see? So why not be a gentleman and... Blink-blink-blink. What is it about that 'interesting' that makes whatever plan she had going stumble a step, causing those blue eyes to widen a moment and stun to hold her face, "-Interesting-?" She tries the word, soft and curious, uncertain of really what to make of it, or whether to launch into criticism. Instead, she stays the path of whatever she was trying before, that surprise dulling back into an impressive faux-innocence, "Certainly -interest- is not reason enough to expend such time, stress and effort on so little an issue as me. What am I, after all, but a person much like any other, striving for country and stability? Really, you must think I have a use... Correct?" She blinks those eyes so innocently, "Yet if I do not, then is this not just needless stress for you to have to keep me?"
Sigurd leans forward in his seat a little, letting elbows rest on spread knees and a carefully blank gaze settle on her face. "A person like any other, you say; a cause of needless stress?" Yes, Sigurd can be utterly unsettling when he wants to; however, right now that isn't even his aim. It is not purposeful intent that makes those s's hiss past barely-parted lips, that makes that single sapphire eye seem to indicate that he is listening to something she can't hear. There are people moving about upstairs, and their emotions are clouding in his mind, making him seem disconnected. That spike of surprise from her, as a result, barely registers in his sense. "I think not... you need not worry that you may be a cause of stress or excessive effort, or... a 'waste' of time." He isn't actively trying to go anywhere with the conversation, is he?
Dirah only just represses the urge to shudder. She can hardly know the reason to this sudden distance, or the suddenly softer tone. But it's all so terribly creepy out of context that she really must steel herself to not go dashing behind the chair in defense. Rather, she only narrows her eyes just mildly, something which ruins her sweet-and-innocent charade just a touch, before she attempts to continue on, "Really, now. Dear, I know very well what the strains and concerns of keeping a captive are. It's another mouth to feed and a locked door to mind... Not to mention conversation I'm sure you'd rather not deal with. There's no reason to be so stubborn about it. If it's a point of pride to have caught me, then it's done and over with and releasing me will do no further harm." Oh, she's not particularly subtle about her begging, is she? Well. Leave that to Dirah. This is -frustrating-.
Sigurd is being rather mercurial today, is he not? Almost as mercurial as that charge of his. He can sense her uneasiness, sure, but he doesn't bother himself much with it. That deep cerulean gaze flicks back to her, suddenly focused again, as she speaks and as he sorts out all the stray emotions. "Ah... well, I am sure you would know about the procedures of keeping a captive, seeing as you have had first-hand experience." Is that an edge of bitterness? Perhaps Sigurd is being a bit vengeful today after all. "And if we are to be releasing you, it will not be today; that would be pointless. Perhaps tomorrow..." Or next year. Hey, who knows, you might break in that time.
AGH! Damn it! Dirah might cloak her disappointment and irritation to something just as soft as a narrowing of the eyes, but certainly the empath can tell that it's far more than that. Hey, it deserved a try, right? But his insistance on not being the traditional jailer or the merciful one is leaving her with no room to guess and no room to wonder. With an irritated sigh, she leans back in her chair, all that faux-innocence gone from her expressions and left instead to briefest -sincerity- as she leans her back against the chair, her posture slumped a little, and crosses her arms in defined annoyance. "Fine. Makes sense, I suppose..." A critical narrowing of those doubled-blue eyes, "Look, let's stop dancing in circles around the subject then, hm? I'm really quite reasonable. Just what do you want?" Well, if I can't bat my eyes at you and get it to go well... Actually, she'll save that tactic for later. Right now, she's just more concerned in deciphering what on earth is up with Sigurd.
What's -up- with me? Why, what a question to ask. But if you really want -traditional- jailer, I can do that too. Except you might not like it so much. And quite frankly, Sigurd himself has been tiring a bit of all this wordplay; it's a strain to think when a group is milling about upstairs, and- for now- he's quite done with being an annoyance. He can feel her annoyance and disappointment clearly, and some of that irritation is beginning to osmose from her to him. /You likely won't -tell- me what I want,/ he gripes silently, but out loud says only, "What was the nature of your relationship with the Shevites?" Brusque and short now, businesslike; Sigurd is all efficience again.
Well! That's more like it. At least, it's something that's easier for Dirah to juggle. It's not suave smirking and gracefully countering her sweet comments anymore, while playing the gentleman all the while. That's easier to comprehend, even though the question itself only draws a small smirk from the woman. Oh, this is far more -fun-, too. "We're not." Is her fabricated, cheerfully offered response, "And I assume you are a clever enough boy to guess who we -are- with." Who cares if her question is avoidant and vastly incorrect? She says it all in a tone no longer sarcastic in tone--In fact, it's just as sweet as it was a moment before the annoyance struck--Even if the words themselves just drip with it.
Hmph. He asked what the -nature- of their relationship was, not if they were even -allied-. Sigurd knows they're allied. He knows it was the Shevites who gave Marguerite to the Dark Yggdrasil, and he could presume that it was perhaps the Shevites who forced them to give Marguerite back to the true Yggdrasil, trying to cover their tracks and frame their very partners. Or employees. Or maybe Shevat and the Dark Yggdrasil aren't allied -anymore-, and this is simply a play on words. In any case, it points to one fact: "I assume that Kislev has allied with Shevat at at least one point in time, then." He doesn't -know- for sure that the Dark Yggdrasil is with Kislev. But... good lord. He hadn't thought being the Young Master's guardian would involve so. Much. Politics. Well, since Bart doesn't take much interest (and what interest he does take doesn't quite have the weight of great experience behind it), it is left to Sigurd to do many of the political maneuvers. Sigh.
Ho-hum. Dirah isn't here to be helpful, you know. Yes, a lot can be assumed from situational evidence. The truth, however, can be a great deal more complicated--And certainly irritating--Than any conjecture, however. Sorry, dear. You're in a world laced with politics. And some of them have a creepy habit of smiling at you until you agree. Sheesh. Creepy Shevvites. "'Alliance' is such a binding word..." Dirah says, words drawn long and off so sweetly, "And too simple of a one, as well. No, my crew has no formal ties with Shevat." Of course. Margie was more convenience--Help us and we'll help you--And unfortunately, the Shevvite help ended up being next to nonexistant and entirely useless. Agh, the things you can be convinced to do if someone grins enough. And she still makes no strict mention of them being Kislevi, although that lilt in her voice now and then betrays it as well as if she had. "They are not very.. comfortable with non-Shevvites, after all."
Ha. HA. There is -something- we agree on. Shevites are NOT comfortable with non-Shevites. In fact, you should hear about the time Hyu had in getting permission to marry Yui. >< But I digress. Again. But goodness, you have a talent for condescencion; and Sigurd never had any patience for that. Congratulations, you're the first person in months to manage to fray his temper this far. However, no outward sign is given of his rapidly dwindling patience. "You are right on one point, at least," he concedes, and it is obvious that he is referring to the one about the Shevites. "But you must forgive me for not entirely trusting your other claims." The way he says it, however, he doesn't sound as if he really wants her forgiveness. More like he wants to snap her neck, maybe. Goodness, this session has been going on for too long.
Oh, Shevvites -are- a xenophobic lot, no pun intended. Even with Kislev, which they agreed to tolerate more than aid or assist, much less ally with, they were highly dismissive and more interested in their own little agendas which had much more to do with just outright ignoring the Yggdrasil and furthering doing whatever messy business they were concerned with. Sigh. Dirah didn't pretend to know. Or particularly care. And she gives a gentle shrug--She's been annoyed and frayed since the beginning. Its' only fair, isn't it? "And you don't have to, do you? But not all agreements are alliances, darling. Sometimes it's not quite as noble as that." And sometimes there just is a very -convincing- person behind it. Yui was absolutely shudder-worthy at times. "Regardless of what I say, though, you'll believe what you will though, hm?"
Sigurd could so be a hypocrite right now. But that wouldn't be nice, would it? And knowing this young lady, she'd likely pick up on it, too. "I... will believe nothing until it has been proven to me." Kind of defeats the purpose of interrogation, but oh well. It sounds nice. "Though you are correct; example being this little... agreement we have seemingly come to. Which is hardly an alliance... dearest." Something about that last word seems a little incongruous compared to what he's been saying thus far; worse, it's delivered in conjunction with one of those damnable little half-smiles (hey, if she has her little shrugs, he can have his little smirks). It's intended to be a parting shot of sorts. After all, she's been calling him darling and such all along.
Bah, poser! See, when Dirah insists on calling one 'dear' and 'darling', it's perfectly mocking and charming in that way that only Dirah can manage. And if Sigurd tries? It sounds forced, sorry. At least to her. And she only laughs into the back of her hand, oddly cheerful if not oddly mocking in the same innocent note. "Exactly. See? So you can't assume a thing." Grinning all the while. Oh, it's fun not answering the question! Would you like me to not answer some more? "And isn't that just a wee bit hard for me to do? You don't know the people on the Shevvite side; I can't prove I knew them. You know nothing but the superficial bits you saw and heard; you can't prove they happened. If you're working off of assumption, how do you know I'm not telling the truth?" She chuckles a bit to that, too, shaking her head softly, "I could promise 'till I'm red in the face that I don't care for Shevat, and we were dealt a bad deal by them. But that doesn't make us allies, or even particularly important in whatever little spat you have going."
Bah! -Forced-! Sigurd has his own ways of dropping these words; why, when -he- was seventeen, he dangled those words like trinkets for girls to strive after. Even when the girl he was teasing along already had a boyfriend. The reason it sounds forced -to you- is because it's just not your style, sorry; it's -Sigurd-. Also, you don't know him; all you know is that he's this serious stoic person who you wouldn't expect to have picked up five girls in as many weeks, back when he had time for that sort of thing. But right! Politics. Sigurd raises an eyebrow at her as she giggles her way through a lot of little words. "Then it is pointless to -ask- you anything, seeing as you are hardly cooperative: and likely would not be, unless I took it upon myself to damage you in order to 'extract' answers from you." A little impersonal there, eh? And damage? What, is he talking about merchandise now? "Though I am afraid we will still want to detain you a little longer. We may be able to find some use for you yet." Is that a nasty little smirk that just flitted across his face? Of course not! Sigurd is the perfect model of objectivity.
Yes, well, maybe Sigurd was quite the charmer back in The Day. But the fact is that Dirah is still a charmer and still is the image of beauty, and isn't a decade past her flirting days. So really, now! But the fact that he's threatening her takes a little bit more priority than that. "Hmmm. So much for the gentleman then, is it?" She finds even that giggle-worthy, and shakes her head slightly, "Aww, do I look like a girl who'd make it hard on you? I can't very well answer your questions if you ask poorly thought out ones. Or questions based on assumption only. If all you're trying to get at, after all, is if we had anything to do with the capture and distress of your poor, precious Holy Mother, then no. We just gave her back to you." A small pause as she sighs, an overdramatic gesture, with her hand rested gently beneath her throat in a position of regret, "And yet you treat me like I were out to do you malicious harm! Oh, what poor justice there is in the world." She pauses, lets that settle in a moment, and gives a more sincere sigh, "But I can't say I'm surprised. But if you want to waste the time and effort in keeping me here, by all means. But as you don't seem to enjoy my company, I don't see much reason to insist on that."
What? Are you insinuating that Sigurd -isn't- still the image of beauty? Why, of all the- rrr, but don't get ruffled, Sig. Can't afford to get ruffled. When ruffled, thinking capacity decreases greatly. She'd have to do something very disgruntling for him to lose that keen, objective perception. Well, maybe not objective. "I'll be a gentleman once you start acting a little more like a lady." Real ladies don't snicker at -me-. Goodness, is this a taste of the kind of egotistical cast Bart tends to slip into quite often? It must be a Fatima thing. But sigh. He doesn't completely believe her- not at all- but for now this is all he is likely going to get. "Oh, now, I never said I didn't enjoy your company." ...I just thought it. Very frequently.
Awww, is someone's ego hurt a little bit? How lovely! That does nothing but encourage the captive, despite how, well, annoyed captors are never, ever a good or pleasant thing. No matter! It's hard to collect her wits about her in a moment like this, however--Part of her is so very tempted to be pissy, to insult and degrade and use every bitter insult that comes to mind. And yet... And yet. That hasn't been very effective so far, has it? And as much as her high strung nature rght now doesn't care much to skiddadle off towards other ways of handling this... Well. She's not short of ways to handle this situation after all, hm? She stands, but it's hardly anything to startle over--All she does is turn her chair around so the back faces him. She sits down, then, crossing her arms across the top of the back of the chair, and setting her chin neatly on her arms. Almost lounging. And yet what is it about her lounging that makes it look so mocking? "Oh, poor thing. I'm sorry, I hadn't realized I'd been -anything- but a lady. Haven't I answered my questions? And not even once raised my voice?" How can something so sweet sound so.. Mocking?
Even this new and improved mature Sigurd has a breaking point. Patience had never been one of his innate virtues; it was more something that he picked up somewhere after seventeen. "Answered my questions obliquely, while most likely lying at least once along the way." Sigurd's jawline seems to have tightened a bit; after a moment he remembers himself, and lets it slide back into a more natural set. Getting up, he paces into a corner and just... stands there a moment. Though after a moment, the soft, "Haven't raised your voice? Well, what then were you doing all the way here?" he voices without so much as looking at her is evidence enough that a certain one of his senses is still attuned to her every motion and mood. The statement is a gentle teasing on the surface, but with a hint of very real malice behind it. Spiteful Sigurd isn't something you see very often anymore, but it exists.
"Making my discontent known." Dirah answers, so sweetly. "After all, I was being treated so very roughly, and for so very little reason.." Okay, so she wasn't acting particularly dignified... And she was, in fact, hystiercal. So? That wasn't a good day for her. She'd rather not think about it. "I haven't told a single lie." She says then, blinking her eyes so innocently up at him. "And you've yet to ask a question I can rightfully answer. So I don't see why you are so... fussy." A small little smile, "And if you wont let me go, why don't you leave? You don't seem to be having very much -fun-, hm?"
"So little reason other than the fact that you were maintaining a spy aboard our ship," he rejoins smoothly, turning and crossing the room again to circle about her chair. Standing in front of her, he cocks his head; not bothering to tilt his face down to look at her, but instead letting his gaze trail down to glance at her through his lashes. "And unless you are a -very- talented person... if you lie, I could likely tell in a heartbeat." Insert obscure little that's-an-inside-joke-that-/you/-wouldn't-understand smile. Letting his hands rest lightly on the back of the chair- on either side of her crossed arms- he blinks at her last statement. "Oh... well, I can change that."
"Oh, I'm talented at quite a -many- things." She answers, in the sort of voice that could make one shudder--But mostly in the sort of way, considering who this is, that makes one want to hide under a table. She leans back off of the back of the chair finally, stretching her arms a little with a shrug, "Wasn't a very -good- spy though, hm? I suppose it's my fault, choosing such a girl ill suited to the job." She raises an eyebrow at his last comment, but seems outwardly unconcerned--Even though within, it does disoncert her somewhat. What -is- it about the way he talks and carries himself that makes her wand to shudder so much? But no. She maintains her outward calm, and instead only chuckles softly, "You know, you are -nothing- like I imagined you to be. Goodness, and I had hoped that I'd done my job just a teensy bit better than that."
This is -Sigurd-. There's something innately shudder-worthy about him, when he gets it into his head to be purposefully obscure. Leaning a bit forward, hands still resting on the back of her chair, he follows her movement a bit, keeping the same distance between them even as she leans back. He's not entirely sure what about his words and demeanor might be unsettling her so much. Well, actually, he does know; he's purposefully being such. "Oh? And how did you imagine me to be?" A slight curve of the lips; just enough of an arch to suitably disconcert.
Hmmm... How does one answer this without getting slapped? 'I thought you were a complete incompetant, like your moronic charge'? No, no, no. So.. This calls for an answer better thought out than that. She hms softly, thinking while she drums ber fingers gently on the back of the chair. She can give a sincere answer.. Or a stupid one. Hm. "Well... Just different." She realizes this is quite a bad answer, as she continues pondering it, turning around and sitting more properly and crossing her legs neatly at the knee, "More serious, I suppose. I didn't imagine that you would be the sort to -toy-." A small shrug. She's indifferent either way, "You're certainly not the generic foolish Avehite, at least." Although you could be -another- type of foolish Avehite, certainly. "Although, what does it matter? I suppose this should be a learning experience for me." She'll be a better Sigurd later for it? Mrf. That doesn't make her feel better for being here.
Ah, but Sigurd isn't quite showing her what he might show everyone else. He's letting himself revert in personality a few years- it's already been established that the seriousness of twenty-nine Sigurd doesn't work on this 'lady'- and it can't hurt to lead her in the wrong direction about him a bit. Very few people know about this younger personality of Sigurd's- save maybe Hyu, Kahr, or Jessie (even Miang, scary as that is)- and if he feeds her a little wrong information... well, it can't hurt. As she turns her back to him, he cocks a quizzical eye at her cool posture. And he leans over the back of the chair, to murmur in her ear, "Well... Dirah... if you didn't know that I'm the type to toy, you haven't really known much about me, hmmm?" Thing is, Sigurd really doesn't toy as much as he used to; however, Dirah doesn't have to know that. Best to present an outdated personality; let her imitate -that-. Might reveal her a little more frequently. Unless she figures out what he's doing. That would require a knowledge of his real present personality, though. Which basically is serious... serious... serious... exasperated. She was on the right track before, apparently.
Hmph, well... Maybe she did. Before, she did the serious-serious-serious bit, and did quite a good job of Sigurd. But it's always nice to know that the people you mimic are human though, isn't it? That they have depth, and other sides. It is more a curiosity than a practical usage... But Dirah learns, and learns well. If nothing else, it gives her something else to focus on. And she laughs gently, and gives yet another shrug, "Perhaps so. But I knew enough to do my job. Is that not enough? I did, after all, have such a delightful time fooling your young charge so long back." She blinks those eyes, the perfect image of innocence, even as she smiles, "So I must have been doing -something- right. This side is simply.. Interesting." In the way a passing curiosity is. In the way something that is a distraction from the brutal truth of being here is.
"I was surprised you managed to fool him... he has been with me so long that he should know me well by now." Or, knowing Bart, probably not. >< Straightening up again, he lets his hands slide from the back of the chair and regards her with double sight. "Interesting, hmmm?" Sigurd turns his back on her back, regarding the wall as if it were interesting. "I did not think it was your job to be interested in the different facets of the person you are supposed to emulate." In a way, it is flattering to have someone be given a job in imitating you... but vastly annoying as well.
"Hmm, well... He doesn't terribly seem like the brightest crayon in the box, if you catch my meaning." Dirah offers, as casually as she had the comment about Margie being a whiny brat. And yet she sidesteped insulting Sigurd to his face? Well, he's -here-. They're -not-. That makes it somehow easier to be the brat. And she smirks at his last comment, despite how he is facing away, and chuckles gently again. And delivers her next line in a voice that lowers softly, one that could almost certainly be mistaken for his very own voice by one not specifically listening for any other note otherwise. It's easier to feign, having heard so much of it in this discussion, after all. "It is my job to know you better than you know yourself, and to be so convincingly you that no one shall think otherwise." She pauses then, and her voice slides back up to the correct pitch, "Believe me, I wouldn't be caught -dead- doing it otherwise."
Sigurd stiffens slightly as she drops that comment about Bart; a little frank, aren't we, Kislevi? Hmph, sure. Attack those who aren't here, but refrain from insulting an armed and ether-talented person in the same room as- okay, well, maybe it's just prudence. But then... to hear a mockery of your own voice- so well done, and by a woman to boot- coming from just a little behind you... is eerie. Voices are like fingerprints; they're unique. To hear a woman come so close to imitating your voice... is unsettling. The first thought that comes to mind is, /...how much -time- did you put into doing this?/ The second is how true her statement is. "I like to think I know myself fairly well." I know my own emotions, at least. This ability of mine doesn't allow otherwise.
Agh, don't even get her started on 'time'. Too much time. Too much effort. Gods, his -hair- took too much time to emulate. We'll not even get into mannerisms, way of walking, way of talking, voice... Dirah has never hated a job so much in her entire -life-! And yet she smiles as he speaks--There is some glinting pride in her eyes for the moment, anyway. She might have loathed learning it, but that she -can- do such a good job of his voice, and so many other things, is nothing but something for her to flaunt, as far as she's concerned. Even his last line seems entertaining, somehow, "That only makes it a challenge. And I do so -love- challenges. Don't you?"
I'm just -that- complex, aren't I? Beam. Though he doesn't literally beam. He turns to face her instead, tasting her pride and knowing what the cause of it is. "The thing I am curious about... is how you learned it all. I haven't noticed any little silver-haired spies hovering about me lately." Goodness, but it must have been a headache for Dirah to learn his formal manner of speech, his particular smooth, walk; a way of walking necessary for desert nomads who had to get places quickly and efficiently without wasting energy. And let's not -forget- the hair. Well, Sigurd's is naturally beautiful, of course; Dirah had to style it to match.
"Not easily, I'll tell you that..." She mumbles, only partially audibly. "You'll have no idea how much of a pain you were to learn. Although considering all of us, I figure I could have had it worse. And handled it better than some of the others." Poor Tifa. Poor, poor Tifa. Dirah might not be the natural Sigurd, but Tifa is so sweet, polite and -softspoken-. She was neigh traumatized by it all--Dirah, at least, was just bitter. "If you really must know--And I suppose it doesn't matter--Kislev at the very least has a set number of videos on hand. And if I ever see any of them again, I do swear I'll be sick." Dirah has perfectly beautiful hair on her own, mind you! It's just brown. Sigh. She misses being herself so desperately sometimes. "But I did such a good job... I suppose it was worth it in the end." Another smile, another glint of pride. Oh, she doesn't hide it. She's damn good at what she does, and not afraid to look it.. And to feel it.
Sigurd does -not- like people insinuating that he's such an easy person to read and imitate. Well, granted Dirah only knows his exterior self, but she has done a rather thorough job of emulating what she can see. But.... videos? Gah. Now this is not just -crossing- the line, this is leaping over and then rubbing the line out with malicious glee. Videos of -moi-? That is... just odd. "Well, if I was a pain to learn, then I at least know I'm not so transparent as some might think..." Refuting her insinuation that he's easy to learn. He's not willing to let go of his pride, is he? He's almost like Dirah in that respect... except not -obssessively vain-.
Oh-ho! Who's -vain-? Dirah is simply wonderfully talented, wonderfully gifted, amazingly beautiful... And that's just to start! She's not being vain, she's being confident in what she has. Right? Right! Ahem. And he wasn't easy to learn, not by any stretch. But she's not going to admit that openly and loudly now, is she? "Oh, I think I did a pretty good job... But well. If you're not transparent..." She smiles so sweetly, tilting her head at him mildly with all the look of one appraising. It's rather... creepy, all things honest. "There's always time to learn."