(10/16/02-10/18/02)
You know, this sucks. One really does wish there was a sweet and graceful way to put it, but no. There isn't. Dirah is the second in command of the Dark Yggdrasil, the impressive driving force of brilliance behind it, and she was captured. Fugging -captured-, by the utterly incompetant and fashion-challenged enemy! It defies logic. It defies reason. By all manners, it shouldn't have occurred at all. But lookie that. If this happens to be some sort of nightmare, Dirah has yet to wake from it, and thus it must obviously be some horrible joke of Fate. Yes. That's it. The poor woman can't very well attribute to herself much suffering--Being locked in a guest room and being treated civilly, if not strangely, by Sigurd and Gabriel is something she should likely be glad of--But no. She'd rather believe that she does, indeed, have things very bad. With a sigh, she sits in the back of the room in a simple little chair, in a half slumped posture and her legs crossed at the knees. Damn Yggers. Wouldn't know how to treat a lady if someone forced them to at gunpoint. So thinks the woman who is still mostly in the Sigurd outfit she was in when she was captured, only having removed the eyepatch and the overjacket. You know, female curves do not fit very well in that outfit when it's obvious. And she looks fit to scream at someone in any case.
Defies Logic, you say? Well, speak of the devil, and he shall arrive! Well, someone who's idle hands do the work of the Devil. Kyle Brighton enters the Guest Room turned Prison and looks around. The young man isn't armed, surprisingly, but comes bearing...Supper! Yes, it seems that it's the young Engineer's turn to bring the prisioner her meal.
He looks around, "Miss Dirah? I've brought you your dinner." He stands in front of the open door for a moment, waiting. He'd only seen the Faux Sigurd in the flesh once before...so he wanted to see how closely she really resebled the man...besides, he had nothing else to do.
Hmph, 'resemble'! Dirah can do quite a fair job when she cares to--Right now she is far more concerned in making her unhappiness known. She does not even bother to move from where she sits, half slumped and legs crossed in the back of the room. She crosses her arms softly and only briefly casts a dull and irritated glance upwards, shining blue eyes peering up around hung dyed-silver bangs. With all the look of one who regreted that nature did not allow for dirty looks to make someone explode into fame. Le sigh. "Charming." Is her only comment, low and uninterested. Food. Hmph. Goodness knows what it is; goodness knows if it's even safe. Paranoia? Well, she's got to fill her time with -something-.
Brighton raises an eyebrow and heads one more step into the room. The door's sensor, noticing that he's no longer standing in the frame, closes up behind. "Ya know, you could show a little bit of gratitude...we're pirates, we don't HAVE to feed you, ya know?" He cracks a half smile and then leans against the now closed door, "...You really do look like him...though it's a bit different without the eyepatch." Yep, he's a master of the understatement, that Kyle Brighton. "Why'd you start doing this, anyway?"
"Mmm, yes, because I'm soooo very useful when I'm starving and-or dead. That doesn't mean there's not turpentine in it." Oh, Dirah might look a bit like Sigurd, but that's where the simularities end. Something about the bitter sarcasm doesn't seem particularly true to form, you know. She uncrosses her arms but long enough to flip her hair back over her shoulder then, in a gesture that seems confused between vain and mocking, "I certainly do -not-... Although I suppose I should be glad that I do a good enough job when I must." Oh, of course. She's -pretty-, after all. And, um. Female. And to his last comment? She settles into a few moments of silence, before she shakes her head softly. And gives a little sigh, "Because the wide, wide world of crossdressing seemed -ever- so thrilling, darling. Do you have any other brilliant questions?"
The Mechanic shrugs a bit, "Hey, as long as you're not causing any problems...and besides, if you were dead, whomever you're working for would have lost a vital componant to their plot, so either way, it's Win-Win." The mechanic grins menacingly, "You do understand that, right?" He continues leaning against the door, "...but, since we're nice, we won't try to kill you, Miss Dirah...so please, eat up." This might seem a bit...out of Character for Kyle...but please, try to understand where he's coming from...
This all basically boils down to the whole 'Good Cop/Bad Cop' thing. Right now, Brighton's being a bit of a 'Bad Cop', in hopes to make Dirah fear her life, and try to save it by spilling the beans...and in a little bit, he's going to throw in a bit of 'Good Cop'...just to throw her off. It's best to keep prisioners from being sure of exactly what's going on.
It's almost hillarious, actually. Three people come in to talk to Dirah, and all three of them have a completey different approach. It's almost entertaining in retrospect, to compare all the ultimatums she's been given in just three simple conversations and just be amused at how they all contradict. You'd think they'd all talk more, hm? But that makes it -fun-! "Win-win? You'd still loose valuable information and my ever-so-charming company. That doesn't sound -particularly- win-win to me." Oh, this is DIRAH! Of course she has value, worth and reason to keep her around. She's just -that- amazing. "What's there to understand? You're wasting your time." In questioning, in bothering, in not just setting her free. If they didn't have a use for her, she'd be dead or gone already, hm? Logic. Ah, lovely logic. "But if it's all the same to you, I don't think I'm very hungry."
The young man looks at Dirah and smiles, "...I doubt that the loss of your...'charming' company would make any of us feel too bad. He slowly walks a few steps closer to the faux-Sigurd, "And, we could probably just get another member of your crew, if we needed it. I mean, really..." he grins, "The whole, 'lookalike' thing works both ways, if we really wanted to, we could send Sigurd back in your place." He shrugs, "I doubt that you'd care, though...from what I've heard, you're not too fond of your crew in the first place." He turns around again and looks toward the door.
"Might as well eat your food, Dirah, we made it for you, and I know that you're not stupid, and thus, won't give up a hot meal," he glances back at her, "Might as well keep your strength up, and all that good stuff."
To tell the truth, you can never be too sure about what the Yggdrasil crew would do for their prisoners. If the prisoner was useless, they might just keep them forever, since it would be more of a blow to the enemy then it would to the crew. I mean, that's simple logic, there. If they needed food or supplies, they could always send someone else out to get them. I mean...think about it.
Oh-ho! Really, that -is- all meant to be a threat, and it is quite a bit of one through most of Brighton's first words. At first, Dirah only fixes him with that sort of -look-, waiting for him to finish like somoene impatiently waiting for someone to plead their case so they can explain how they are wrong in a half dozen ways. But Dirah does not make it to that point, no. She gets to the part about Sigurd being able to pass for her on the D-Ygg... and breaks down into hystiercal laughter. She raises a hand to her mouth, but doesn't smother the sound at all--It's merely one of those token gestures as she continues to laugh herself nearly sick. This continues for a long moment before she finally stands up, all six-foot-plus of her, and eyes him downward strangely, still snickering all the while. "Him? Pass for -ME-? Darling, you are off your freaking rocker."
She very intentionally stretches her arms upwards, half a flaunting pose than anything more, making it very.. erm... Obvious of her gender. "Dear, I can wear a jacket and hide my striking figure, but I don't think your pretty second in command could wear what I would and fake one." She laughs then, as if burning off the rest of that amusement, and dismisses his other comment with a wave of a hand, "I don't know where you heard that. My crew might be in need of a guiding hand like mine, but they're like family." And she pauses, trailing off a bit.. "Well, some of them are." She ignores the food, doesn't even mention it again, remaining standing up as she places her hands neatly on her hips. She seems so horribly.. -amused-, for all that he was trying to threaten her, "Just don't mistake a fluke for skill. Just because your good superiors caught me doesn't mean that they have a chance of laying a finger on any of the rest of us. Admit it. We've had you runnning in circles and losing our trails since we -started-."
Brighton just looks over at Dirah and states simply, "It is easier for a cultured man to act like a savage then it is for a savage to act like a cultured man. And since you were able to pull off the whole 'acting like a cultured man' bit, I think that Sigurd would be more then able to act like you." Weather or not Brighton thinks that the man WOULD dress up like Dirah, however, is different. He doubts that the man would stoop to doing that...especially if just to spy on them for a short while. "But, anyway, I think that I'll just leave you to your meal, Miss Dirah. Have a good evening."
And at that, the young engineer walks towards the exit...and, if you're wondering if he noticed the fact that Dirah was a woman...well, yes, he did, and yes, he was fighting back a bit of a nosebleed. Good ol' innocent Brighton.
Savage? Dirah's semi-pose falters at that, as she instead settles on giving him a dark look. Her hands shift on her hip to a far more agressive pose, as that pair of blue, blue eyes narrows onto Brighton. And she gives a small and unamused 'Hmph'. "-Savage-? I am no such -thing-! I am a premiere actress and a loyal citizen of my country! I am nothing but -culture-... Although an Avehan peon like you has likely never seen such a thing." With another hmph, she raises her chin high a bit, looking every inch as pompous as she can, "The very nerve! And after we went to such lengths to be -ever- so sweet to your Holy Mother when she was dropped on us? I wouldn't have bothered, had I known that this would be the reward I'd be given. But well..." She gives such a heavy sigh, then. Oh, she -is- an actress. If not a bit of an excessive one, "There is no justice for the just, I suppose."
At that comment, Kyle turns around for a moment, "Avehan peon?" His eye twitches a bit, and he clenches and unclenches his fist. "You would dare call me an 'Avehan peon', then talk about culture? Ha! That's funny." The words, though not altogether harsh, are spoken in a menacing tone. It usually takes a lot to make Kyle angry...but, insulting the country that he came from, and the country that his father was a retainer for, usually sends him over the edge.
"I'll have you know, Miss Dirah, that I spent time in your beloved 'Kislev'. Oh, sure, it was big...but it was a dreary place." He takes another step towards her, "It was devoid of any true joy. The people just scraped around for their day to day meals." He takes another step closer, "The children didn't seem to laugh. They didn't seem to really enjoy themselves." His face twists to a look of anger, "And the politicians and poliece? They were corrupt! Do you know how much I had to shell out daily in bribes and kickbacks? Just so I could work?" He raises his voice so that it's nearly a shout, "And to top it all off, most of the...'elites', which I assume that you group yourself with, were nothing more then inbread skum." He takes one more step towards the prisoner and then balls up a fist, making like he was about to strike her...but the arm drops, and the man furrows his brow...
"...I made a vow to never hit a woman. Ever. But you have almost made me break it." He moves his face in close and looks into her blue eyes, "And, if all that which I have talked about is culture...then I want no part of it. I much prefer the life of a man living under the rule of the Fatima Dynasty...because that's what it is. Living."
Oh... er... You know, that's funny. When Brighton was trying to be intimidating, Dirah laughed. And now.. Well, now one guesses she's trying to be intimidating too, but it's more.. empassioned. And there's something sincerely scary about someone getting so.. worked up about something. Even if, at the very same time, it makes Dirah so very, very much on the defensive. She takes a step back as he approaches--Taller or not, she's still visibly intimidated. She pauses at the end of his rant, waiting for an entrance to snap back.. And with a thin hiss of breath, she launches onto the first opening that she finds.
"How dare you speak of my homeland like that! That's unjust and unfair! Would you dare argue that Aveh doesn't have slums, the unfortunate, the dredges of society? You were a -foreigner-! Why on earth would -you- ever see the things that make Kislev the proud and noble empire that it is?! I lived a good life with a good education, and you dare to insinuate that my kingdom is somehow soulless? It's Aveh and it's war's damned fault that half the impoverished are at all!" Dirah gets.. Very -shrill- when she gets angry, high pitched and irritated despite how low her voice usually is, with the Kislevi accent sliding out of her control. And she tenses, nearly cringing as he seems to move to hit her.. And only breathes again when he lowers his arm. Glaring, glaring all the while. And her final words are softer, "Oh, yes. And our government is inferior, hm? If I remember correctly, they aren't even in power, dear. And haven't been for a long, long time."
"Why do you think that I left? Why do you think that I chose to leave my home to go to a place like Kislev?" He glares at her again, but there's something behind his eyes...sadness, perhaps? "I remember what it was like before that Bald bastard took over Aveh, and I knew what it was like afterwards." He turns around, "And I know what it's going to be like in the future, with Bart as the King." he starts for the door, "I hate to break this to you, Dirah, but all of your work, all of your struggle will be in vain, because we all believe in Bart. There is nothing that you people can do to stop that."
He continues for the door, and as he's about to walk out, "Oh yes...and remember how I said that I had been living in Kislev for a while? Well, I've always been a fan of acting and the theatre, so, whenever I had money, I'd go to see a play or something...and I never once heard of you being mentioned." He grins evilly, "I guess that you're not as good of an actress as you might claim to be...oh well. Not like I'm missing out on anything." And thusly, he exits, the door closing behind him with a pneumatic hiss.