Tiphareth: Part the Second: Darrian

Existing is a cliche and forsaken phrase, which held a good deal of genuine truth at one point, in it’s early days, but has diminished down into an insignificant little overused and under appreciated phrase. “Love changes everything.” Well, try to cast off the banality and see it simply for the truth it tells. The pure and simple fact remains, that it does. There comes one instance in a being’s existence, which has such a profound and lasting effect on their life, that from that moment on, if all things else are uncertain, they know at the very least, that things will never there after be the same again. This instance might be another person, and it was in this case. Where Tiphareth is concerned, someone entered into her life uninvited, altered it greatly almost without permission, and became her life, in time.

Try to picture, if you will, a heartless, embittered and seemingly completely careless soldier, a mere shell of a person, made to kill, and who has done little else, not ever thinking back on what they had done, the blood they had shed. Almost more machine than person. No conscience, morals, scruples... had she ever been in possession of such qualities, they were lost to her, and now, all such concepts were completely foreign to her. This soldier cared for nothing and no one, hardened and made cold just by living, and strode haphazardly through her miserable existence, waiting for her secret and untold death wish to be fulfilled. How exactly she had risen from the ashes of an unspeakable past, it might never be known, not even to herself. Suffice it to say that had she the desire to go back, and find closure, or make amends for past wrongs, or seek out answers to things left unresolved, it was impossible. She found herself sole survivor of her world, cast unknowing into a parallel realm, in which she had nothing and no one. This had one inevitable consequence, and it was not for Tiphareth’s benefit in the slightest. She retreated further into herself, turned colder, and even more uncaring than before, her heart seemingly frozen in a thick tomb of ice, and left to die, or at least lie dormant, from acute lack of use. What need had such a one for emotions at all? As far as she knew, there was none, and such was how she behaved. She donned the garb of a soldier, and in every way fit the part. Cynical and sardonic, a cross between a sneer and a smirk never left her delicate face, which might be seen as attractive, were it not for the cold, hateful ice blue glowing eyes, and the occasional snarl that took possession of her thin red lips. Her body might register as an attractive quality; it was svelte, beautifully shaped, and flawlessly toned, she was outwardly perfect, almost super human in appearance, and that was not so far off from the truths of her origin. She carried it with poise to be sure, and the slightly disconcerting grace of one much accustomed to combat. Her sole companions were her twin Masamune blades, they were something dear to her, her prized possessions, for they reminded her of someone from her past whose memory was encrypted into her consciousness, though she never spoke of him. The memories were bittersweet, and thus kept down, and never voiced, though she thought of him often times, especially in the rare instance of a peaceful moment, perhaps taking the moment to rest in the shade of a tree as she paused in her journey, as her eye happened to cross the shine of the sun as it reflected off her deadly blades. Tiphareth had one expression, that smirk. Heartless and alone was better than vulnerable and dependent on others, most times being those who were less than dependable, or so she had found. And so thus was her fate, though solitude was something she welcomed fully, never having experienced anything but; at least this was familiar. It seemed to suit her well. Upon arriving in the realm, freshly deposited from a planet recently destroyed by a meteor, she found herself in something similar to despair for a day or two, before roughly pulling herself out of it, and taking it upon herself to seek out a new life here, and hopefully a quiet one. Word spread of the mystery shrouded fighter, newly arrived, and before long she was sought out for her skills. She heard tell of the wrongs of certain vampire, Darrian Nightshade, whom she didn’t know, and didn’t really care to either for that matter. The story went that he had killed Hallowed Earth, a mage, and according to the council must suffer for it. This council needed to see him dead for his crimes, or so it was told to her, and though she cared neither for the council nor for delving into some game of vengeance which had nothing to do with her, she finally heeded the council’s bidding, and accepted a pupil, one Justice Kinkad, who was the council’s chosen vessel of justice... ironically. They wished that he kill Darrian, and that she train him to do it. This partnership didn’t last too long for various reasons. One being that she had no respect for this council whatsoever. Two being that as time passed, it became readily apparent that this pupil of hers was more interested in winning her heart than winning some battle. This was something new and strange and quite distasteful, and she denied him as gently as she could, for the simple reason that she had no heart, and could not love. Which was the harsh truth in her own mind at the time.

At about this time, Tiphareth finally met the fabled Darrian Nightshade; strangely enough, he sought her out. She was pleasantly surprised, figuring that if nothing else came of it, she might be able to gain some useful information by acting the spy. How it came about was a mite by chance, in theory it could have been anyone in that putrid and filthy bar that caught Darrian’s eye... but Tiphareth was different. Sitting snide and alone in a corner, she was perhaps the only one not paying him any attention outwardly, the only one not falling over herself to get at him. By simply acting in her habitual uncaring manner she attracted him, because she was the untouchable, the mocking, derisive, almost cruel woman in the bar’s corner who continually found herself the center of attention and looked down on everyone, acted so indifferent to the pointless insignificant little happenings of this place, and shot down every man foolish enough to approach her almost without a second thought; in essence, the only one no one could have, and Darrian loved a good challenge. The less attainable, and more cold, unfeeling, and disinterested she acted, the more he was resolved to win her over no doubt. He might have seen her as a project, or pupil of sorts in the beginning, as he took it upon himself to instill some emotion in the heartless sarcastic bitch. I doubt he knew her intentions for him, or her motives for not casting him off immediately like all the others, but he changed them none the less, without even knowing what he was doing.

Their first encounter was hardly uneventful. He spoke first, and she played the sarcastic smartass role she was all too adept at pulling off, acting quite the snob and looking down in haughty amusement at the others that populated the miserable little tavern. She was hardly flirting... that was something Tiphareth simply didn’t do. Call it maybe, playing hard to get... more like impossible to get, which only egged him on further. At which point things turned a bit more intense. She made some comment along the lines of “blood sucking” something or other, and before she knew what was happening, found herself pinned to the ground beneath him, and too shocked to react as he was sinking his teeth into her. She was frightened for the first time in her life, there hadn’t been any vampires in her previous realm, and ShinRa sure as hell hadn’t trained her for anything like this. Rather than screaming, she backhanded him, which he reacted to in less of an amount than what she’d have preferred. She was helpless to remove him from her delicate neck, and was much less than pleased to be the unwilling meal. The soldier facade faltered for a moment, and she actually shed tears, two to be exact. The hot stinging unwelcomed presence in her alien twins was even more shocking than what event had summoned them there. All of that was played out in a few short seconds, the initial astonishment of it, and her attempts made in vain to fight him off. Soon after it ceased to be an unpleasant thing, and she was incredulous. How could she be liking this? She was astounded for a few fleeting moments before surrendering to it. Whatever methods he used to make it feel so good she was powerless to define, wondering once more, as she fought an ever increasingly hopeless battle against the sensuality creeping up to consume her, how she could ever in her right mind enjoy having the Mako tainted blood sucked gently from her delicate neck, she slipped slowly away into a pleasured oblivion.

When that was over and done with, Tiphareth, still slightly shaken, rose and collected her senses as best she could, and the two followed an almost frivolous conversation, with her not really saying much of anything concrete about herself. Imagine her disbelief when he asked, in all practicality, pleaded that she kill him. Keeping in mind her recently acquired position, and supposing that she could save everyone a good deal of time and effort if she could end this “justice” plot here and now, of course she had to seize the opportunity. So without mincing many words, other than to assure herself that he genuinely wanted this, (perhaps she did have a bit of a conscience after all) to ease her mind beforehand, she staked him. He looked to be dead for a few moments, then much to her dismay his signet ring flickered, and back to unlife he came as she stood watching. He was perhaps more disappointed than she, and as he raged over finding himself alive again, she noted two things, that he was not doing anything to lash out at her in the slightest, which is not what she had expected, and two, that here was someone else who had a death wish, similar to herself, though she didn’t go around begging people to take her life, that wasn’t Tiphareth’s style in the least. He calmed substantially and they talked for a time. She came to learn a few important things in the process of her elusive word play as to the nature of this supposedly “bad” vampire, and began to form her own opinions of him.

Walking away from that, her first impressions of Darrian, from seeing him, and talking to him rather than believing something fed to her by corruption’s mouth changed the way she had him pictured in her mind. She saw someone who was tortured by their own demons, and was misunderstood in a sense, made out to fit into a stereotypical mold constructed by the mindless masses, into which the actual person didn’t necessarily fit. He was both weak and strong, in different respects, and though she couldn’t place her finger on exactly what or why, something about him intrigued her, and awakened a curiosity to know more about him. She almost felt compassion for him, he was obviously suffering, but a soldier didn’t allow themselves to care about such things. So, what little facts she had gathered were replacing the initial impression of Darrian, as a concept and unknown figure. The council’s minion had made him out to be a terror of creation who ran amuck, killing whomever he pleased without remorse, and other such less than pleasant qualities, some terrorizing villain who must be stopped.

Now what side Tiphareth aligned herself with, good or bad, that is open to interpretation, though she was content to align herself with nothing and no one unless it served her best interests. Morals were a forgotten concept to her, remember. Supposing that getting into the council’s good graces would become an important asset to her and might prove useful later on, she went along with their little revenge plot, until she became aware of the lies she had been fed, and realized her having been used as some listless unwitting pawn, seen as an expendable piece to be toyed with and manipulated until it was no longer useful, to serve some greater good. After a time she threw off all ties to the council, having found it to be quite corrupt, and as such, something she no longer cared to align herself with. From that time after Tiphareth was by her own choice an unaffiliated being, who walked the world with her own purpose, and paid heed to nor obeyed no one other than herself. With this change, she did not however, find any reason not to continue to speak to Darrian. Her nature was such that once an interest had been perked, she would not be satisfied until her curiosities had been appeased and her questions answered.

So that was how it started. As strange, disturbing as it may sound, she began as an unknown enemy, posing as another pretty, if not entirely sarcastic face, and the role she played changed dramatically over time. Her opinions of him changed, her intentions for him changed, all simply by knowing him. Animosity evolved slowly into affection, with many levels of progressing sentiments in between of course. The key to her being won over was not all that meticulously hidden. A fair amount of investigation uncovered it in Darrian’s case. He needed only awaken the dormant person beneath the soldier exterior, and her heart soon after, in it’s own turn. Truth be told, she saw something about him which mirrored a figure from a forgotten world, another misunderstood and tortured soul whose life made them out to be the ultimate tragic character. She was almost effortlessly drawn to him, as if a greater force had guided her actions.

Things progressed with time from encounters in which she shied away, or acted disinterested to attempts every so often to impress, entice, or mystify him, and then carefully guarded flirting. It wasn’t that much of a mismatch at all. They were both outwardly strong, cunning, and touched by conceit. Perhaps a bit too haughty but neither much cared; self centered enough to place their own impressions of themselves and the world around them on a substantially higher level of importance than anyone else’s opinions. They were both beautiful in their own right, cultured, though each had a certain flamboyance so as to deny them the quality of being refined. Their differences complimented each other as well. Darrian was droll and jovial, joking, playful, flirtatious. Tiphareth was overly serious, almost impossibly distanced she was so detached from things commonly accepted as social behavior. These starkly opposite traits served their purpose in that Tiph’s seriousness calmed Dar’s tendencies a bit, and likewise his playful nature began to rub off on her.

With every meeting, be it by chance or otherwise, time found these two individuals less and less the solitary creatures they had begun as, and more of a pair. Over the course of each encounter he charmed a bit more affection out of her, and the soldier forgot her place, giving rise to the feeling, sensitive woman that had been concealed beneath. Someone whom she herself hadn’t even been aware existed.

From the point of their first meeting on, slowly a bond began to form between the two. Over time it intensified, and their mutual activities grew from carefully guarded conversations to the occasional exchange of affection. The first time he kissed her, she was taken completely by surprise, unused to that kind of thing, after all, what use did a soldier have for kisses? It started slowly, softly, lazily, and incredibly sweetly, so much so that for that reason she didn’t pull back and shove him away in disgust, as her first instincts had been. It was surprisingly pleasant, and though she absently wondered what was coming over her, knowing full well that a soldier did not act this way, she timidly began to return his kiss as sweetly as it had been given, relaxing and wrapping her arms around him. When it finally ended, she came away with a somewhat dazed and almost disbelieving impression, and spoke it mildly in her features, soon smoothed over by Darrian’s reassuring, dazzling smile. In the weeks and months to follow, there would come a few other “firsts” for Tiphareth.

Soon after came the “kneecaps” incident. Enjoying a rare, peaceful moment of quiet time in the local tavern, Tiph seated in Darrian’s lap in a comforting cuddle, some random, less than lucky fellow made the stupid mistake of winking to all the ladies in the room, to which Darrian responded by whipping out one of his assorted guns, and firing off a few shots which took out the man’s kneecaps, softly speaking, “Not my lady,” and pulling her closer as she suffered from a fit of laughter at the stupid little man who was now deprived of kneecaps over a wink. Finding a bit of amusement at someone else’s expense was nothing new to Tiphareth, and she had found that to be all too hilarious. When she regained control of herself and finally quieted down later, she gently teased him, smirking and arching a chestnut brown brow. “I can’t believe you shot that guy just for winking at me. Protective are we?” “Yup,” he simply conceded the fact, and smiled, hugging her close. Before Darrian, she had taken offense to any instance of another person presuming the right to take care of her, or be protective or anything else similar to it, but for some reason it was different now, almost comforting to relax a bit and live with his needing to do all of those things. More of the soldier faded as she found the need less and less to be such a hardass.

Tiphareth soon found herself to have hopelessly fallen for him, and was gently baffled by the fact that she was in love for the first time in her life. In truth it had taken her some time to realize how to define the less than subtle changes in the ways she looked at Darrian; when it finally hit her she was a bit taken by shock. It was something new and confusing but she was helpless to fight it, and timidly accepted it after a while though she was far out of her element. She was used to being in control and knowing exactly what to do, what to expect, and being aware of everything she was involved in down to the finest details. Nothing was left to the unknown up until now. The tables had turned and she became the vulnerable entity, her newly awakened emotions at the mercy of someone else, and she had no choice but to trust him and guard herself as best she could.

She went for a week or so with the knowledge in her head that she loved him, but couldn’t find the right moment to tell him. Part of her was worried that her feelings might not be reciprocated, and she doubted she would be able to handle what a massive disappointment that would be. The seemingly perfect opportunity arose the day after a particularly intimate night spent together. I don’t write pornos so I leave the specifics of that up to your vivid imaginations. Tiphareth woke groggily, tangled in the extravagant linens next to him, smirking as she wrapped her arms around him and softly whispering, “How was our sleep?”

“I slept like the dead.” He winked to her, and she laughed at the vampire humor. The peace of the moment was interrupted by her stomach growling and she blinked, looking down at it with slightly wide eyes.

“First I...” she paused and blushed. “Well yeah, then I sleep, now I’m hungry. What is wrong with me?”

He smiled. “I dunno. What would you like to eat?”

She was at a bit of a loss. “I wouldn’t know. I usually don’t.”

Ever helpful Darrian was good for a solution to her little problem. “Well, steak is good...”

“Ick. Meat?” She was a bit distracted, looking down at her stomach as it commenced growling agian. He looked down at her rather noisy tummy as well at that point and she conceded. “Well I guess I’ll take anything just about now...”

“Well then... to the kitchen?” He smiled his dazzling smile again. He smiled so often, it was as much a trademark of his as the sarcastic smirk was to Tiph. She never tired of his smile, it warmed her heart, and was one of the many things that endeared her to him. His constant smiling was soon to become the topic of conversation.

“Eh, lemme get dressed first.” She gathered up the various components of her armored suit and slipped into it, eying her reflection in the mirror and shuddering. She quietly moaned at the state she found her usually well mannered silken mahogany tresses to be in, nearly pouting her disappointment. “My hair...”

“You look fine,” watching, he sweetly reassured her, as she concentrated and quickly, her hair straightened itself into it’s usual soft smooth perfection.

“Much better,” Tiphy never liked to look less than perfect.

He agreed, smiling again. “Much.”

To which she smirked. “Bedhead is so unbecoming.” He chuckled and she smiled faintly, before blinking as her forgotten stomach roared. He took her to the kitchen and prepared her a steak.

“Eat. Tis good for you.” He set the steak in front of her, and she eyed it for a moment and shrugged before digging in. The steak was gone in a few moments. He smiled, watching her eat, and when she’d finished, “Any good?”

“Heh. For meat.” She laced her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “You can make me steak anytime you like, love.” Not only was he endlessly sweet, and sexy as hell, but the man could cook. That being one talent that ShinRa had failed to instill in her.. the extent of her cooking skills was burning toast. It was that bad.

He smiled and watched her silently as she took a curious look around, and gave him a “What now?” look. “I dunno, what would you like?”

She grinned and held him closer. “I’m not picky.” She didn’t really much care, as long as she was with him she would be content. He gently insisted she pick something, and after a moment of thought an idea came to her. “What about a tour of the Manor? All I saw last night was the bedroom.” He smiled and led her on a tour of Nightshade Manor, the sprawling estate not leaving a whole lot to be desired. Name it and it was there for the most part. Tiph pondered over the complete lack of a residence of her own, frowning slightly as she held his hand, listening intently and following as he led her around. When they had finished she realized, much to her surprise that she hadn’t had a drink in over a full day; back in those days Tiphareth had a weakness for vodka, but accepted the glass of berry wine he offered instead, sipping it slowly, curling thin red lips around the rim of the elegant wine glass ever so slightly, and licking the traces of the bittersweet liquid from her lips when she had finished the glass. He smiled and kissed her suddenly. She was taken by surprise and blinked, warming to him slowly and returning it. He smiled into her eyes as she pulled away finally, absently brushing a stray silken lock from her view. He smiled again and she gazed into his eyes, eerie voids, nothing but a captivating emerald.

“Why do you always smile?” she questioned him, sincerely wanting to know.

“I like to smile,” he answered her simply.

“I noticed,” and she smirked. “I like to smirk.” Then he smirked at her, and she laughed and hugged him, laying her cheek on his chest as he smiled and hugged her back. He smiled again and she playfully chided him, softly muttering, “Heh heh. Why am I not surprised?” He sighed, and she picked up on more than a small amount of content in his exhalation, and questioned him on it. “What is the source of your contentment?” Again, she sincerely wanted to know, and was almost childlike in her expression, looking up at him with searching prussian hued alien eyes that shone softly in the moderate light of day.

“You.”

“Am I?” she beamed radiantly.

He flashed her his dazzling smile again. “Yup.”

She was incredibly pleased to hear it, and was overcome with a warm feeling, which she did not keep to herself this time, quietly whispering, “I love you Darrian,” hoping she would hear those same three words in a few short moments.

He smiled contentedly. “Thanks. I wish...”

Her face fell and a look of pain crept into her glowing eyes. “Thanks?”

“I could say the same without fear for you..” Darrian forced a weak smile as he finished his thought. Her lower lip trembled as she looked at him, disappointment clearly evident on her face. He tried to reassure her. “I do...” She pulled away from him as he spoke. “But I fear that if I say it, you will be hurt like the others.” She wailed, his words not really soothing her much at all, and he moved to hug her tightly, but she pushed him away. He stammered and then moved away from her as she continued to gaze into him with incredible pain in her alien oculars. At that look, he was crushed, and dropped to his knees, his raven head held in his hands. For the first time in her life, she sobbed uncontrollably, as he shook with self loathing, clenching his fists so tightly that his short manicured nails bit into his flesh, hands shaking as the blood squirted from between his fingers. Tiphareth looked at him, blinking back tears and struggling to focus before her knees failed her, and she fell to a sobbing mess on the ground, as Darrian cursed from between clenched teeth. Unable to put up with it any longer, he punched himself once in the face, a vicious slap ringing in her ears as he fell unconscious next to her on the floor. She painfully crawled closer to his side, still crying, her salty tears wetting his face. When he made no motions she hung her head and released a mournful shuddery sob. After a few minutes he stirred slightly, and she pushed her hair out of her line of vision, struggling to control her sobbing as she looked down at him. She managed to reduce her sobbing down to soft weeping as he opened his eyes, snapped them into focus and groaned with pain. He shook his head slowly and looked up at her; still crying, she gazed back. “I...” He stood shakily and shook his head again. “You don’t want to hear it.” She commenced to sobbing again. “Perhaps it would be better if I left.” He spoke in a defeated tone.

“How can I know if you do not tell me?”

His eyes went hollow. “I want to tell you I love you. But if I do, you may die like the others.” His face a mask of pain.

She gasped, shocked and confused, peering at him in disbelief. “Why would I die? I don’t understand.”

“Everyone else has. I am like a curse.”

“Darrian, the only way I die is by the hand of one of my own kind. And there are only two.” She was playing the role of attempted reassurer now.

“Still, I can’t chance it.”

“If that is your decision...” Reverting back to the role of soldier again a bit, she rose to her feet and looked at him. “Darrian, in all practicality, I do not die.” With that she turned away from him to leave.

He sighed and looked at the ground. “I understand if you hate me.”

“I am telling you, unless I willingly kill myself, I do not die. But you do not hear me. You refuse to.” Her voice was hard and almost cold and she turned back around to stare into him.

“I... I... love you Tiph.” Her mouth dropped open, not expecting to hear that, and he looked away and shivered.

“Why do you look away?” Her face bore concern now.

“You looked shocked. I figured you didn’t want to hear that. Sorry.”

“I did, it’s just... until now, I have never heard it.” She was touched and troubled at the same time, beyond happy to hear that he loved her, but saddened that it took so much to get it out of him, and even more so to learn of how tortured he was.

He looked down at his Italian leather shoed feet. “I am sorry.”

She approached him slowly. “Sorry for what?”

“I am a screw up. I get something good like you... and I fuck it up.”

She turned visibly saddened eyes to him. “It doesn’t have to be that way...” She took his hand in her own smaller tattooed one, and squeezed it gently, lovingly. He squeezed back. “Darrian you exhaust me in more ways than one...” she murmured, and leaned weakly into him.

“Sorry...”

She chuckled lightly. “Don’t be.”

“Ok.” She hugged him, and he held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, whispering, “I am sorry,” over and over.

Her eyes spilled over with quiet tears, and she held him back, trying to soothe him. “It’s alright..” rocking him tenderly back and forth, gently shooshing him as he trembled in her arms. “It’s alright.”

He quieted down, and she softly kissed him, whispering, “There now,” and caressing his cheek. He slowly stopped shaking, and she wrapped her arms around him more tightly, needing to ease all the pain away. The two stayed locked in the close embrace for a long while, until he had to depart.

He smiled slightly and gave her a long sweet kiss, leaving her with, “Good eve M’love.” That being the first time he’d said that, addressed her as “Love.” She let her hand linger on his cheek until he was gone, and she was left alone in the darkened halls of the Manor, feeling small and lost in the place without him. Suddenly solitude no longer seemed comforting to her; she longed to be with him still, and made her way back to his room, crawling into his bed and falling into a tormented, restless slumber, a few shining sapphire tears staining the pillowcase now and again throughout the night.

On to section 2

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