A Dress for an Occasion

"You'd never know it, you know," Tibias slurred slightly, coming out of one of the day's drunken stupor. As much as he hated funerals, he was supposed to be sober for a little while while he spoke the final words before Matao was to be covered with the warm earth of Japan. It would take a good few drinkless hours before Tibias could properly consider himself sober, so he'd better start now. He leaned over to pat Keera on the shoulder, and smiled at her when she turned to him, "You'd never know how old that dress is, it still seems to be in style,"
"I was wondering about it," she said, pressing her fingers into her temple, trying to relieve a headache caused by a glass of champagne drunk far earlier that day. Fortunately Tibias had been in a more sober moment and rescued her from Kole's cold lap.
"It's a funny story," he said with no hint of a smile, "It belonged to a young woman I once knew," even though he was more than half drunk and slurred softly, he was still well spoken, Keera noticed, "her name was Genevieve , and lord, was she beautiful," he couldn't help his mouth from moving, which was a common occurance when he was drunk, he remembered always too late.
"We were in Paris, I was young," he touched his long mane of black hair and pulled one of the many grays out and held it up to his unfocused eye, "Before I had gray hair, before I had surpassed Kole's age," he smiled sadly, "I still was not much too look at, but I was much more to look at back then," he chuckled sadly, Keera just sat and stared at him with confused eyes, she had never heard Tibias talk about himself, let alone open up like this. Then again, she had never seen the man drink.
Tibias had stopped talking and was returning her stare.
"What?" Keera asked, uncomfortable with the two different eyes studying her face.
"How old do you think I am?" Tibias asked, scrunching his eyebrows in concentration.
"Well, I know you are older than Kole," she said, actually surprised that she didn't actually know how old he was, even after five years of knowing him. They had never really sat back and spoke like friends. Funny that a funeral would spur the conversation, "So I'm gonna say forty six?"
Tibias sighed and went to reach for his empty cup of scotch and remembered that he was supposed to be crawling out of the foggy thoughts in his brain. Instead he waved to the bar tender who stood behind the dark stained wooden bar Tibias and Keera had their backs too.
"Water, please," he said, to the man's surprise. Once his glass was full, regretfully with ice water, he turned back to Keera, "I am forty three, Ms. Trean," she said sadly, "And I have spent most of my forty three years of life within this council, and my God, has it aged me!"
"You don't look that bad," Keera said quietly, trying to make the man feel better, which, she figured, might take quite a bit of talking.
He turned and shot a nasty glare at her, "You are lying Ms. Trean," he said, then calmly took a sip of his water, expecting it to burn, and was disappointed when it didn't.
"I'm not Tibias," she said, returning his gaze evenly, "You look fine,"
"Not beautiful," he whispered.
Keera did not reply to his self depreciating statement, and grabbed his hand. She was tainted, her once white wings bore her shame, the curse she was kept under prevented her spirit from flying, but by God, she was still an angel. She pulled Tibias to his feet and dragged him past a few of the guests who were trying their hardest to keep up strenuous small talk with a steady Kole and a not so steady Royal. Keera turned left down the pale yellow hall, decorated with red stained koi fish leaping about rather tastefully within deep emerald pools upon the wall. She ignored the elaborate display and continued until she reached a staircase and half carried the yet to be sober man up, thanking God that there were only ten steps until they reached the second floor.
"Where are you taking me?" Tibias asked, finally realizing that he was being brought somewhere. Keera did not answer, but opened a door and stepped inside, pulling Tibias with her.
The room was a private sitting room, decorated with an old Japanese print motif, and low couches. Tibias spotted a tea set and a tea pot on a small table and was tempted to procure some hot water.
Keera stood in front of him, staring up into his face. He looked at her with mild confusion.
"Come here," she said, and walked across the room to a curtain. Her dainty hand swept it to the side and she deftly tied it to the wall. Tibias walked, or rather limped due to the fact he didn't think to grab the cane, over to what he at first thought was a window. It turned out to be an elaborately framed mirror.
He could see himself and Keera reflected in it's surface, along with the rest of the room behind them.
"What?" he asked, taping on the glass with his fist. "It's a mirror," he said.
"This is what I see every day," Keera turned to him, looking at him instead of the mirror.
"So?" Tibias didn't know what she was getting at.
"Close your eyes," Keera instructed.
"Okay,"
Keera paused, not wanting to finish what she had started, it had been far too long since she had used this particular brand of magic.
"I want you tell me what you saw in the mirror,"
"The room, a few couches-"
"No, I mean tell me how you saw yourself," Keera cut him off. She waited a full thirty seconds before he began to speak.
"A man with wild, graying hair, a crooked nose, horrid scars across his face covered by glasses, eyes mismatching, wrinkles starting to grow deeper," he paused and took a breath, "A man who can no longer keep up with himself, one who is not needed anymore," he opened his eyes and looked at Keera, "One who is fast approaching the age when he becomes useless, an ugly man,"
Keera smiled sadly. She had no idea that Tibias carried those thoughts around with himself all the time. She placed warm hands on either side of his head and brought it down to kiss his forehead.
"You are perfect, Tibias. No one else could deal with all of Royal's jests. No one else could give Kole a conscious," she took a breath, steadying herself, "No one else could so completely restore my hope for humanity," he looked at her while she removed his glasses, and she could see the scars caused by his crazed mother bright pink against his pale skin, the scars that blinded him and gave him his gift of sight. It made him useful to the council, his knowledge was secondary, as was his ability to help keep Kole in line.
She didn't care that the short silence was fast turning into a long silence as she studied the man's face. He is actually handsome, she thought, the scars, the hair, the nose, it's what makes him Tibias.
"You will always be useful to me," she whispered, trying to make sense of what she was feeling, "I will need you," she added, noticing her hands were still on his face.
With shaking hands Tibias slowly covered her slender ones in his and brought them down to hold in front of her. Any alcohol still in his veins was fast draining as the blood rushed to his face. Keera was experiencing something similar, as her cheeks began to burn she stood on tip toe and pressed her lips to his.

"Well, I didn't know Matao, really, but from how I've seen Sherah goes at demons, he must have been something to be proud of," Royal said to a slender woman with blonde in a dark blue dress in an unsuccessful attempt to actually score that day, if only to break up the monotony of the days spent in "sorrow and grieving". Kole stood a few feet to the side, sensitive ears picking up every failed comment made by the tarrow. He snickered as Royal walked up to him, crest fallen.
"May I suggest a topic that doesn't involve the man you are supposed to be mourning?" Kole said, irritating the short man to no ends. Royal glanced at his watch, using the time as an excuse for his unsuccessful attempts on the ladies.
"Where is Tibias? The burial ceremony is going to start in fifteen," Royal said with a false exasperation in his voice. He had never been very great at diminishing that natural tendency for laughter in his voice.

Tibias pulled away quickly from a third kiss, snapping to his senses. Keera looked at him first with surprise, then with confusion, and finally with the sadness of rejection.
"Too young?" Now it was her turn to find her flaws, she didn't give him a chance to answer, "I mean, I can pretend this never happened, we didn't, I didn't..." she trailed off when she noticed Tibias was expressionless, she narrowed her eyes, "What?" she asked, suspicious of his silence and lack of emotion.
Tibias gave her his best rendition of Royal's "I just pulled one over your eyes" smile and kissed her nose quickly before returning to his usual scowl.
"I need to speak durring the burial, which is in," he looked at his pocket watch, "Oh, sod it, ten minutes!" he turned and started for the door, then almost collapsed onto one of the couches.
"Light headed?" Keera asked with a grin, her hand on her hip.
"No," Tibias said, not allowing any of his thoughts to cross his face, "I simply do not have my cane," Keera walked over to him and held out her arm, Tibias took it and they walked down stairs, arm in arm. Kole raised an eyebrow at Tibias, who gave him a look of confusion.


The grass which was stomped upon by the casket bearers was extraordinarily green, Tibias noticed. Funny how right before he was about to address the entire council, that was what he noticed.
"When I was a lad of about sixteen I was adopted into the council. I know the same is true for Sherah and Kole, it seems to be a common occurrence. It was different for this Reaper, this mentor, this man. He was not born into this life, he had the choice. He worked for it, he obtained his goal, he never gave up even in the face of certain death, he still chose to continue than to let the innocent come to harm. He trained countless others to follow not him, but to follow his lead. Never let even one person suffer from the unfairness of the cruel world that we were all born into.
I had the chance to meet him when I was in my twenties, Sherah was just a little thing then," Tibias paused, remembering the little dragoness staring up at him with wide eyes, seeing the cookies he has just obtained by a girl scout he had passed, and Matao forbidding her from such things. He had slipped one to her later on. "I was amazed by the way he could fight, and his fearlessness. I asked him what made him so fearless, and I was surprised to learn that his boldness came not from his size, and trust me, I do not think I have ever met someone that big before or after, but he told me his courage came from the fact that everyone else was so much smaller than him, and needed somebody to be strong. Matao was a man who gave his entire life to protect the small, and to teach the meek to be strong. The world weeps for it's champion." Tibias nodded to the casket holders, who began to lower the huge coffin into the grave.
A small man in elaborate robes stepped out from the other brightly colored council members. He held a small gold cup full of dirt and a plate with flower heads on it. He tossed these into the grave and sprinkled sand down onto them, murmuring a prayer to himself.
"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, remembering together the life of a man," he said in a shaky voice, lifting his head and his hand to heaven. The entire funeral party seemed to exhale a breath that had been held for three days, and everyone slowly began to file back into the building.