Lord Darigan's Not-So-Secret Lifestyle

Lord Darigan: Oh, fabulous. Absolutely enthralling. Watching my minions scare the living daylights out of innocent fluffy tourists? And that’s just with one LOOK! *cackles* Oh, no, really. I’m proud.

Me: Oh, well. Exciting stuff. Scaring. *shuffle*

Being an Usul, I was probably classed as one of these “minions”. I pushed my stool slightly further back, and then began to speak again. I wanted to know more about his pastimes, so I decided to be tactful.

Me: So, Lord Darigan, sir, what do you do to ward off the hours of probing boredom in your slightly damp and disgusting little tower? (Smooth.)

Darigan looks a bit alarmed, slightly angry, but decides to answer: Well, first of all there’s scaring innocent Neopets from my window, not brushing my teeth, and bouncing a ball against my wall. That’s the best. What I do, right, is I throw a ball against that little spot of mould on my wall right there? See?

I see. The “little” spot of green mould in covering about a third of the southern wall, and is even starting to push onto the door. But I’m a little thrown by his fairly ordinary response. Well, ordinary for us. Throwing a ball on the wall doesn’t seem dark, dangerous or dariganny. I let him finish:

Lord Darigan continues: Yes, well, I play ball with this little mite. *fishes in his pocket, only to pull out a little Veespa*

Me: Isn’t that... a little bit of petpetpet cruelty?

Lord Darigan: Pfft, I got the idea off that fellow in the Haunted Woods. He throws a mootix into a game. It’s not cruelty, they laaaike it.

He drops the poor creature onto the wooden stool next to him, and as he’s talking on about his vile little game, I slip the petpetpet into my purse. I don’t think he laaaikes it. I’d find a nice petpet for him to latch on to.

Me: So, moving on, Lord Darigan. What type of food do you like?

Lord Darigan: Oh, the usual: Grackle Bug on a Stick, Squid on a Stick, Roasted Spyder on a stick...

Me: So, everything, really, on a stick?

Lord Darigan: Oh no, I like Eyeball Pie, too. And Eyeball Sushi, Chilled Eyeball Custard... *rambles on about eyeballs for approximately twelve minutes*

Me: *forced* Mmmmmmm! Well, How about you tell us what you do when you leave the tower?

Lord Darigan: *excited* Oooooh! I was hoping you’d ask me this. This is the best. What I do, is I go to Faerieland,- you know that place, right? Vile, everything’s covered in squishy purple stuff, and it smells more like perfume every step you take- and then I go to Fyora’s tower- which is, by no standard, anywhere near as good as mine- and I plant a load of Flightning Bugs in her bed linen. I don’t wait around for results, but I sent spies to linger outside the castle, and apparently the yells are horrific!

I don’t want to be the one to tell Darigan that his spies are probably lying, because as a journalist, I know for a fact that Queen Fyora has found these bugs in her bed linen on three occasions, and each time she has named each and every one of them, petted them, and then sent them back to the petpet shop. Instead, I just nod silently, and hope he mistakes my horror for awe. I hastily shuffle my notes and proceed to the next question.

Me: So, Mr Darigan, Sir. Do you ever read the Neopian Times?

Lord Darigan: *laughs* HAH, no! Why would I want to peer into the mundane lives of the minions around me? All that newspaper does is praise Fyora and her gang of winged folk, and I’m left in my chambers, out of the limelight. Even Sloth gets more attention than I do! And he’s somewhere milling about in space! No, no, I’ll never read that paper again.

Well, that’s good enough for me. Now I can be published without fearing Darigan’s revenge. I don’t think I could be as calm as Fyora about bugs in my bed linen. I nod thoughtfully, as though I’m agreeing with Darigan’s answer.

Lord Darigan: Why? What are you writing this article for?

Me: *stutters* Oh.. The.. Er.. Paper.. Of papers? For Neovia’s appreciative article of successful, villains... and stuff.

That seems to satisfy him. Phew.

Me: So, Lord Darigan, one last question (thank Fyora this is nearly over), when did you first decide you wanted to be a villain?

Lord Darigan: Ah, you poor little insignificant thing. One doesn’t decide to become a villain; it is in them from the moment their little feet hit the ground. You can only choose to be good, if you are born evil, but what stupid person would want to do THAT?! *cackles, slightly scarily, eyes spinning wildly*

Me: Erm, you’re right, your Lordship Dariganny, sir. I must leave now, sir. *shuffles* Got... To... Dash.

I scuttle out of the dark and dim room as quickly as I can, diving away from the guards as they bare their teeth threateningly at me. When I get out, I don’t stop hop-skip-jumping until I reach the edge of Darigan Citadel, and find a friendly Pink Uni offering to help me back down to Meridell. When I reach the plush grass and blue skies of safe Meridell, I sit on a round rock, and begin to evaluate my findings. He didn’t seem as bad as I had anticipated he’d be, at first at least. I’d be lying, however, if I said I wasn’t surprised by his outright disregard for other people’s safety. Sure, he’s evil and all, but hey, I thought he might take time off from all that stuff. Even his ball game had turned out to be an act of evil.

As I think that, I remember the little Veespa I had put into my purse. I open my purse quickly, and find the little creature. I stroke its head comfortingly, and I can feel it begin to relax. Then the rock I’m sat on seems to wobble a bit... Whoa! Thrown sideways, I see that my rock had in fact been a Turtum. “Oh... I’m so sorry!” I pat it’s back awkwardly. Oh hey. There’s an idea. I lift the little Veespa to the Turtum’s back, and let it decide if it wants a new home. Cautiously, it shuffles on to the Turtum’s shell. There, now. Everyone’s happy. The Turtum and Veespa scamper off, and I begin to see the difference between good and evil more clearly. Darigan’s interview had taught me, and hopefully will teach my readers, more than just a villain’s lifestyle; it had also taught me the difference of two lifestyles.

I finish writing, and pocket my notebook.

Thank you, Neopian Times Readers, for reading.

Your little reporter, Ambsie.