Ah! But Underneath [Closed]

[Natasi Fortan]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40O_N1V7nh8

Natasi Fortan believed that she would never grow tired of approaching Breakriver by water. Being surrounded by the sound of the rushing river was always a comfort to Natasi, who had been raised in a castle that straddled a great river, which had been harnessed by the house and its masters generations before, to irrigate the estate and surrounding county, to power the house's hydro-electric plant, to populate its plumbing and the fountains and water features and pools that dotted the castle and its estate. Breakriver had been built in much the same way, though by necessity at a much smaller scale. Natasi Fortan was wealthy, but not wealthy enough to replicate Herevan here, in the mountains northeast of the capital. And there was a moment -- fast approaching, as the navigation droid piloted the small, shallow boat towards the curve in the river -- that Natasi particularly enjoyed.

As the boat came around a tone outcropping, Breakriver emerged into view, jutting out of the side of the river bank with its improbable cantilvered roofs and balconies. Natasi couldn't help but smile as the autumn foliage resolved around the house, all concrete and stucco and glass. And it was hers -- to dispose of as she chose, without the restrictive property laws of Galidraan to choose for her. That was worth the price of admission in itself.

It was not what one would expect, Natasi reflected as the boat sailed towards the landing at the foot of a set of stairs that descended to the river where the boat would dock. It was not what she had expected, or set out to build. Her initial instinct was to create a small manor house -- traditional, in the style of Galidraani country homes, but on a smaller scale. But while meeting with the architect, the plans ultimately used for Breakriver had caught her eye. They were unexpected, somehow. Refreshingly different, even. Something about the design spoke to her -- a gentle reminder that though the house would be hers, she was not the only one who would live there. There was the question of [member="Darell Irani"], a man who was moderately more progressive than Natasi, who did not find himself bound by the same traditionalism that the Grand Moff did, and who was shaping up to be rather a permanent fixture in her life.

Or at least semi-permanent, she silently amended with a smirk.

The boat docked and Natasi stood, carefully stepping out onto the small landing before mounting the steps upwards. The doors swept open as Natasi approached them, with the friendly face of her butler, Mr. Hendersmith, smiling down from the top of the steps. "Good afternoon, Your Excellency. Welcome home." He looked theatrically around her. "His Grace is not with you?"

Natasi allowed him to help her out of the traveling cloak that had shielded her from the autumnal chill. "Thank you, Hendersmith. I'm so pleased to be back. Have things been quiet?" She had employed Hendersmith here, rather than at her home in Avalonia, to give the man a rest. He had been middle-aged when Natasi was a girl, so he must have been ancient by now. He needed to rest his bones, and there wasn't typically a lot of activity at Breakriver. "No, the Duke has business elsewhere this weekend, but he will be here for the Life Day holiday... even if I have to hold his hand to the radiator until he agrees," she said with a comically menacing smirk.

"Oh, yes, ma'am," he said gruffly as he hung up her cloak in the closet. "I wish you'd let me line the staff up when you arrive, like the old days."

"There's nowhere for them to stand, Hendersmith," said Natasi with a chuckle. "I can't very well have them falling in the river. Besides, when we have company that come by ground, you can line them up on the bridge as officious as you like."

"And I certainly will, too," said Hendersmith with a sniff, "when Mr. Fortescue arrives tomorrow morning."

"He's only a painter," Natasi said as she peeled her gloves off, handing them over to her butler. Fortescue had been commissioned to paint an official portrait of the Grand Moff by the Ministry of Culture & Heritage -- or more accurately, by Petyr Calinda, its Minister -- so that it could hang in government buildings. Natasi thought the whole thing was idiotic; everyone in the First Order knew what she looked like, but Calinda had been quite insistent. Fortescue had rejected the idea of painting Natasi in her office, or aboard the Concordia. He wanted her to be relaxed and uninterrupted, and so here she was.

"I'll just go and fetch the luggage," said Mr. Hendersmith, but Natasi stopped him.

"Let the droids get it," Natasi said dismissively. "It's just a small bag and the red box. By the way, Sioux Chambers will be coming each morning to take the previous day's box and each evening to deliver the one from that day, so do see that she is taken care of, won't you?"

"Of course, Your Excellency," said Hendersmith. "Would you like to take tea?"

"Ah -- no, let's save the tea until Mr. Fortescue gets here," replied Natasi thoughtfully. "Do suppose Mrs. Norda would mind making the full spread for tomorrow's tea-time? And a full Galidraani at -- oh, say nine o'clock until ten. He's supposed to arrive before then, so if he's hungry we'll feed him."

Hendersmith looked thunderstruck at the notion that Natasi was concerned about putting out one of her staff. "Your Excellency, it is not Mrs. Norda's place to mind," he said in a tone of mild disapproval.

"Very well, then. Please communicate my request to the kitchen." She clasped her hands in front of her, looking around the room with a small smile emerging onto her face. It was good to be back at Breakriver. "And something light for dinner. Fish, perhaps? And a salad. And you can pick the wine -- nothing from the Duke's reserves, please." She glanced at her chronometer. "There should be another hour or so of daylight, so I think I'll ride the short trail."

"Very good, Your Excellency," said Hendersmith, bowing his head reverentially. "Would you care to take cocktails at seven-thirty as per your usual?"

"Of course," said Natasi quickly. "Some things never change."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

The following morning after breakfast, Natasi and Mr. Fortescue, a funny little foreigner with his thinning hair slicked back and a thick black mustache that he obviously groomed with care, retired to the area of the open floor plan she had designated the drawing room, to discuss the portrait. Mr. Fortescue was, in Natasi's parlance, a fop, in his tailored three piece suit and bowtie, with matching pocket square and pince-nez style glasses. He squinted at her over a cup of tea with his beady, perceptive little eyes, and smiled tightly. When he spoke, he did so in a slightly higher-pitched voice than she would have expected by looking at him, and in an old-Coruscanti accent. Natasi was beginning to regret it even before they settled in the drawing room.... area, and it only got worse when he began to speak.

"You must be wondering why I recommended this place for your portrait, Mademoiselle Fortan," he said pleasantly. Natasi didn't have a chance to respond when he answered his own question: "I wanted to see you at your most relaxed and open, to truly capture the essence of the woman. Not hemmed in by the trappings and responsibilities of office, or dwarfed by the city you created, or in the space that was not your own at the hotel where you live. No, I wanted to see you -- to capture you -- in your own space."

Natasi didn't have the heart to tell him that she was not particularly comfortable at Breakriver yet. She liked it, and she enjoyed coming here, but she was never one to really disengage and relax. The only time she had had been at Herevan Hold, now gone in a fire. So, she put on her diplomatic smile and said: "Well, you know best I suppose. I assume that means you don't want me in my uniform."

"Not at all, mademoiselle," he said. "What you have on is perfectly fine. The clothing is of minimal importance."

Natasi looked down at her choices. It was not what she would have chosen to be painted in, but it wouldn't do to make a fuss. Looking up again, she asked: "What is your method, Mr. Fortescue? Will you take photos first? I'm afraid this is my first time being painted."

"Ah, oui, the photographs. To get the details and shape. But I must sketch you and lay down some paint as well. Then I will zip back to the studio and finish from the photos and my impressions."

"I hope you will paint me in a reasonably flattering light," said Natasi apprehensively.

Mr. Fortescue did not answer at first, but smiled enigmatically over his cup. Then: "It is a difficult thing to paint a person -- to capture a person on canvas -- and harder still to do it by photograph. Take la mademoiselle for instance. She is, if you will excuse my saying so, a woman of immeasurable power." Natasi's eyes furrowed, but she did not contradict him. "She is in the highest halls of authority in the First Order, a major galactic power. She is the daughter of the Earl of Herevan, raised from birth to be an aristocrat. She is, I daresay, a woman in her own right, separate from her titles and offices and factions. She is daughter, sister, lover perhaps, someday wife? Mother? Grandmother?" He set his teacup down. "She has an image as mother of a nation, firm and feminine and strong and maternal all at once. Her words inspire a nation and a people, but that is the public. What of the private? What of the real mademoiselle? It is my challenge to communicate as much of you -- you, not 'The Grand Moff' or 'Lady Natasi Fortan' strictly, but capturing both. Ah, quel dommage, it is very difficult to explain."

Natasi hesitated. "Very well," she murmured. "Then I shall just wait and see. Now, where do you want me?"

"In the armchair, there, facing the window. Look at this beautiful natural light. Ah, mademoiselle, it was the right choice to be here instead of the city, n'est pas?" He waited for the Grand Moff to take her seat, and she did, shifting this way and that until it was just right. Then, she sat like a statue, except for, in her lap, where her clasped hands anxiously twisted a ring around her finger. "Please, mademoiselle, do sit still." Natasi inclined her head and gave an apologetic smile. "Now... look off towards the window. Perfect!" He snapped a few photos, then continued to move her around -- first sitting, then standing, then sitting again -- first in the armchair, then by the window, then behind the small desk.