skin, bone, and arrogance
Natasi Fortan's mother had always told her only daughter that one day, she would grow up and marry, and that if she were very lucky, she would marry a man that looked at her and saw her as she was -- that saw her as she was and loved her for it. Twenty years later, one broken engagement and a string of not-quite-love affairs later, Natasi wondered whether her mother had really known anything at all. Hers was a mercenary marriage -- she an heiress, but more importantly, tied to a fortune that bailed out Herevan when a series of miserable years meant it had almost been sold off piecemeal. Her parents had loved one another, it was true, but Natasi suspected that this easy affection had come after their vows, not before.
Now standing in front of the floor-length mirror in the dressing room of the penthouse she had bought and subsequently bequeathed to the First Order. A ladies maid stood behind her, straightening a strap here, smoothing a wrinkle there, but Natasi didn't see her. She was busy watching herself, trying to see herself as her mother had suggested a man might. She was not bad looking -- slim, pale, brunette -- but there was more to it than that. What was underneath? Intelligence, loyalty, dedication, and rather unexpectedly a passion that burned almost painfully within her breast. Modesty and propriety, to be sure, but also talent and sheer will. At least, she hoped that was what he would see.
Natasi had known Ludolf Vaas for a long time. He had saved her life on no less than three occasions -- during their escape from Coruscant, after the bombing at Skye, and most recently to authorize the campaign to pluck her battered body out of the clutches of the Resistance on Hoth -- and they had worked closely in the First Order for a long time. Natasi felt -- and of course, she had no way of knowing whether he felt the same -- that they had become good friends and colleagues. But ever since Skye, Natasi had come to view Vaas in an entirely different light, and despite the almost overwhelming discomfort it had given her, she had never had the courage to tell him so, because, the Moff realized as she studied her reflection in the mirror, in addition to all the positive things she saw about herself, she also saw a coward.
Her job was everything to her, and she had always feared that if she had ever mentioned her feelings to Vaas, and he reciprocated them, it would complicate their working relationship. Worse, if he rejected her, she wondered if she would ever be able to face him again. But her ordeal at the hands of the Resistance had taught her that her work couldn't be her life. She was not made to be alone, she was not designed to hold her life on her shoulders but to share the burden, and in turn share his. At first she had thought it a delusion from the drugs, but as the fog of painkillers and sleeping medication burned away, all was resolved around the valorous figure of Ludolf Vaas, and she had promised herself then and there that she would be a coward no more.
Life intervened, as it always had. The inquiry into Natasi's conduct had taken its time, during the duration of which, she made no attempt to see or contact him. If she was found lacking, she wouldn't want to tarnish his image. But the inquiry had concluded -- had concluded just that day, in fact, that very morning, and Natasi had been invited to return to her office, and one of her first actions had been to invite Vaas for drinks. She intended to have it out, once and for all, and if it meant the end of her career, if it meant the end of her dignity, then so be it. But Natasi knew that she couldn't go on as she had for so long. It was time. It was time to be brave after years of cowardice. She was terrified. She was determined.
Of course, the fact that she had been declared dead complicated things. Her will had been executed, and so the letter she had written to Vaas one lonely night after a few G&Ts and after using nearly every piece of paper in her flat to write what she felt without writing what she felt, the letter in which she had poured out her feelings and regret and encouragement for him to reach for the greatness that they both knew he possessed, of her deep regret for not having the courage to tell him how she felt while she was alive, and a plea that he continue her work -- their work -- on in her absence, had been delivered. She had know way of knowing whether it had been read or simply discarded, though she reflected that that would be telling. But for the moment, she put all of this out of her mind. It didn't matter, because she would not be a coward one more night.
The outfit she had selected was not her most conservative; nor was it risque. Natasi couldn't picture a man like Vaas respecting a woman who was too free -- though she had no way of knowing how wrong she was on that front -- and so she had chosen something that was not particularly low-cut, but was black and structured. Her hair was pulled into a pair of braided loops, tucked under a small bun -- not too loose, but certainly more relaxed than he would have seen at the office. A few final adjustments to the ensemble and she was ready. Natasi thanked her maid and studied her appearance one more time before nodding and smoothing the decorate fabric at her midsection. She didn't know if she was more excited or terrified.
It's not too late to cancel, an inner voice murmured, and Natasi felt her cheek twitch in irritation. She shut the light off and declared, loudly and to no one in particular, "Yes it is."
Now standing in front of the floor-length mirror in the dressing room of the penthouse she had bought and subsequently bequeathed to the First Order. A ladies maid stood behind her, straightening a strap here, smoothing a wrinkle there, but Natasi didn't see her. She was busy watching herself, trying to see herself as her mother had suggested a man might. She was not bad looking -- slim, pale, brunette -- but there was more to it than that. What was underneath? Intelligence, loyalty, dedication, and rather unexpectedly a passion that burned almost painfully within her breast. Modesty and propriety, to be sure, but also talent and sheer will. At least, she hoped that was what he would see.
Natasi had known Ludolf Vaas for a long time. He had saved her life on no less than three occasions -- during their escape from Coruscant, after the bombing at Skye, and most recently to authorize the campaign to pluck her battered body out of the clutches of the Resistance on Hoth -- and they had worked closely in the First Order for a long time. Natasi felt -- and of course, she had no way of knowing whether he felt the same -- that they had become good friends and colleagues. But ever since Skye, Natasi had come to view Vaas in an entirely different light, and despite the almost overwhelming discomfort it had given her, she had never had the courage to tell him so, because, the Moff realized as she studied her reflection in the mirror, in addition to all the positive things she saw about herself, she also saw a coward.
Her job was everything to her, and she had always feared that if she had ever mentioned her feelings to Vaas, and he reciprocated them, it would complicate their working relationship. Worse, if he rejected her, she wondered if she would ever be able to face him again. But her ordeal at the hands of the Resistance had taught her that her work couldn't be her life. She was not made to be alone, she was not designed to hold her life on her shoulders but to share the burden, and in turn share his. At first she had thought it a delusion from the drugs, but as the fog of painkillers and sleeping medication burned away, all was resolved around the valorous figure of Ludolf Vaas, and she had promised herself then and there that she would be a coward no more.
Life intervened, as it always had. The inquiry into Natasi's conduct had taken its time, during the duration of which, she made no attempt to see or contact him. If she was found lacking, she wouldn't want to tarnish his image. But the inquiry had concluded -- had concluded just that day, in fact, that very morning, and Natasi had been invited to return to her office, and one of her first actions had been to invite Vaas for drinks. She intended to have it out, once and for all, and if it meant the end of her career, if it meant the end of her dignity, then so be it. But Natasi knew that she couldn't go on as she had for so long. It was time. It was time to be brave after years of cowardice. She was terrified. She was determined.
Of course, the fact that she had been declared dead complicated things. Her will had been executed, and so the letter she had written to Vaas one lonely night after a few G&Ts and after using nearly every piece of paper in her flat to write what she felt without writing what she felt, the letter in which she had poured out her feelings and regret and encouragement for him to reach for the greatness that they both knew he possessed, of her deep regret for not having the courage to tell him how she felt while she was alive, and a plea that he continue her work -- their work -- on in her absence, had been delivered. She had know way of knowing whether it had been read or simply discarded, though she reflected that that would be telling. But for the moment, she put all of this out of her mind. It didn't matter, because she would not be a coward one more night.
The outfit she had selected was not her most conservative; nor was it risque. Natasi couldn't picture a man like Vaas respecting a woman who was too free -- though she had no way of knowing how wrong she was on that front -- and so she had chosen something that was not particularly low-cut, but was black and structured. Her hair was pulled into a pair of braided loops, tucked under a small bun -- not too loose, but certainly more relaxed than he would have seen at the office. A few final adjustments to the ensemble and she was ready. Natasi thanked her maid and studied her appearance one more time before nodding and smoothing the decorate fabric at her midsection. She didn't know if she was more excited or terrified.
It's not too late to cancel, an inner voice murmured, and Natasi felt her cheek twitch in irritation. She shut the light off and declared, loudly and to no one in particular, "Yes it is."