Assassins: And All You Have to Do is Move Your Little Finger | Moff Council

[Natasi Fortan]

​

"It was treachery, with a smile on its face."​

-The Park Lane Years: An Autobiography, Natasi Fortan, page 13 (unedited draft)​

It was not unusual to see members of the Moff Council in the streets of Avalonia, particularly the streets near the capital building, and particularly following a cabinet meeting. So the people along Victory Square weren't shocked when they saw the Foreign Minister Clémence Wallace and the Culture & Heritage Minister Petyr Calinda strolling along the sidewalk together in deep but quiet conversation. They stopped into a bistro on the northern edge of the square, one that catered to the bureaucrats that traversed the area. They stepped out of the sunshine and spoke to the hostess, who nodded and escorted them into the back room. Ten minutes later, each had a sandwich and a glass of wine, and the pair were navigating a secret staircase down into a small wine cave. It looked like the place conspirators would gather while planning a coup.

It's fitting, then, Clémence thought as she set her plate and glass down, then pulled a roughhewn wooden chair out to sit.

The cabinet meeting had been a revelation. In the weeks since the death of Talbot Vitalis, there had been rumors in the staff in Number 10 that things were rough but manageable. The staff knew enough about the workings of the government and the policies to keep things in motion as the Grand Moff worked through her grief. And no one expected the Grand Moff to bounce back from it just a month out, but during the cabinet meeting, she had been irritable, domineering, confused, and incoherent in turns. All was not well. In the short term, it was bad for the empire but survivable.

In the long term... who could say?

"It's only been a month," said Clémence to Calinda after a few moments of silence, finally breaking the ice on the conversation both had been bursting to say since the cabinet meeting had broken up. "A month and a few days," she amended.

"A month. During a war. It's an eternity," said Petyr flatly, with a venom that surprised his lunchmate. "Can we afford to wait for her to pull herself together?"

Clémence studied her friend carefully. The Deputy Grand Moff had been the longest-serving Moff on the Council, a stable figure in the First Order establishment. His gift for propaganda had caught Fortan's eye over a decade ago, and he had helped to shape the message and communicate it to the public, building a nigh-unshakeable devotion to the First Order and its leaders among the populace. His loyalty to the First Order was without question, and until recently so too had been his loyalty to Fortan herself. But he had long since outgrown his brief at the Ministry of Culture & Heritage; he longed for a better posting, one that would come with more responsibility and prestige, preferably one of the four high offices of state -- the Foreign Office, the Home Office, the Ministry of Defense, or the Exchequer. But Natasi needed him -- or at least wanted him -- where he was. He considered it frivolous compared with what he thought himself capable of.

"I never thought I'd hear you say so," said Clémence casually. She set down her sandwich and took a sip of wine, a red so bitter it could put hair on the chest of lesser people. "You two were the dynamic duo from the word go, or so I'd always heard."

"You know me, I haven't got an ambitious bone in my body," said Petyr as he waved his napkin airily, covering his mouth with one hand to avoid showing his masticating. "This is about what the country needs right now. We can't afford part-time leadership in the middle of a war."

The Foreign Secretary's dark eyes searched Calinda's face for a few moments, inscrutable behind her glasses, flickering this way and that. "Tell me this is about the empire - about the war - and not about being passed over for my job or Eriksen's or Temple's. I'm willing to entertain this -- whatever it is -- if it's not for a personal vendetta."

Calinda finished chewing, then swallowed. "Can't it be both? But seriously -- it's a war, Clemmy, it's a bloody war."

"Right," said the Foreign Secretary after a moment. "Very well. What are we going to do about it? We can't very well overthrow her. I doubt whether we could get the Supreme Leader to sack her." She frowned thoughtfully and sipped her wine. "We should probably speak to the rest of the cabinet."

"You don't think they'd sell us out?"

Clemmy shrugged. "Graush has no love lost for the Grand Moff. Calgar would take a potato peeler to his -- well, everywhere -- for the top job. The only opposition we might face is Eriksen -- maybe Horne, but I'd wager he's ambitious enough that he wouldn't put up a fight if he thought it meant a better position for him. He wanted to keep Finance & Commerce -- dual hat -- so if he thinks he can get that. With enough support, we might be able to convince the Grand Moff to delegate the entirety of the war to Graush. Then we could avoid anything... unpleasant."

Calinda closed his eyes, disguising the eyeroll. "Wouldn't that be nice." His tone said he didn't believe it could happen. "I'll put some feelers out. See if we can get some of the other Moffs to meet us one to one."

"Fine with me. Let's call it something innocuous on our calendars. Wine-tasting. We could meet here."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Clémence drained her glass and set it down, and they made their way towards the exit. "By the way, you got mustard on your tie. Good one."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"There was so much more that I wanted to do."​

-The Park Lane Years: An Autobiography, Natasi Fortan, page 19 (unedited draft)​

​

Four days later...

Virginia hiked her pocketbook handles onto her shoulder as she juggled the cardboard container holding four cups of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other, holding a commlink to her ear. "It's a war, Geoffrey, you're going to have to dig deeper than that... Oh, really? Geoffrey -- stop it, listen -- I mean, you can continue to talk over me but that's not going to get the Minister to approve your licensing request. I thought that might work. Listen -- we're not asking for anything ridiculous. At-cost plus ten percent contracts for your wares in exchange for a license to expand your operations. That's a steal even before you throw in the fact that we're at war, and won't it look good for you to have the thanks of the Ministry of Industry for your generous contributions to the war effort?"

She paused to allow Geoffrey to respond as she pushed through the glass doors into the Minister's outer office. "Geoffrey, do you want the new factories or not?" She made eye contact with a junior aide, then raised her eyebrows and gestured with the coffee caddy. The aide got up and rushed around the desk to take the coffee and bag, freeing up Virginia's hands so that she could set her handbag down. "It is that simple, Geoffrey, it really is," she said, turning to pick the coffee and bag again. Virginia headed across the outer office to the inner office of the Minister of Industry & Development [member="Kilian Horne"]. "Because it is, Geoffrey. Just give me a yes and I'll get the paperwork started." She paused halfway to Horne's desk, then smiled into the ether. "I knew you'd see reason. You'll be hearing from us."

She snapped her communicator shut and came around to Horne's desk, perching on the corner and crossing her legs as she set the cups down in front of Horne, followed by the bag. "Your non-fat latte, extra shot -- and an extra, and my Extremely Red Eye," she selected her drip coffee with four shots of espresso from the cupholder and took a sip, wincing at the warmth of the coffee. "I got you a chocolate croissant." She opened the bag and pulled out the pastry with a napkin, then pulled her own apple fritter out with another napkin, crumpling up the bag and tossing it in the garbage to her left next to the desk before she leaned over and touched the 'privacy lock' button on Horne's desk, oblivious to the fact that she had a bit of foam on her upper lip, forming a caffeinated mustache.

"I had the most interesting conversation with Petyr Calinda at the Excellence in Media banquet last night." She took a bite of her apple fritter and mumbled around a mouthful of pastry: "How would you like to be Minister of Finance - the Exchequer - one of the Big Four?"

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Virginia Schnapp"]

"Thank you, Virginia." He accepted the caf without looking and started to blow the heat away. At least for a moment, before the woman dropped a bomb on him and acted like it was a little feather of no concern. Kilian put it back down, very careful, articulate, the gesture made with a lot of thought. Then he put away his papers, placed his pen back in the pot and then looked up to Schnapp. This was a matter of great sensitivity and that deserved a matter of attention-

"Um." He gestured slowly to his own lip to put her attention on hers. This was already starting out to be... interesting to say the least. "I have already been Minister of Finance." He pointed out patiently while studying her suspiciously.

There was more here than Virginia was saying and even with the privacy button engaged Kil had become very cautious.

You didn't get to his position by throwing caution to the wind after all.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Don't be ridiculous, of course, I know that." She didn't mention that she knew a great deal more about [member="Kilian Horne"] than she let on, from where his finances lay to his family history to how he took his eggs to exactly which bum cheek his birthmark was on, and in what shape. Her role as a deep cover operative made such information necessary and proper. "And you had to leave it in the hands of a lesser man in order to take the reigns in this department. Something to do with the Grand Moff not wanting dual hats in government. Her Majesty has become somewhat paranoid in her old age, and I can say that because it was true even before her husband died."

She sipped her coffee and took another bite of her pastry, then dabbed her lip. "Rumor has it there may be a change in administration. That the Grand Moff might be -- ah -- persuaded to divest herself of some or all of her authority so she can deal with her grief appropriately. There was a suggestion that you might play a major role in the post-Fortan future..." Her eyes flicked up from her coffee cup to Horne's face. "... should you be willing to assist with the transition," she concluded diplomatically.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Virginia Schnapp"]

Well, it seemed Virginia was quite well-informed for an assistant only recently in his employ, but that was a thing easily overlooked when her competence made a host of things so much easier. When you could basically tell someone what needed to be done and they'd do it without needing their hand held? Well, that was a quality that was very appreciated in the bureaucratic circles.

So many inept people running around.

He took a sip and hummed softly in appreciation of the coffee. She received a nod of appreciation, before he mulled her words. "Grand Moff Fortan has been the collective spine and heart of our nation for a long time now." Kil finally murmured, pondering the ramifications further. "The people love her, the loss of her husband has only further solidified her in their hearts and minds."

One of us, they thought.

"The nation would not be as strong as it is right now without her." This was a point that needed to be made. One could betray someone, yes, but their accomplishments couldn't be overlooked when they were as great as hers.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"Consider me chastened and rebuked," said Virginia, bowing her head in a silent mea culpa. "Believe me, I don't think there is any danger that anyone will forget. Everything in the First Order bears her touch. But I think what Minister Calinda is getting at is that the nation will not be as strong a year from now with her." The aide pushed away from the desk and walked over to the window, lifting her cup with one hand and sipping while pushing the curtain away from the window with the other, letting her gaze out at Avalonia. "It's no secret that she is unenthusiastic about the war, to put it mildly. Her affinity for [member="Jaius Sovv"] is troubling -- the way she keeps him around like some sort of grotesque stuffed teddy."

Her slender frame trembled in a shudder at the thought of being around a Sullustan.

"And I know what happened in last weeks cabinet meeting. She's not at her best and we have no way of knowing when she will return to being her best." She let the curtain fall back, hiding Avalonia from her sight. "If she can be convinced to stand down for the good of the country, that will only serve to secure her legacy with the people." Virginia turned back to [member="Kilian Horne"]. "But if she loses this war because her heart isn't in it -- and her heart isn't in it -- she won't enjoy the love and support of the people, and neither will you or anyone else who stood by and let it happen." She picked up her apple fritter and offered it to the Moff.

"Snack?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"I'm not equipped for intrigue, and (rather foolishly, it would seem) I thought it had no place in the First Order"
-The Park Lane Years: An Autobiography, Natasi Fortan, page 21 (unedited draft)

Natasi stood on the balcony of her office in the Imperial Palace. It had fallen out of favor for her during the war, knowing that it would be a target for terrorists and assassins. From any number of rooftops in Avalonia, one could hoist a rifle and vaporize her head from here. But now, Number 10 seemed empty and cold, and being around people who avoided her gaze was better than being around no one at all, so she had returned to working regularly at the Palace. The unseasonably cold breeze did its best to tussle her hair, but the chestnut locks were tightly braided and fastened, secured by hair clips of dull, carved jet. In fact, there seemed to be plenty of jet to go around these days, for in the weeks since her husband's death, she had stored away anything colorful -- clothing, jewelry, accessories. She wore nothing but black now; even her Cosmic Balance pendant sat in a bedside table, serving penance for reminding Natasi that in everything bad -- war, death, widowhood -- there was an equal and opposite good.

She couldn't see it, now. The religion that had brought her comfort and wisdom when her mother died in her youth, when her brother died in battle, when her father was killed in a hunting accident -- even when her best friend and cousin had betrayed her -- now mocked her with its silence. Her confessor could not convince her that she must embrace loss, not when it left her son without a father and herself without a husband. His words and scriptures could not persuade her that her pain was blessed because it brought great joy to someone deserving. The Equilibrium was unable to soothe the sting of so many wasted years.

Nothing could, but gin at least made her sleepy.

Natasi swirled her drink in her glass before draining it and turning to go back inside. She was surprised to find her PPS, Theodore Glass, standing near her desk. "Mr. Glass," Natasi said dully. "What do you need?"

"Minister Calinda is in the outer office. He'd like a word."

"No."

Theodore seemed somewhat taken aback by the flat refusal. "Ah -- he was very insistent, ma'am. He'd like to discuss some changes to the engagement calendar you and he had set up."

Natasi rolled her eyes, suppressing the urge to shout at Glass. She set her glass down with a heavy thunk on her desk and walked to the door, putting her arm out to shepherd Glass towards the door. She opened the door and saw Calinda, all shining teeth, and golden hair, standing and admiring the group portrait of the Cabinet taken earlier that year. "Petyr." She half-turned to Glass. "Get out." The two men passed awkwardly in the doorway and Natasi shut the door after Calinda came in. She said nothing as she went back to her desk, picked up her glass, and went to the sideboard to pour another G&T. "What's the problem, Petyr?"

"I got an updated calendar from your office this afternoon. You've removed the rally at Victory Square -- the State Broadcast address -- the commencement address at the military academy in Prosperia. All your public engagements," Petyr said, his gaze following Natasi as she went back to her desk and sat behind it.

"Yes," said Natasi as she picked up her pen and began sifting through the documents on her desk. "What of it?"

"These are important engagements, designed as part of a media campaign to reinforce support for the government and the war. There are concerns that without a coordinated and continuous effort, the Ministry of Defense might not make its recruitment goals. It's important that we keep all the plates spinning." He paused and put his hands on her desk, looming over Natasi's diminutive seated frame. "No matter what personal issues are making things difficult."

Natasi was silent. She ran her finger across her bottom lip as she scanned the document in front of her, then scratched a line out of the text and made a note in the margin. She went down the page, leaving Calinda in silence for over a full minute before she etched her signature into the page at the bottom and set it aside, finally looking up to the Minister of Culture. "I don't think the Ministry of Defense is going to have a problem. The shellacking Graush gave the Alliance at Dagobah and Varonat are enough grist for the mill."

"Natasi -- Grand Moff," the Minister amended when Natasi's dark eyes went glacial. "The people respond best to you -- your record, your speaking, they know where they stand with you. They're happy to sacrifice whatever they can if you only ask them to."

"Petyr, I'm not doing it," said Natasi. "That's flat. And frankly, I find the very suggestion that I go out there and tell people to die for their country before I've even had the chance to bury my husband to be absurd. How can you ask it of me?"

Calinda's eyes hardened, his mouth going white as he pressed his lips together. "We all have a job to do, ma'am."

"Yes," said Natasi coldly. She stood up and met his gaze full on. "And your job is to craft a message that achieves the aims of this government at my direction. You don't give me instructions. Is that clear? Is that quite clear? I am the Grand Moff -- the Supreme Leader chose me to lead this government, not you, and until that changes you will do as I say. Not the other way around. Say you understand, Petyr. Say you understand what your responsibilities are, or you can pack your things today."

"I know what my responsibilities are, Natasi." Petyr glared at her across the desk, blue eyes clashing with brown. "Do you? You have a responsibility to the nation."

"Oh, Petyr. Don't be stupid." Natasi smirked, a slightly deranged, indulgent chuckle escaping her lips. "I am the nation. Now get out of my office."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Three days later...

"Moff Eriksen, I'm glad you decided to join us," said Clémence, raising her glass in a silent salute to the newest member of the Wine Tasting Club -- those members of the Moff Council and their most trusted staff who were committed to confronting the Grand Moff and demanding change. They now had three of the four high offices of state on board -- Camille Temple in the Exchequer, Eriksen the Home Secretary, and Wallace herself the Foreign Secretary. [member="Asharad Graush"] would be a tough nut to crack; they weren't quite sure where and how to approach him. [member="Dante Calgar"] was similarly uncommitted, but [member="Virginia Schnapp"] reported that there was reason to hope that [member="Kilian Horne"] was soon to come on board. Calinda was on board as well, and though Emiko Endo had made it clear that she wanted no part in the conspiracy, she had also informed them (through her cabinet soulmate, Allen Eriksen) that she didn't view it as a resigning issue, either.

Five ministers in favor. Three remained.

"I know it wasn't easy," Calinda chimed in after taking a sip of his wine.

"There's no choice. We can't afford anything but total commitment to the war effort now. It sets an example for the nation. This really is no time to go all wobbly," said Eriksen, parroting one of the Grand Moff's signature phrases. "What's next?"

"The Supreme Commander," said Calinda. "Without him, this turns into a coup and not a unified effort by the cabinet to respond to extraordinary circumstances."

"What if he says no? What if he turns us in?" asked Temple, sipping her Cabernet Sauvignon sedately.

Clémence stood up and set her wine down. "There's no 'us' in this. I'll go to him myself and indicate a substantial support in Cabinet. He won't know names. If he rats us out to the Grand Moff, I'm the only one who's connected to it. I'm the one who gets the sack. You can all roundly denounce me to the press." She pulled her coat on and wound a silk scarf around her neck, then picked up her wine and drained it in one long gulp, repressing a shudder as it burned down her throat. "The wine her is awful. Next time we plan to overthrow the government can't we do it someplace nice?" The Foreign Secretary pulled her gloves on and looked around. "Well, wish me luck."

The Foreign Secretary was not a stranger to the Ministry of Defense, nor was it unheard of for her to meet with Graush in her official capacity. She had arranged something on his schedule -- some throwaway that sounded boring enough not to raise alarms, about increased military encryption on embassy security systems. But as she stepped off the lift onto the administrative floor, she felt somewhat out of place and guilty. She quickly crossed the lobby to Graush's office, where she checked in with the administrative assistant there. A few minutes later, she was shown in. "Supreme Commander," said Wallace. "Good to see you. Thank you for taking the time."

 

[Asharad Graush]

L-49, Dagobah, Varonat, the three most recent engagements the First Order not only partook in, but won. Graush didn't lose, couldn't, at this point. Every battle the Alliance fell more and more behind them in terms of military and technological prowess.

The Ministry of Defense was in its prime in these days. Recruitment quotas were reached almost threefold in the more Imperialistic planets in the Order's borders. Numbers in the Pacanth Reach were high, and he was certain they would stay that way.

"Uh, additional applications to the Special Forces, my Lord." Waving his hand dismissively, his attendant said, "To Marshal Lee?" A soldier who had served under him before the disbandment of the Wolves, he had ascended under the direction of Graush when he had been made Supreme Commander. In response, Graush nodded, almost imperceptibly, but this weasel faced attendant of his had long since learned his movements and silent responses.

The first successful experiments with the Death Trooper Program was underway for some time, though when he was warned of [member="Clémence Wallace"] making her way into his office, he was just finished signing with his biometric signature for their next mission. On Imperial territory, Bespin even, but by the time the helmeted visage looked up to the Foreign Security, the papers were being reshuffled and the Sith Lord made a tss sound, and his attendant vacated the room.

The signing of papers was over. He could sense that much with his limited abilities in the Force, gradually returning to him over time since that green Jidai stripped him of his connection on Dagobah.

"Foreign Secretary," he says, the colossal form of the Sith Lord turning from the reinforced transparisteel window. He had heard of what happened to that Security Chief Bureau, and his window had been doubly reinforced to prevent the same to happen to him. Graush didn't waste time. He liked to think that prior to his addition to the Moff Council they wasted plenty of time bandying words, greetings, lengthening the process. With him, it was straight to the point. The political dance... It didn't interest him. He just... Took what he wanted and left. "Speak," he uttered, his cybernetic arm waving to the chair opposite his desk, whirring as it moved.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

It was always nice to be embraced in the collegial warmth of a cabinet colleague, Clémence thought as she repressed an eyeroll. "Supreme Commander. I know you're a busy man so I'll get right to the point. I'm here representing certain cabinet colleagues whose names I'll leave out of the conversation for now. The long and short is that there are enormous concerns among the cabinet regarding Grand Moff Fortan's performance and ability. Even before Dagobah, her lack of enthusiasm for the war has been palpable."

She sat in the proffered seat and crossed her legs, looking up at the towering man. "Since Dagobah -- since her husband was killed -- she has been... not herself. Missing appointments, losing the thread of critical meetings, and her absurd attachment to that revolting leather-faced [member="Jaius Sovv"] -- it's unseemly at best, but I think it's not 'at best'. I think it's dangerous. Cabinet colleagues agree. This war is too important to let her make a dog's breakfast of it."

Wallace spread her palms. "I propose that the Cabinet demand that she devolve the administration of the war to you and leave her out of it entirely. And we should tell her we are prepared to resign if she won't agree. If it were just myself and other cabinet colleagues, it's six to five and pick 'em that she'd just sack us and start over. But you -- I think your support could make the difference." She raised her eyebrows at [member="Asharad Graush"]. "What are your thoughts?"

[member="Dante Calgar"] | [member="Kilian Horne"] | [member="Virginia Schnapp"]​

 

[Asharad Graush]

Graush could report them all now, if he wanted. He didn't know specific cabinet members that had agreed to be in support of this play thanks to Wallace having not divulged the names, but it meant nothing. All of them could be sacked and a new line of Ministers would be promoted. However, that wasn't the choice that he felt was right. Betraying the Grand Moff would be a stain on the entirety of the Moff Council, especially if it were done forcefully, moreso if it were made public.

Graush thought otherwise.

The administration of the war in his complete control? It was... Ideal.

But this is the beginning of the Order's cutthroat politics.

This wasn't just about the war. These Moffs... Don't care at all for it.

Perhaps Calgar did, but beyond him? There was doubts for all of them.

"The Administration of War has been in my total control for as long as the Grand Moff has unfortunately been emotionally incapable of performing her duties correctly." Pausing while he raises an armoured arm, waving back and forth with both middle and index fingers raised to signal that he wasn't done. "You want her removed from office indefinitely... Don't you?" he says, pulling back the chair on his side of the desk and lowering himself into it as fast as his suit of armour would allow, which wasn't that fast. It actually required slowly easing him into it.

"But... My thoughts are the Grand Moff will not return for sometime, and the reason for that is because she doesn't trust herself at the helm anymore." Cybernetic fingers tapping upon the table. "Whether she thinks so or not, I believe that's what you and your consorts believe."

Leaning back into the chair, the Sith Lord paused.

Test the waters.

And adapt.

But with the Grand Moff more or less out of the picture, the other Moffs... The other Imperials likely tasted blood in the water.

Ascension, was the plan.

Graush was key in that, he believed.

[member="Clémence Wallace"]