fit check for my napalm era
Verity stood in the conference room off her office, watching the news.
To say that conditions on Alderaan had deteriorated would be an understatement. This was tragic, not least of all for the Alderaanians, but just as importantly to Verity in this instance -- in this private unguarded moment where she was unobserved but for her closest adviser, the man who knew her well enough to know that she could care about two things simultaneously -- it could prove disastrous for Verity's own political career. She had championed Alderaan's entry into the High Republic, partially because it was an old and prestigious Core world which would only serve to add more legitimacy to the Sith Covenant if it slipped into their dark grasp, and partially because it would serve as a bulwark against those self-same Sith when they inevitably turned their attention south.
Then the Organas had comprehensively defecated the bed and done a bunk, and now Duke Denrin of House Serrus' murder left a power vacuum in Alderaan and the future of their entry into the Republic in question. And if it all went south, Verity knew that it would be she that would be the one left holding the bag, because she had been the loudest voice pushing for it. In other words, if things went bad, it was the end of Verity's political ambitions -- and possibly the end of her political career.
"This cannot continue," Verity told Lucian Varencourt, her Chief of Staff, without raising her head or turning to look at him. "We need to find a horse to back, and we need to do it now."
Varencourt approached from the side, shifting a dossier from the table into her field of vision on the table, a photo of
Verity frowned and finally allowed herself to straighten. She thought she heard crunching in her neck as she raised her head, and she reached back to massage her neck. "Thul's claim is impressive," she agreed. "But as far as I can tell he is not overly keen on binding himself to our interests. And I want more information about who's supporting his claim before I reach out to him. There will be worse than egg on my face if we schedule a meeting he rejects us -- and worse, still, if through an act of desperation we support someone who will hinder the Republic's aims."
Varencourt made an unsatisfied noise and proffered another dossier. A bland ginger looked up from the photograph clipped to the front. "Panteer is an ancient name, ma'am. The claim, if she were to press it, may well rival Thul's."
"The wallflower?" Verity mused, skeptical. "Has she even responded to our inquiries?"
"Not her," said Varencourt cautiously. "However, her husband has expressed an interest."
She huffed and shook her head. "Expressed an interest. Gods, these people." She frowned and took the file from Varencourt and settled into the chair behind her, studying. Halfway through Verity looked up at Lucian. "Is she more interesting than she looks?"
"Unclear, ma'am," said Varencourt. "Her reputation is one for propriety, steadiness, and a generalized reluctance to engage in politics." His eyes met her pale blue ones. "We can do something with that. Not avaricious, not grasping for power. Staid. Settled. If she rises to the occasion now, it is for conscience."
"Is that how she feels?" Verity asked.
Varencourt straightened and smoothed his necktie. "Does it matter, ma'am?"
Verity was quiet for a long time. "Bring them in." She handed the folder back and Varencourt took it. She paused, keeping a grasp on it. "Quietly, Varencourt," she murmured, finally releasing the folder to him. "I don't want people thinking we've made a decision before we've made it."
* * * * *
Two days later, Verity returned from a voting session on the floor and shrugged out of her pale blue blazer, exposing the satin ivory blouse below. Varencourt was at her elbow, as per. "There's going to be blood in the water if we don't get something together and fast," Verity said irritably. "I managed to put them off for now, but if we don't have anything next week, I won't be able to answer to it again. We have, ah -- what is it, the Panteer woman?"
"Your next appointment, as a matter of fact," he said. "Shall I send him in?"
"Him?"
"The Duchess is not with him. I'm sure Lord Alde will be able to explain."
Verity looked over her desk at her Chief of Staff, her face briefly appearing uncertain, almost haggard. She recomposed herself into the vague pleasantness of a politician, looking like she had only missed two nights of sleep, not two weeks, and nodded. "All right," she said, not sounding especially convinced. "Then I'll see him now."