[Summit] Curt, Clear & Concise

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi listened thoughtfully. The truth was she often forgot about the plague. Being raised in the protective bosom of the relatively exclusive noble enclave on Galidraan, it was a luxury she had become accustomed to. There were still societies decimated by the plague, years and years after it had disappeared. That was a mystery that even Natasi couldn't find an answer to in the Balance.

“A safe society is the first building block of a cultural society,” she observed after a moment of companionable silence. “But the truth is, culture can never fully flourish, not on the grand scale, until there is peace and order in our galaxy. Who knows how many talented people were unable to enlighten us because some war or power struggle snuffed their life out before they had the chance?”

She paused briefly; one could almost see the gears turning under her flawlessly coiffed hair. “If you are interested in pursuing progress in the areas you mentioned -- civilian tech, culture, whatnot -- I'm sure we could work together on this if you were so inclined. The First Order has some very wealthy enclaves that are crying out for more sophisticated technology and lifestyle items. You could see a fairly good return in that sector of the economy. Luxury goods and status technology are always popular with the stratas that have seemingly endless disposable income.”

 

[Jairus Starvald]

There would never be peace and order in the Galaxy.

Not in their lifetime and probably not in the lifetime of the following generations to come. This was something that Irani knew intimately, because he knew the military-industrial complex, he knew the Sith and the Jedi, he knew the common folk and those who sat above them. All of them wanted something, some of them wanted the same thing, and more often than not the like-minded banded together to stamp out those who disagreed.

The Darkside fought against the Lightside, and vice versa.
The rich fought against the poor.
Tyrants fought against anarchists.

It was the nature of the Galaxy to be in constant conflict and it was in the nature of man like Irani to profit from these conflicts in one way or another. He did not like the One Sith, yet he profited from them regardless, he did not like the First Order - even if Natasi was a charming individual - yet he would take their money and favors regardless. He didn’t even particularly like the Sith as a whole, but their message of power and passion resonated with him.

So Irani stuck to that particular mantle.

"An interesting proposal, Lady Fortan." Darell smiled one of his smiles at her before nodding to himself. "Well, I feel like I have had enough of the view and the gloomy smoke."

He pushed himself off the balustrade and righted himself.

"Join my in my suite? I still have that bottle you were so kind to send to me, we will discuss the details of our agreement with more…" He glanced at the closed doors behind which the poppy music continued to pop. "...acceptable musical arrangements."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi blanched at his invitation, the color draining from her face except for the rosy patches on her cheeks from the chill. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't consider going to an acquaintance’s hotel room, for even the appearance of impropriety was anathema to her. But tomorrow would be the end of the summit, and it would be packed with events, so there might not be time to hammer out the details of the First Order - Iron Crown accord, and she desperately wanted to have something to release to the press to show what a success the event had been. She hesitated, then stepped away from the balustrade.

“Delighted,” she agreed,and followed him towards the elevator banks.

As it turned out, his suite was nearly identical to her own, but mirrored. She shrugged out of his coat and, after smoothing a few imaginary wrinkles out of it, handed it back to Irani with a bemused smirk. “Thank you so much. I hope you will send me the bill if it needs dry cleaning to get the scent of Shalimar out.”

Absent-mindedly, she strolled over to the window and looked out at the commanding view of Cloud City. “This must be breathtaking at dawn,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

"You are welcome to stay and watch, Lady Fortan." The reply came almost immediately after her murmur, it seemed all innocent, but had she been looking at him instead of the window she might have noticed a not-so-innocent glint in those eyes.

He left the coat on his bed and strolled over to the mini-bar where the gifted bottle was already waiting. Good quality too. It had surprised him when her assistant had strolled up with the little bag filled with cute foodstuffs and that one big, mighty bottle of unspecified alcoholic substance.

His head hurt decidedly less now that some time had passed from her emotional outburst. Irani had never been much of an empath, but once you open yourself up to someone’s thoughts and feelings to gauge their intentions… well, there was little you could do to the basic radiation of emotions.

Soon enough music started playing, the good kind of glitz, and both of them had a glass of alcohol.

"Well then," Irani stared at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, before looking back at her. "How many shipyards does the Order have right now? Capital-grade, capable of constructing up to the current galactic standard."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi, blissfully oblivious to the man’s tone and twinkle, simple smiled at her reflection in the black window before letting the curtain fall back in front and turning her attention back to the matter at hand. She took a glass of the liquour -- some kind of bourbon, she thought -- and took a seat on one end of the sofa, crossing her ankles to the side primly.

“Two,” Natasi answered promptly. “And several more for smaller and support craft. One of my top budget priorities is to build a third, modern, state-of-the-art shipyard within the next eighteen months. We’ll be putting an emphasis on mining for metals -- construction-grade metals as well as precious metals -- and gems to liquidate in order to finance the push.” She paused and took a sip of the liquor. It burned rather nicely down her throat. “I’m considering a line of credit from a galactic bank, but I’m not sure how favorably the Supreme Leader will look on a mortgage on the Palace. But there’s also a public-private partnership to consider.”

She looked up at Irani thoughtfully. “The expense would be shared -- say, sixty-forty on our side. You would have a… say, twenty year lease? We would contract to buy a certain number of ships at close to cost, until recouping the cost of the initial investment. We could structure this to coincide with the expiration of the twenty-year lease, and re-negotiate at the time of renewal. In the meantime, the production and sale of other vessels would be permitted -- except that, obviously, we would prefer ships not be sold to hostile organizations and rivals.”

She took another sip of her drink; color had begun to rise in her chest and neck, a peculiar heat beginning to climb up her cheeks. “What is it, anyway? I don’t recognize the name.” She swirled the glass, watching with quiet satisfaction as the amber liquid clung to the sides like a lover to a lover. The observation sobered Natasi and she set the glass down as if the drink had transformed into a large spider as she held it. She inhaled sharply through her nose and fumbled with the clasp of her clutch, from which she pulled a datapad. “I’ll memorialize the terms and if we agree, I’ll have my office set up a press avail before breakfast.”

 

[Jairus Starvald]

After a long day of networking, listening to the yammering of those that should know better and parry offensive after offensive from the jackals there was just something right about simply sitting down, leaning heavily into the soft padding of the couch and just… listening to the equally soft, but steady cadence of the woman next to him.

"And… who would these rivals and hostiles be then?"

Irani had an idea, of course. The Galactic Alliance, the Silver Sanctum and probably also the Kathol Outback, which left the One Sith… the Sith Triumvirate maybe… hmm, the Mandalorians?

There was a trickle of memory coming down through the thin fog of alcohol, but he couldn’t place it.

Something about an attack, but it could have been anything.

It wasn’t a big issue, of course. Iron Crown and Saiba would not stop selling to those nations, but they had other yards and factories outside of Order Space that they could use for those purposes, that way the Order didn’t have the feeling like their money was spent propping up their enemies.

...and the two previously mentioned corporations would be able to keep their neutrality.

"Corellian Amber, it’s quite something. Expensive and rare, too. What with the planet being broken in half a few years back."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi sighed wistfully and began tapping into her datapad. “The Galactic Alliance, the Silver Sanctum, and we have our eye on this upstart group called the Kathol Outback. Obviously, the Resistance, or what’s left of them after the whacking they took at Hoth…” Her voice trailed off and she looked into the middle distance, her eyelids heavy and her lips downturned, and when she spoke again her voice and eyes were unfocused. “No less than they deserved.”

For a moment, Natasi could feel herself slipping into the horrible memory, drawn into cloaking herself in a reminiscence so familiar, so fresh, and as comfortable as a dressing gown made from razor blades. She shuddered and was suddenly back in the posh suite of the Whitetower Arms hotel on Cloud City, rather than a freezing torture cave on Hoth.

“The Republic, probably, just to be safe,” she added quietly as the icy fog evaporated, revealing the walls and corners of the room. Natasi’s dark eyes glanced to Irani’s for a moment, trying to gauge whether he had picked up on her flash, hopeful that he hadn’t. It was short, after all, and she hadn’t even cried.

After a moment’s companionable silence, Natasi looked up. “Any objections so far?” She reached for her glass and took the last mouthful; it seared its way down her throat, and her neck flushed pink as a reaction to the alcohol. Corellian Amber -- well, it was a shame they were probably drinking one of the last bottles in existence. It was, on reflection, rather nice. Natasi stifled a smirk.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

Ah, yes, the Resistance… and the Republic, he supposed.

Not that the Republic was a friend of the corporate world by any stretch of the imagination. Not after the stupidity displayed by that joke of a ‘Prime Minister’ of theirs… what was her name? Laserdry? Genevieve was her first name if he recalled it correctly. All he knew for sure was that the Tion Hegemony had figured out years ago that she was the secret sponsor and leader of the terroristic Rebel Alliance, but for some reason she kept acting like it was some kind of big, huge secret that nobody had figured out yet.

Completely incompetent.

“Surrounded on all sides by enemies or incompetent barbarians, how difficult life must be.”

Another gulp.

By this point Irani was staring at the ceiling of the room, eyes half-closed as his mind focused itself on the business at hand… and not the emotions still being displayed on hand. Sometimes he wished that he hadn’t focused so much on mentalism and empathy, it would have made things like these far more easier to bear.

But she wouldn’t notice that he had noticed. No need to embarrass her more than she already was on her own.

“None,” Irani added a fraction later. “But I suspect that you want more out of Iron Crown and Saiba. A major shipyard is a boon, but what you want to do is kickstart the entire economy of the Order out of its malaise.”

“You need jobs, lots of them. To expand the middle-class and get people expendable income so they can buy, so more business comes to your space and even more taxes get paid.”

Cause, effect, cause, effect and over every single effect the government of the Order would generate extra revenue. And it would all start with one woman and one man sitting in a classy room in a hotel on Bespin.

How amusing.

“You want factories, warehouses, refineries, administrative zones and industrial sectors.”

Another gulp and another glass was gone.

“Am I wrong?”

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi nodded. “You… should be my Finance Moff,” she told him, pointing at him with the hand that held the old-fashioned glass as she awkwardly (and possibly, slightly-drunkenly) held her datapad between her elbow and her side. “Because you get it,” she continued as she walked past him, her free hand snatching up his now-empty glass. “You just get it. These others in my team don’t get it,” she said, sauntering over to the sideboard.

She picked up the tongs from the counter next to the ice bucket and dropped a few cubes into her glass. She noted that he took his neat, so added no ice, only a healthy measure of Corellian Amber, to his glass, and then to hers. Instead of resuming her seat at the other end of the sofa, she sat delicately on the coffee table directly in front of him and reached across to set his drink down on the end table.

“I want it all, Mist--that is, Your Grace.” Natasi took a sip of the drink. On an empty stomach it was threatening to get the best of her. “I want jobs. I want people to work, to come to my country and work. And earn. And save. And spend. I want them to enjoy a culture and a society that glorifies stability and peace, and I want them to get jobs so that we don’t have to subsidize them. But when I say these things to my economic advisors, some of them look at me like I’ve turned into a Hutt.”

The image of a Hutt in Natasi’s sleek black cocktail dress was rather ludicrous, and it caused her to giggle over her next sentence: “I can’t ask for you to do all these things,” she said quietly, lifting the glass and taking another long sip. “You’d be putting all your eggs in one basket, no? I think it would be a sound investment, but I’d understand if you wanted to see how the first bit went before -- what is the phrase the gamblers use? -- going all in.”

The Moff sat back on the coffee table and crossed her legs modestly. “But you’re absolutely right. I want factories. I want it all. Don’t you? I feel in a way we’re kindred spirits. You didn’t become who you are today by saying, I think I’ll be satisfied with this piece here and no more.”

She took another drink, and found only ice in her cup. Could she possibly have drunk the rest so soon? Perhaps that explained her somewhat less-stilted conversation style and the edges of her vision swimming. Maybe he won’t notice, she told herself. Pull yourself together!

 

[Jairus Starvald]

She would never know how close to the truth she really was.

It wasn’t the smart businessman in him that made him reach for more and more, that constantly hungered for the edge and adrenaline, that never got enough no matter how much he already had.

A smart businessman would have retired a long time ago.
A healthy man would have quit soon after Lasedri’s move.

But Irani was a Sith.

And if there was a singular value. One single lesson that the hunger abided by no matter what: “Find what you want more than anything else, a single prime goal. Then overcome all internal and external barriers in order to achieve that goal. Do whatever is necessary.”

Varanin pioneered that one, if he recalled correctly. Maybe Lumiya. He couldn’t remember right now. But that inability to remember only solidified his opinion that he needed another drink.

“I have made my riches by being bold, Lady Fortan.” He poured both of them another drink after noticing hers was empty and his was emptier. Swirling around the glass and his mind occupied by the foggy mist, Irani could almost ignore the dread radiating from the woman every single time she was reminded of the man she loved.

Ah… love, love, love. How much did Darell detest that notion. It only reminded him of her, how would his life be if Darth Nephthys hadn’t killed herself to secure victory over Contruum?

Would he still be the Voice of the Dark Lord?
Would the Dark Lord still reign in his dark throne room?
Would he have stopped the rebels from executing him?

Cara- Irani did not know.

“You will get your factories, your warehouses and refineries.”

For a price.

He raised his glass a fraction towards her.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

[SIZE=18.6667px]“I p-probably shouldn’t,” Natasi murmured as he took her glass, but she made no move to refuse as he brought it back. She took it from him and looked over the rim at him as he lifted his glass a little towards her. Something intangible hung between them in the air -- or, Natasi thought so, at least. Even without him saying so, Natasi knew that no matter what the bargain was, no matter how good for the First Order, there was always a price to be paid.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=18.6667px]The question was, would putting herself in this position pay off for the First Order? There was no way to be sure, but Natasi had a good feeling. Maybe it was the Corellian Amber talking. Maybe it was her desperation to put herself back on the map. Maybe some small part of her wanted to stand back and watch what this clearly remarkable man was capable of. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=18.6667px]They hammered out the terms. Iron Crown Enterprises would be committing [/SIZE][SIZE=18.6667px]highway robbery[/SIZE][SIZE=18.6667px] in terms of tariffs. There was no way around the payroll taxes, but the tariffs and competitive contracts would offset this and then some. The First Order would provide special zoning, discounted permitting fees, and accelerated review on Iron Crown construction projects, in return for which Iron Crown would expand upon their existing Tibanna refinery holdings on Bespin, warehouses on Dosuun, and factories on Skye, in addition to the spaceport. The terms were similar, but Natasi was firm on the point of requiring First Order work permits to do at least seventy percent of the low-level work in these new facilities. “I know you’ll have specialists, people you know,” she said, waving her drink liberally. “But for the unskilled or medium-skilled laborers, we want those jobs to go to our citizens. Is that going to be a point of contention?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=18.6667px]Half an hour later, there was an agreement and a handshake. “I,” Natasi announced grandly. “Reserve the right to review this in the morning. I think… I think I may have had a little too much to drink.” This was evident, for the Moff was clutching the edge of the small dining table around which they had gathered to review the completed agreement and press release on her datapad. “But… just [/SIZE][SIZE=18.6667px]look[/SIZE][SIZE=18.6667px] at it. Isn’t it beautiful? Some people have families, and houses, and lovers. Me… well, I have spreadsheets, and contracts, and press releases.” By now, she was just her subconscious being driven by Corellian Amber.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=18.6667px]A tear rolled off her nose, splashing on the surface of the the datapad, distorting the text underneath. She quickly wiped at it with her hand, but there were more coming. “Do you know… I should… I need to get back to my room, before I--” Natasi staggered away from the table, sinking into an armchair in the ‘sitting room’ portion of the suite as she struggled with her handbag, finally withdrawing a handkerchief, but by the time she pulled it out, it was too late. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=18.6667px]Natasi Fortan was gone to the world.[/SIZE]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

“Well, I think the bottle is official-”

It was then that he noticed the tear. Then through the fog and adrenaline of the moment her state of mind was once again revealed to him, erratic, all over the place and filled with hurt feelings, dashed hopes. Ah, why did people constantly put themselves out there like that?

He tried it too, once, with the Lady Sinistra, but as with all things. As happened always when it came to Carach… the moment he got too close, the Sith within himself recoiled and recoiled hard.

Not even speaking of their distinct differences in terms of support, lifestyle choices and-

Suddenly… peace. No more hammering at his mind, no more weight bearing down on his shoulders, just the blissful silence of the moment. Irani blinked, blinked twice and tried to recenter his mind, eventually his gaze settled on the prone form of Natasi in the chair.

“Oh dear.”

He stood up - too quickly - and everything started to turn.

“Ah, feth.” After a few more moments of concentration some of the alcohol in his blood started to break down. Detoxification was a splendid technique for situations like these.

Darell didn’t break all of it down though. A warm and fuzzy buzz at the back of his eyes remained as he looked around the room, at the papers and then at the passed out form of Natasi.

“Oh, dear.” The repetition of words was not lost to him and with a sigh he decided to man up for the occasion.

With a heave he managed to pull the limb Lady Fortan in his arms, before snatching most of the papers as well.

Time to try and find the woman’s room… or not.

It would be a disaster for her reputation if she was seen in this state. Drunk, passed out and in the arms of a… well, him. It wouldn’t do all that well for his reputation either, but he was a man.

And even though equality movements were running their course, sexism would still mean that she would take the greater hit than him.

So instead Irani did what every gentleman would do in his situation.

With some awkward movement he carried her into his bedroom, carefully laid her down the bed, got her shoes off and put a blanket over her. Two blankets, she had been cold while they were on the balcony.

This means nothing, Irani. Just good business.

After some fussing around he glanced at her sleeping form one last time, before making a cautious exit from his room.

Time for the couch.