The Ladies Who Lunch | The Major & Natasi Fortan

[Natasi Fortan]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=253mSSFi0EY

​

The red boxes were getting emptier. Not in terms of actual sheets of flimsiplast pages -- no, there was as much to sift through as ever. But what was inside the boxes used to be vital, and interesting, and make Natasi's blood pound in her veins with the realization that with a stroke of her pen she could change millions of lives. These days, it was drudgery. She couldn't be sure whether it was her view of her work that had changed in the weeks since her husband's death during the Dagobah offensive, or whether her cabinet was seeking to limit her impact on the government. She suspected it was a little of both, and it irritated the hell out of her. She was the Grand Moff of a superpower, not a child who needed to be shielded from the facts. If the Cabinet were limiting her dispatches, it was unlikely that it was being done as a gesture of love or concern.

They were jockeying for power. She didn't like that one bit. "The boys are making mischief once again," she muttered to herself as she etched notes into the margin of a report summary she was reading. Her dark eyes scanned the document like a hawk; nothing jumped out at her as needing an update. She frowned and penned her initials at the bottom of the page and pushed back from her desk, pulling herself up to stand up. Natasi tugged her black jacket into place and opened the red box once more, ensuring she hadn't missed anything.

She couldn't be sure, but she was willing to wager that she was being kept out of the loop on something. She glanced at her wristwatch; it was still early, not yet half-past nine. By the Balance, Natasi thought to herself as she tucked a chestnut curl behind her ear. The days just go on and on and bloody well on. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she went to the window of her office and pushed the curtain to one side so she could peer out. Number 10 overlooked Victory & Memorial Park, and looking into the park, drenched in the morning sun, Natasi harkened back to the bizarre, middle-of-the-night meeting she had been dragged into recently.

A thought occurred to her; she let the curtain fall back into place and turned to her desk. She pulled a piece of stationery out of her desk, plucked her fountain pen from its holder on her desk and bent her slim frame to scrawl a note:

Ms. Shepard

Please join me for luncheon at Number 10 Park Boulevard, Avalonia, Dosuun at 1300 hours today.

With kindest thanks for your attendance and discretion,

P.S. I employed the word 'please' but don't misinterpret this note as a request.

She folded it over and put it into an envelope, then summoned her principal aide, Theodore Glass. "See that Bureau Chief Shepard receives this. Let the kitchen know we'll have a guest for lunch, and arrange for a car to collect Shepard at quarter to. Thank you." The Grand Moff watched Glass leave, then poured herself another cup of tea and went back over to the window.

 

[The Major]

As luck would have it a very specific representative of the Security Bureau found herself upon the capital and not off on some trip hither across the galaxy. However, since the twin victories of this glorious empire and the subsequent celebrations a lot of the work for the home nation required the presence of the Bureau's premier operatives to direct and protect. After all, the enemy could instigate another doomed attack at any given time; to say the least of unchecked ambitions frothing on the home front. It disgusted the good Major as these men and women sought to devour each other like desperate beasts. However, despite the coming boil of frantic depravity threatening a very specific group of people who clearly needed a firm, gratifying hand to secure them in place or crush them for their insolence, this particular agent knew all was set to be corrected very soon. The signs pointed to such. Thus, she worked standing in front of a desk nestled deep in a basement. Ever since nearly being sniped to death by an office window, the Fallanassi always insisted on hunkering down in such kind of places out of a latent and growing phobia of turning her back to a sheet of glass. Since Sybil was always in transit, this office was scant in artistry of any sort and everything in it was purely mechanical or to the point of function. All except a secondary holopad that was set to blare out music at a volume that filled the room. Showtunes, ancient in nature and painfully dated by today's more esoteric arts, played happily. The Major, chipper after a number of trips to Lanteeb, was singing along.

♪Business needs a lift,​

debts to be erased.​

Think of it as thrift,​

as a gift,​

if you get my drift!♫​

A violin maneuvered the tune forward and caused her hips and shoulders to move in a faux shuffle, and she could almost picture herself waltzing in a grand hall as the band urged a faster pace. This fantasy popped with a scowl as an alert pinged upon the door. Politely muting the music, the Major answered the message with a stern mock of discipline to maintain the appearance of crushing busyness. Once alone, the operative considered the note, appreciating the use of ink and paper in an age lacking of digital forbearance. Upon reading the note the woman's dark brows raised upward in concern.

An order to speak with [member="Natasi Fortan"] at the Grand Moff's official residence?

Her lips smirked upwards, but there was no mirth in them, and something like sandpaper was felt grinding in her throat.

This cannot be good; not for me.​

Thin concentration took the forefront as she kept her mind from spiraling out of control with perceived possibilities. Since there wasn't much time to tarry, Sybil prepared herself quickly in a white colored suit with black lapels and matching ruffled skirt more fitting for the slightly warmer climate present on Avalonia, at least warmer than what the agent preferred. Coming in her usual frock and toughened coat would most likely have her producing too much sweat to be anything less than unseemly. When the time came to depart she decided to forgo any kind of weapon. The reality of the situation would render any use of lethal force completely redundant anyway. And besides, the agents working on behalf of the Grand Moff would be more than suitable protection. As arranged, a vehicle whisked her way to the mansion, and adjutants inside greeted the Major and led her to the room wherein the meeting should take place.

She expected the Mother of her adopted nation to keep her waiting for some time despite the designated meeting time. Steeling herself for anything, the Major made her entrance and awaited whatever the fates had in store...

 

[Natasi Fortan]

She stood like a column, her back to the door, in a simply laid-out private dining room. She used to use it to steal an hour away with her husband or her cousin when time allowed, to enjoy a good meal and perhaps a drink before returning to the grindstone of work. It had been a space that she hadn't yet, even after all this time, come around to decorating. The important bits were there -- dining room table, currently set for two with the good china and silver on a crisp white tablecloth; four straight-backed chairs, polished to a shine; a small bar cart in the corner; lamps; a sideboard with a squad vase, overflowing with lilies. In fact, the room wasn't large enough to require more decoration, but the room's fireplace had a large, blank space over it, and Natasi had wanted to hang a painting.

The two contenders stood on the mantle, leaning against the wall, uneasily sharing the space that was really only large enough for one. The first, a portrait of her mother and father: she, sitting on the rim of the fountain in the main hall of Herevan Hold; he, kneeling beside her, holding her hands in his, looking at each other with affection. The second, a photo taken by Natasi herself: an amateurish, candid effort of Talbot holding George -- shortly after the birth of the child.

Either of the pictures would be good there. It pained her to see the faces of the loved ones she had lost, but she didn't want to forget them. But which one? The only part of her that moved was her eyes, flicking back and forth between the two. It was like this that [member="The Major"] found the Grand Moff. She looked over her shoulder a moment after the Security Bureau functionary entered. "Ms. Shepard," she said flatly, turning to face her fully. "Thank you for coming on short notice. Sit." She directed Shepard to a chair and took the opposite one, resting her hands on her lap and looking down at the floor. After a few moments, she seemed to recall why she had invited the Bureau Chief. "There's a menu there, but I'm sure the chef will be happy to make you anything you like if that's not to your taste."

When everything had been settled, Natasi looked across the table. "Why were you there, that night?" Natasi demanded without preamble.

 

[The Major]

Naturally the operative, so impressionable in the strangest of moments, followed the Moff’s line of sight unto the empty space on the mantle and the richly crafted painting and picture up for consideration. In one there were persons a bit older who cut an impressive resemblance to the daughter measuring their merit as decoration. The Fallanassi wasn’t crafty enough to know that the portrait contained the parents of the Grand Moff, but the Fortanian line carried a dominant set of genes: along with a very strong jaw perfect for leadership or withstanding the trauma of a punch. A second picture carried with it an amateur's quality, and yet the Major found herself feeling an innate warmth emanating from the frame; more importantly the man holding his child struck her as intensely familiar -but she couldn’t exactly place a name to his face. Such quiet peace eventually burst as pleasantries were exchanged.

At Natasi’s request for Sybil to sit, she executed a bow without the affectations of a flourish -seeking to offer as humble a notion a respect as possible. Ordering coffee and a pastry popular on Avalonia to keep things light, they rushed straight forward into proceedings. The Major, expecting far worse, nearly sighed in relief at the question. Although the Grand Moff’s choice in authoritative tone denoted that an answered should be served quickly and to the point. In compliance, Sybil explained off the cuff.

“Minister Calgar didn’t trust anyone else to accompany him. Beg pardon: but at the time it wasn’t clear if the assassination attempt hadn’t been engineered by you or someone acting on your behalf.”

This was turning out to be more awkward than anticipated, usually the Major would already be “auditing” the facts in order to twist a favorable disposition but in this case when dealing with one of the few persons in this organization that could erase her in an instant a different set of priorities took precedence.

[member="Natasi Fortan Vitalis"]​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"That is..." Natasi's voice trailed off and she gave the soft shake of her head. "...a problem."

The Grand Moff lifted her glass to her lips and sipped the cool water, then set it down and leaned back in her chair, fixing [member="The Major"] with a dull gaze. "A month ago such a suggestion would have outraged me. I have never -- ever, in my life -- engaged in anything underhand, let alone political assassination. For Balance sake, I've had [member="Jaius Sovv"] in my custody for half a year, and wouldn't it be better for us all if he were disposed of? It is a matter of honor. That used to mean something in this city." She exhaled, nostrils flaring, and looked down at her hands in her lap. "But I'm not outraged. I'm just... it's just a disappointment."

Natasi looked across the table at Sybil, her dark eyes searching the woman's face for a few moments. "In the First Order that I built, we all knew our place. Cogs in a machine working together to bring the Supreme Leader's vision into being. There was no need for political jockeying and competition -- it would just distract us from what we existed to do. I don't know when that changed. I don't know why." She traced her finger around the rim of the glass, her fingertip against crystal creating a hollow ringing sound briefly.

Her eyes snapped back up to Shepard. "And have these doubts about my character been satisfied?"

 

[The Major]

While listening intently to Natasi she reached down to put the intricate cup filled with black coffee to her lips, taking a sip while indulging in the expertise of the woman sitting across from her. Though slight tells upon the Grand Moff’s face told of a more complicated story -it made sense to play whatever specific grievances close to her chest. After all, Sybil was just a subject, an official, a representative assigned to protect and enhance the aims of the state. Hearing it straight from this centrifugal pivot of the First Order certainly solidified a number of concerns that had been bubbling within the Major previously. Her mind considered possible methods to further guide this conversation to the desired result, but it was tenuous. For instance, mentioning the shocking rumors that were circulating in regards to the lead Fortan’s incarceration of that foreign dignitary for a number of moons. Make that a representative of an enemy nation. Whatever happened between [member="Jaius Sovv"] and the Grand Moff didn’t really plus the Major all that much: it was their business. She did however suspect that the extended duration of that meeting was a result of the Mother of her adopted nation seeking some sort of solace or a kindred spirit to share their woes with. In this it was the Fallanassi’s turn to be disappointed. For this role model of so many was reduced to forging such bonds outside of the organization. This was of course supposition, and it was far too dangerous to confirm this without prying past the point of propriety -but there had to be a way to tease out such a helpful truth. How to explain? How to show the Grand Moff that it was possible someone else within the Order felt so dejected, so disillusioned, and so much a foreigner that it was nigh impossible to grasp how the quality of this great nation was diminishing to more vile, cutting place.

A change in the natural order was a threat to all weaved into the nation. So did security lay in cementing the established systems or undermining them? Perhaps this meeting would give a final indicator on which lot she should cast.

“Once these eyes were upon you, your grace, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt you were not involved in any such plot. Hence why my presentation of the shared plight of the Security Minister and I suggested cooperation in a different light. The threat is elsewhere.” She responded, weaving her words at a steady, matter-of-fact pace.

“Forgive my candor, m’lady, but you touch upon a subject that, quite frankly, needs addressing. The First Order is changing, and not for the better. I was once drawn to this group from foreign shores because something immense of such refined quality existed within its purview. Now it’s all expansion: new positions require filling and more selfish personas are sensing weakness from the establishment -thrust upwards by growing needs.” Sybil paused to reset the spectacles resting low on her nose. “You could say that people like me are part of the problem.”

[member="Natasi Fortan Vitalis"]​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"I feel for the Security Minister," said Natasi, for the first time her tone softening a touch. "We see eye-to-eye on almost nothing and he has no respect for the social contract that binds this empire together, but I value his insights as a colleague and I feel that he execute his job very well." She did not add that the Supreme Leader had forced her hand in making him a Minister, and had seemed to be pitting them against one another from the word 'go'. That kind of detail would be better left unsaid for the time being. "That being said, when one opens the door to acting in an underhand fashion -- and let us not mince words, that is exactly what he has done -- one must be prepared to accept the consequences of that. It is one of the reasons that I struggled for so long to avoid politics in the First Order. You cannot unring the bell."

The Grand Moff lifted her glass again; the door pushed open as a footman rolled in a cart with the meals prepared for the two women. Natasi had selected a simple salad with grilled poultry of some variety. She had no appetite, but she would force herself to eat it. Once they had been served, Natasi said: "Leave us. We are not to be disturbed until I ring for you." The footman bowed and left, shutting the door behind him, leaving the two women quite alone again.

"I don't know that I would agree. Certainly, we can do a better job of assimilation, but in point of fact, the culture comes from the top. It is our leadership that sets the example." She stopped herself from saying more; identifying the Supreme Leader's shift in contributing to the self-serving schisms appearing in the First Order would have been accurate, but not quite politic. Instead, she picked up her knife and fork and sighed at her plate, shaking her head sadly. "It used to be about doing something. Now it seems to be about being someone." She set her fork and knife down again, leaving her salad untouched, and rested her chin on the back of one hand, propped up by her elbow on the table. Not quite proper table manners, but in an informal setting, forgivable.

"Is everything to your liking?"

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Detected, and noted for further analysis at a later time was the very specific statement regarding Security Minister Calgar. It would have been humorous to consider how measured the Grand Moff's utterance truly was -especially when the operator could distinctly recall, in vivid detail, when Lady Fortan was calling into question the minister's supposed expertise on that most measured of nights. That night when the Avalonian breeze dared to bring its churlish chill to their proceedings. A night that only served to add fuel to the raging theory that the First Order wasn't as they said. We are one. That was the chant. Instead, the higher one pushed the more likely one would find those so eager to exploit the sanctity of the organization. Supreme Leader's ultimate goal was being just so barely touched upon when considering these ideas. To keep the pieces that made up his regime at ever increasing hostility could be the aim. If that was the case then the Major's own directives, though seemingly mysterious or duplicitous, but in actuality handed down from Sieger certainly made more sense. She could just be another cog in the contention, unintentionally causing the parts of the machine to shatter or wear so that they would be replaced for newer, more obedient models. Even so nothing could be so simple or straightforward. The Fallanassi truly, in the core of her being, wanted to be compassionate and empathetic to these people. She wanted to help these various groups form a stronger mold, but it was next to impossible. Therein begged another thought: did Supreme Leader reign more comfortably when such unity could not exist. How to question this: a topic that could easily send one to fates worse than a gaol. How could one push themselves to give more when so much selfishness and pride permeated every step of the thankless path. How could she keep putting herself on the line for "compatriots" who would just as easily condemn her to execution.

If anyone had the answer that would prove sufficient, it had to be the aspect of poise sitting across the table in informal tones.

She wanted to respond to the question regarding her comfort: irrelevant. Not to undercut, but because she felt as something far more important was being weighed here, and, still naive despite unseemly acts, could sense her own childish need to ask, "Why?"

Instead: "Quite comfortable, your grace."

The Major's mind looped backwards to the final emphasis. "...Being someone." She wondered if the Grand Moff was referencing the Security Bureau specifically due to recent events, or if the comment was directly leveled upon the four-eyed freak gawking at her dish while caught in wonder. No. Of course not. Sybil was a nobody. Not enough to register on anyone's radar more than an annoying oddity. Surely the powers that be saw her as some kind of wild card with allegiance about as steadfast as the shifting winds; or a lens through which to examine another person. So meager. So small a tiny smudge in the vast network of what the Order could and would offer. Nay, it was just paranoia deluding her mind due to recent stresses that threatened to shake her resolve as her general quality as an individual shrunk and the persona of what she had to do took over. Yes, of course. She was the means to find a weakness at Calgar, perhaps. Nobody could possibly want her interaction without something far more useful being exchanged in the process. With that in mind, the agent had to wonder when the trap would be sprung, and when Her Most Honorable, the Right Grand Moff would cut her into pieces.

She waited, supposing it was all a matter of time, and it made her languish in hopelessness. A most subtle frown tugged upon the corner of her usually smirking lips.

"I must ask, your grace: you certainly have more capable and intelligent persons to lunch with; as honored as I am to partake in your company —is there something specific you seek to say to me?” In essence: are you sending a message? It wasn't as though the younger woman had pressing appointments or tasks that required her attention. She just wanted the air clear, one way or another.

[member="Natasi Fortan Vitalis"]​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi regarded [member="The Major"] with furrowed brows. "It is not believable, perhaps, that this is a social call? That I, bound up in this house and in my mad grief, might seek the company of an acquaintance for company in hopes that her neutrality and seeming lack of malicious intent might give me some manner of solace?" She picked up her knife and fork again and cut a piece of poultry, which she popped in her mouth and chewed -- closed-mouth, of course, for she wasn't some kind of animal) -- then swallowed and dabbed her lips with her napkin before returning it to her plate. "Were circumstances not otherwise, perhaps I would yet be seeking a social outlet. Unfortunately, I've made a mistake in keeping as my closest friends members of my cabinet who now seem to want nothing to do with me." She smiled weakly, her lips turning up at their edges but not mustering the strength to show her teeth.

"Alas," the Grand Moff continued after a moment, looking away as her eyes shone in the early afternoon light. "Your deductive skills do you credit, and the reason why I have asked you -- you, specifically -- is related to the way you spoke to me that night. You seemed -- in a word -- earnest. In short, I felt that you recognized my abilities and the struggle I have had to hold this government together as the First Order grew and morphed. It seemed that you cared not just about the First Order but about my position and my office and I appreciated that, although in the moment it was difficult to see it beyond a ploy to keep me talking." She forced another smile and again set the knife and fork down.

"I need to know what's going on in the Ministry of Security," she said flatly. "I feel that my ministers are not reporting to me the full picture." Natasi gazed at Sybil, her dark eyes somehow looking past the woman opposite, and when she spoke again, eyes unfocused and in almost a trance-like state, it was in a voice just this side of a whisper: "They're taking it away from me." After a few unsettling moments the Grand Moff inclined her head and focused her attention once more on the Bureau Chief. "You understand I'd never ask you to violate your oath or provide me with information to which I am not entitled. I have the highest security clearance there is, and believe me, I could write out a formal order, but for reasons I'm sure you understand I'd like to avoid that."

 

[The Major]

If it were possible for the Major to laugh while the Grand Moff humored them both with the idea that it was possible for Natasi to be so weak, humble, or simple to seek solace in others -and especially in regards to seeking such salvation in a servant of the state so meager in her own right- then she would have. Not out of diresion, but due to the absurdity of its banality. They could be chuckle over it, pretending that life could be so much easier and straightforward. Such may have not been the case. True, there may be more on the line than the livelihoods of two women placed into the vast machine. The future of the First Order itself and its treasured fabric hung from the gallows while crows sought to pick it apart. No longer. Though the fates may be arranged against fools stubborn enough to defy the lumbering crunch of predestination, it would find a haggered battle in the form of these two fiery souls having lunch in sensibly decorated room.

Sybil took another bite of her pastry (waiting specifically for the Grand Moff to touch her own plate) and purged her palette with another drink of dark coffee. Her eyes closed as the final statements manifested themselves as the sweet music of insight upon her ears. With intentions laid bare purpose could be pulled free from the mire that was this ever shifting political landscape. Adhering strictly to etiquette she kept silent until Natasi was finished speaking. Once it was clear that her piece was complete the eccentric woman took a moment to remove her dataglasses, folding them and coddling the rather precious bit of tech with her fingertips.

“M’lady, if you may grant me permission to speak,” she awaited for the motion to continue, “Begging forgiveness for my candor, of course; if you’ll suffer a meager rant, your grace: it wasn’t so long ago when I came upon the First Order from lands far away. Do you know what has become of my home? The world capitulated and joined in with the Sith Empire. Allies, they are, sure. But it’s no secret what levels of depravity their. . . *hmph* government prescribes. This organization seeks a higher standard. It’s a true beacon of light and efficiency, bringing civility unto the worlds lucky enough to have our works wrought upon them. One can witness it while touring the fringe territories: sectors once defunct now thrive with commerce and industry, and this is what compels me to continue. I remember the distinct awe felt when first setting eyes upon this city, your city, if what is said is to be believed.

“This war is wasteful. It’s taken from all of us.” In the Major’s case in particular, a beloved friend who just recently was entombed eternally. Still, it stung. “To my understanding your tenure and office was attempting to curtail all this nonsense against an fledgling alliance already cracking at the seams. Why should we also emulate them?" And this wasn’t simply the workings of paranoia frothing -both the Army and Navy stood to gain quite a bit with removing Natasi. On top of that there was the recent defection by a specific Admiral. A web of dissent was being weaved, but what wasn’t clear was if Supreme Leader wasn’t also pushing it forward or even enticing it -or if other upstarts were making their plays while old influences were shifting. “If helping you will maintain this Order in the splendor I found it in…” Her brows furrowed a bit with an uncharacteristic swell of emotion. “...then of course I will -and with every ounce of expertise that my skill, craft, and custom can muster, M’lady.” This of course was supposed to be the natural order of the day despite any separate oaths, but clearly this request was of a special sort, and required a completely clear understanding.

[member="Natasi Fortan Vitalis"]​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi frowned at Shepard's recounting of the fate of her homeworld and inclined her head gracefully. "We have more in common that is immediately apparent, it seems. My homeworld, too -- Galidraan -- has recently come under the sway of the Sith Imperials. I worry about the fate of my people and my home. There is something about the Galidraani way that I have tried to emulate in the First Order, but I fear the Empire has become too large, too diverse to maintain such a notion. We value -- transparency, open commentary, dignity, discipline." She frowned and lifted her glass to her mouth.

"Please," Natasi said, nodding at Shepard's plate. "Eat."

She took a sip of water, then set the glass down as she listened to [member="The Major"], her dark eyes studying the young woman across the table. "I appreciate that, Ms. Shepard. I can't tell you how much." She settled against the back of her chair and cupped her chin in her hand. "This is the hard part, Ms. Shepard. I must ask you for absolute discretion in this. Absolute. Discretion."

 

[The Major]

Sybil nodded positively at the very brief description of the Outer Rim world. She could almost imagine a highly aristocratic world, but she couldn’t exactly say what kind of place Galidraan truly was. It never occurred to the woman to pay attention to the Thanium area any more than any other sector. Which illustrated how little the Major knew about the Grand Moff, though the background certainly provided an insight into how the most powerful woman within the Force Order came to be -and how there could be some overlap in their backgrounds. Something enlightening, to be sure; but terrifying nonetheless. The Fallanassi surprised even herself today, for she could feel the pressure of a slipping composure. True, there was no direct threat to found in this room today, but something about the magnitude of this meeting intimidated her perceptions. This, most awkward of weaknesses, derived from a sentimentality for both the order and Natasi’s unique position at this point in history.

Although Sybil expected to spill her cup or crack the plate nothing so dramatic occurred, and outwardly she appeared to be in complete control, as someone at her position should be.

“I understand you completely, M’lady. Though unfortunate that such methods have to be called upon, we will find the source of this growing schism and deal with it swiftly.”

[member="Natasi Fortan Vitalis"]​