Private Breathe In The Air

[Rurik Fel]

BREATHE​

The superheated torched bore into the metal of the cybernetic with a surgical cruelty as it worked to repair the damaged servos and plating within the false limb severed by The Devil, Kascalion in a battle which had now been years ago. He had learnt to adjust quickly but even still, the ware he’d put through it demanded a constant maintenance of the machinery.

His quarters aboard the Antares Draco often resembled more of a med bay than it did any space fit to live within. As the Lord Executor sat within the chair enveloped with the mechanical apparatuses needed for the droid to repair the cybernetic, the door hissed open, Fel’s gaze beneath the iron visage peered in the direction of the figure making its entrance with narrowed, tortured eyes. The Lord Hospitalier Argus Belisari. A middle aged human man donned in the crimson and argent of the Order spoke up in regards to his superior.

“You look weary, Fel.” He spoke out of turn outright. The appraisal wasn’t an inaccurate judgement in spite of the iron skin draped over his true form. Even then, it told the story better than he ever could. Scorch marks, raking cuts and burdening dents all marked the armor horridly, a compounded damage accumulated from a string of uninterrupted delves into the fray.

Dantooine, Korriban, Bastion, Nyriaan, and the meticulous planning in between all without reprieve he had done his vaunted duty to the New Empire. But even Iron flexed under the toil. He’d never voice discontent, never speak out of line in relations to the tasks dolled to him. It was his duty, his duty only he could ever fulfill.

“Perhaps...but nothing at all would ever await my rest. So long as our enemies remain vigilant...so will I.” Rurik replies, tortured eyes shifting away for a moment, wincing in an uncharacteristic show of agitation as the sparks from the droid’s work into his hand continued its horrid sparks.

“And there will be none of you left soon enough, Rurik. Task Force ‘Antares Draco’ has been recalled to Imperial space regardless.”

“On whose authority?” Rurik questioned, eyes narrowing into the statement.

“The Imperator. He is soon bound for Coruscant, a summit with the Galactic Alliance. He wishes for your presence in the homefront should the Imperator be needed. Whether you prefer it or not...you will get your respite, Fel.” Argus offered with a faint grin painting his lips. It’d save him a great deal of work in repairing the Commander’s careful wounds or staving off any brush with fatality.

“Your armor will need a full repair and you need rest, meditation. You’ve been around the darkness far too long.”

“And where are we headed, precisely?”

“Cantrell, to dump those due for shore leave before we take the vessels for repair to Yaga Minor.” Cantrell was the best nexus point to return home, it had the infrastructure to send large groups of people to most anywhere within or without Imperial space due to the great deal of investment it’d seen through its time in isolation, only compounded once the New Order came its way.

“Hm.” Rurik offered aloud.

“I’m not sure what other reaction I could have ever expected. Something bothers you...” Argus offered.

While most any aboard praised the thought of taking in the sun and delight of Cantrell, something about it inflicted a sickening feeling into Fel. A person in particular. One Anika Tau'ri . Royalty on Cantrell, daughter to the most prominent of Imperial houses on Ord Cantrell and the very means by which it attained its status in the New Empire.

A deal had been made, the hand of political marriage between her and one of the more prominent of New Imperial nobility. Lucien Dooku was viewed as a candidate initially but ultimately it was assumed his cavalier spirit would lead to a rejection of taking such a role on principle. Next came that of Errant Varanin. Crown Prince and claimant to the throne of Eshan. All the right attributes save for a clandestine relationship he held with one of the Galactic Alliance’s more prominent political figures. Stirring this would prove detrimental to already tenuous relations and thus, after an emotional plea made in secret from the Echani, another man of noble blood hailing from the Serennoan house of Dooku and a long fallen Imperial dynasty offered his hand in Errant’s wake. It would save the boy the scrutiny and prying eyes. Something well needed in this stretch of his trials. All the while, Rurik Fel would be a difficult piece for Cantrell’s authority to refuse, all but making certain of the planet’s willful subjugation beneath the Iron Sun, by tengibly tying it’s fate to that of the Lord Executor, the will of the Sovereign Imperator.

Just as Rurik had always done, he acted in service to the Empire, allowing himself be made a pawn for its expansion. Since the deal had been brokered, he’d all but consciously neglected it. He’d never made contact with her, never met in person and any inquiry made into his whereabouts produced vague results but all in all, he existed in service to the Iron Sun and little more.

As shuttles and transports ferried men and women intothe port of De Purteen, Rurik’s own vessel embarked unto a detour into the planet’s country side, the primary manor of House Tau’ri. His visit, announced in advance but any semblance of fanfare declined. That, being a common characteristic to any member of New Imperial High Command, being the pragmatic regime it was.

Escorted from the courtyard of the luxurious compound he was shown to a terrace on one of the upper levels to the manor. Donned in a less pragmatic regalia than his iron skin, the metallic visage was still clasped over his face, the metal depicting ornate designs above the robes of grey, metalic and gold.

"My apologies for the short notice...I did not wish to cause a stir as I had admittedly not intended to come this way...the war still rages as I'm sure you'd understand." Rurik says, the mask articulating with his words, to ease an otherwise uncanny discomfort that the iron visage would bring. Regardless, it did not cease the mystery of the tortured flesh barely visible around the slits of the metal mask.

"Regardless...it is good to finally meet, in the flesh." He iterated. He was a man uneasy, that much showed in his words. There was little effort put into playing up the nature of the arrangement or endearing himself to her. Such was the coldness he'd bore to a fault for what felt like nigh eternity. His presence, however, carried a weight all its own. Both overt in his stature, his very being but all and truly shrouded in a tragic mystery.

Anika Tau'ri​

 

[Anika Tau'ri]

I M P R E S S I O N S
{x}​

There were many on Ord Cantrell who rejoiced in the new diplomatic associations to the Imperial Order, and Anika had been amongst them. Most of her life had been spent in preparation for a political marriage, and her father had played a large hard in orchestrating the treaty. It made sense that the hand offered was Anika’s, and how could she have complained? Errant was a pleasing and most acceptable choice and one that she more than happily agreed too. His station suited hers. He had a charming manner. It seemed a worthy match. Until the news arrived that they had rescinded the crown prince of Eshan, offering Rurik Fel in his place.

The hand of the Lord Executor.

Who could have refused such an honour?

Almost nobody.

It was the woman promised that spoke out defiantly against the sudden change. The obvious offence came from the fact that she had been rejected, of course, but she was more dismayed with the alternative choice. The argument had run straight through the night and into most of the next day. The whole idea was foolish, and well her father knew it. The man in question made no secret of his contempt for their values. House Tau’ri had done well to hide their true natures from the obtuse eyes of the council, but how would fair with someone of Rurik’s standing? Someone who, by all accounts, had made it his business to extinguish their kind.

In the end, it mattered little how much she fought, it was fruitless. The decision had been made. Now that the council had agreed, it was no more in her father’s hands than the entire situation had been in Anika’s. Even so, her father had worked tirelessly to ensure the treaty with the New Imperial Order. A scoured daughter was hardly the motivation to change his mind. In the end, it was duty that finally silenced her, but a begrudging agreement not to ruin it was the best he could coax from her.

Anika had done well to avoid unpleasantness in her life thus far. For a long while, it appeared as though she would continue to do so. The Lord Executor was desperate to cling to his reputation for mystery. Any attempt from the council to contact him went by in silence, and any promises on behalf of the Imperial Order had gone unfulfilled. Months went by without a word, to the point where she was beginning to think all her fuss had been for nothing.

However, in a cruel twist of fate, the force deemed it necessary to deliver a long-overdue visit from turmoil. In the form of a single message and a name.

Rurik Fel

Short notice though it was, her parents had been eager to accept. They had spent long enough requesting a meeting on any world at all, never mind in the comfort of their own home. They could do little about the plans they had set for the date in particular and, against her protests, had left Anika to her own devices for the day.

She heard his footsteps first, followed by the soft creak of hinges that were slowly expanding in the midday sun. The vine-covered balcony, which had once been a place of peace and sanctuary, was overshadowed by a voice that did not quite belong. Anika let it speak before she spoke herself. “I can assure you that the pleasure is entirely mine. We were beginning to wonder if you were a fallacy.” Her words were mainly directed at the personal datapad, as was her attention. From his tone, he was just as uncomfortable with the situation as she was. If it had not already been made plainly obvious on his part, there would have been some relief at the realisation. At least neither were obligated to waste the effort it would take to pretend otherwise.

“Regarding the short notice, consider it forgotten. Ord Cantrell is fast learning to adjust to surprises.” Anika set down her device, but her gaze remained firmly affixed on its soft blue glow. “The New Imperial Order has proved itself to be quite the teacher.” Adding to the slight she had already faced on his part; a snap judgement had been made upon his voice and demeanour alone. The results were less than pleasing. Anika did not deem him worthy of her immediate attention. A moment of silence passed between them as she finished the paragraph. Then, and only then, did she turn to face Rurik properly.

Where unease reigned in his tone, confidence dominated hers. “Sit.” She spoke, offering him a curt smile as she directed him toward an empty chair.

First impressions were permanent. Thus far, Anika’s first impressions of Rurik had been incredibly poor. The only thing he seemed to be consistent in was how inconsistent he seemed to be. Casting aside the lack of communication, and his discernible efforts to avoid her, Anika may have deemed him otherwise. His position in the Imperial ranks was certainly a factor. However, she needed only a single glance to determine that there was far more to Rurik Fel than mission reports and data logs revealed. It seemed a shame that he had spoiled the intrigue it presented already.

“Might I offer you something to drink?” Anika asked as she motioned toward an attendant, who came dutifully at her beckoning.​

 

[Rurik Fel]

The tension was evident immediately, her dissatisfaction palpable in the air around her as her gaze all but avoided his, seeking much of anything else to fill her vision that wasn’t him. It was not lost on him. That ability to read the intent and emotions in others bled prominently into this interaction. An ability compounded by his silent indifference in meetings of the Imperial Assembly, seeing the patterns of belief and action sequence forth from each of the commanders of the realm.

Much of the aversion must have come from his form in the flesh. They could have endeared him far when they went about repairing his form in the wake of its envelopment from The Twilight. Doing so would have implied a more fragile attention to his appearance. Something he couldn’t afford and thus he placed his reliance in his Iron Skin, the armor he donned.

As a result, he filled the void Vaulkhar had left in death but was no where near the idealistic pairing that Vaulkhar’s own son or Rurik’s half brother brought forth. It was that inalienable discontent that swayed Rurik from this interaction at all. There was nothing in his eyes that he could do, by his will to make it all right by her and thus he sought the solution might be best placed in avoiding her being at all.

Such was Rurik’s thought.

But so too did the inevitable reach both of them.

“Cantrell vintage if it's available, for myself.” Rurik accepts, sitting adjacent from her with a posture that spelled well needed rest for his form, even as his gaze fixed into an innate focus.

Then, he spoke up. That almost meekness that betrayed his aura fading in the wake of more authoritative speech.

“I understand how you could be feeling right now. You were slighted." He seemed to insert himself in a position of accountability in the position of the New Imperial Order, resting all the blame on his shoulders.

"It is why I evaded meeting for some time. As I'm sure I was among the last of anyone you would've cared to meet." He admits.

"Regardless...here I am." He says, glancing down to the glass of liquor as its set before him, eyeing it for a brief moment before seemingly drifting his gaze to her. To drink it comfortably or rather, without fumbling to manage it down his lips, the mask would need to go. So soon into their meeting, he saw it better fit for the drink to linger.

"I can see that fire in you immediately, however. That chip on your shoulder. In that, I don't think our differences are so divergent. I was raised up...briefly in circumstances none too different than here. But that was all before the last of my kin to ever rule was slain...and my House, that of Dooku was paranoid for my fate and I was ripped from Serenno to be raised in the Republic, the Core...as a Jedi. Perhaps by different means, you'd acquired that compulsive drive to endure, to prove yourself. Of that I can tell." Rurik observes.

"What is it you've heard of me otherwise, as I'm painfully ignorant of yourself...I am curious of what they'd ever told you."

Anika Tau'ri​

 

[Anika Tau'ri]

“Of course.” Anika replied. “A fine choice.” She delivered the compliment in a monotonous tone and a heavy coating of “subtle” sarcasm. As the attendant left to fetch their drinks, Anika swept up a gilded silver case from the top of the table. It opened with a soft click, followed by another as orange flames licked the end of a slender cigarra placed between her lips. Wisps of white smoke that held the faint scent of lemon curled around her face as she exhaled.

For a brief moment, his blunt approach to the situation gave her pause. If there was anything she commended, above all else, it was candid conversation. Watching her father’s political career booming in her youth had been an exceptional lesson on lies. Not just how to tell them effectively, which in itself was useful, but how to tell when someone else was telling them. “To say the least.” She spoke as she drew another lungful of the cigarra smoke. “Yes…” Anika glanced briefly over to the attendant as he placed the drinks down, but his presence did not impede her dull tone. “…here you are.”

An unabashed smile pulled her painted lips up as Rurik spoke again. In her mind, fire was a compliment. One of extremely high merit. However, the expression did not last long. It fell when she availed herself of a sip from her own beverage of choice, zsajhira berry tea.

“I must admit I did not find myself as disappointed as the council was when you refused to make contact. I have rather enjoyed these past few months of peace.” The delicate porcelain cup clinked gently when she put it down to take another draw of the cigarra. “The New Imperial Order has been much like yourself in that regard, I’m afraid. Gaining any official information on you was exceedingly difficult.” Leaning forward slightly in her seat, she tapped a growing column of ash out into a crystalline bowl. “I was told of the struggles of your House, and your history with the Jedi. I know you left to join the New Imperial Order and their war efforts on the Sith. I have also heard whisperings of why you wear the mask, but these are all facts of your career. As for you… as a man and as a potential husband? I know very little.”

Light brown eyes narrowed somewhat in his direction as she brought the tea up toward her lips to indulge in another sip. “I do know I was expected to feel honoured by your offer. I suppose I do in some small way, but there is one thing I cannot seem to figure out.” She punctuated her sentence with a final draw of her cigarra and spoke as she smothered out the orange glow in the bottom of the bowl. It was her turn to be candid. “You had far greater reason to avoid me than a simple slight. I may have believed you if you had not made yourself so unreachable for as long as you did.” Anika drew her gaze to his, or at least, to what she could see in the shadow of his mask.

“We both have cause to dislike the situation we find ourselves in, so I would rather we not waste time pretending otherwise.” Anika paused but maintained her intense stare as her perfectly manicured nails tapped out a soft rhythm against the polished wooden table. It made it all the harder to figure him out when the majority of his face had been imprisoned by iron. “Your position in the Order affords you some leniency I suspect, and I’m more than certain there are hundreds of eligible names that would have taken your place. I wonder why you agreed to offer yourself at all?”​

Rurik Fel ​

 

[Rurik Fel]

In her sentiment he found an immediate respect for her. She was cunning and kept her attempt veiled behind an overtly inquisitive nature. Her suspected discontent shrouded by the yearn for answers of the enigma before her who offered all but the weary gaze embedded in his tortured flesh beneath the metal masque.

“Why I don the metal flesh I do is not an unknown tale. Such is the result of tangling with he who claims Sith’ari. I won’t pretend I inflicted the same lengths of fatality unto The Devil, Giedfield as he did unto me...regardless, I endured.” Rurik explained, though still, kept a measure of vagueness in his sentiment.

“An important facet might very well be that I expect to die.“ He said, I phased by the unavoidable concept of his mortality.

“And thus, it is better to leave no impression than any at that point. As much as I carry a great weight of authority within our Empire, so too is it accompanied by its share in burden, obligation. I am a tool, expendable. My sacrifice is the expected, as it was for my predecessor.” Rurik iterates.

He relented drinking at all from the wine before he rose to his feet once more, offering his hand.

"Care for a walk?" He inquired, arching a brow beneath the metallic masque.

Assuming she accepted the offer, he began his relaxed pace alongside her.

"So tell me then, now that I am here, what is it you expect from me...from us if we are to follow through with any agreement your people set out to make with mine. What do you care to know?" He asked, glancing down toward her with a curious glint in his eyes. Though she was taller than any average woman, he still stood a length above her, no doubt adding to the imposing aura he sought to create in his position. Even if it was rather belittled in this circumstance.

Anika Tau'ri​

 

[Anika Tau'ri]

At least that was one half-truth revealed. Perhaps not unknown in the ranks of the New Imperial Order, but Ord Cantrell did not consider their comings and goings a priority. At least, not until recently. “Commendable. He sounds like he was quite the foe.” Anika commented. He seemed to be in a rush to finish that conversation, but that was fine. She had what she wanted. What lay beneath the mask served as a reminder of sorts. Of Rurik’s ability to endure. To survive.

Anika could not help but raise a brow at his answer to her question. Without missing a beat, her flat tone replied. “Charming.”

When he followed up with a further explanation, Anika found herself taken aback for the second time. From the outset, he had not seemed the type of man to accept death so willingly. Nor did he seem the type of man to believe himself an expendable piece of equipment, easily replaced by another when his use wore out. “You truly believe that, don’t you?” She said, not attempting to hide the genuine curiosity on her face.

She was a little surprised and somewhat disappointed at the revelation that he seemed to lack ambition. Especially after the display of domination he so clearly wanted to impress on her. With one of her brows still poised in an expression of disbelief, she nodded her head to his request. “Of course.” The relaxing pace he set was still one step of his to every two of hers, but she slipped into sync with his gait easily.

Her painted lips worked themselves into a thin smile. “I suspect the very same things you are interested in knowing about me.” Anika turned her gaze to the garden path as she pondered her response for a moment or two. “Assuming my measure of you is correct, I believe it’s far from a question of if.”

At this point, she met his gaze.

“We find ourselves in a situation where duty and obligation will win out regardless of what we think of one another. My personal obligation being my father. He placed a number of years into ensuring the success of this treaty. All the statistics suggest Ord Cantrell will further flourish under an Imperial banner. I am also aware that war is exceedingly expensive. No doubt our profits will be a reliable source of aid in your efforts against the Empire. Something that cannot be overlooked, all things considered. So, with that fact in mind, I find myself with very few expectations of you. We are under no oaths to like each other or to spend time privately with one another. This is a contract to ensure the mutual benefit of our people and the causes they stand for.”

Her shoulders displayed a soft shrug, to which she turned her attention back to the garden they strolled through. He wanted to know where her curiosity in him lay. It would be harsh to say it lay far away from his character or anything surrounding what would lead to a deeper relationship, but it would be a lie to say otherwise. That interest had faded with the conversation they left back at the table. “I already know how you feel about the other elements of such a contract. I can make assumptions on how involved you wish me to be in your personal life, and I suspect you can do the same for me. We are not teenagers and this is not a love story.” She locked her slender fingers together in front of her as she walked. “Are you a possessive man, Rurik?”​

Rurik Fel​

 

[Rurik Fel]

There was at least, no doubt in his mind that she was Imperial. Every word as measured as it was cold, political. Perfectly inoffensive as much as it was thinly veiling truer sentiment. It was a familiar brand of court speech which he’d come to recognize since his youth in Serenno, a noble. Albeit, one scorned by all around him.

He felt much the same here to an extent. It was then, piecing the parallels that he let his shoulders rise back a bit, relaxing into the circumstances rather than fading away into them or letting the nigh ‘auto-pilot’ of his weary mind take the forefront of commanding the first of their interactions. His eyes took on a new light as he glanced her way as she spoke, arching a brow to her words. She was as cold as she was cunning. In spite of the abrasive introduction, no doubt on his own fault...he saw an inlaid potential in the woman.

"I understand the nature of this agreement, many of a similar nature have been made before us and many more will be drafted long after we see the end." He inquired, stopping in her path after they'd gone around a corner, entering a shaded section of the terrace constructed to overlook the landscape enveloping the manor.

To her last question he took a visible moment of consideration to his next words, all the while he took both hands to the metal visage clasped over his features, slow and meticulously prying it from the tortured skin beneath before it unveiled his true gaze completely. His face was certainly once considered 'handsome' by was the conventional standard. His genetic makeup of both Dooku and Fel helped in that regard, but whatever was left of that gift was buried beneath scars and burns jaggedly layed over his features. The Twilight had wrought the dark reckoning both on a spiritual and physical level of his being. It showed in shades with the veiled pain that lingered in his eyes, veiled behind the auric glow that loomed in his gaze. He kept the hood to conceal the rest but spoke otherwise.

"I'd not have come as far as I have without being possessive." He admits to her.

"The Galaxy...the Darkness has gone to great lengths to rip away what I have ever had. What I have left...I have no choice than to be possessive." Rurik states.

"But tell me...is it here you intend to stay? Or would you rather be something of greater substance?" He inquires, arching a brow to her.

Anika Tau'ri

 

[Anika Tau'ri]

Anika nodded at his response. It was somewhat of a relief to hear he thought along the same lines as her in regard to their engagement.

They were not the first, and they would not be the last. They were, perhaps, the first people to take this contract as a literal definition of the word. By defining their own terms, they could ensure this was a beneficial relationship for both of them and not an inordinate waste of time. She parted her lips as if to speak, but before the words left her throat Rurik stopped them dead in their tracks. It was a rather appropriate place for a conversation of this nature. Private enough to ensure there were no curious ears or wondering eyes.

Using the sharp heel of her shoe, Anika turned to face him properly. She had seen the view from this particular garden more times than she could count. Green trees, colourful flowers, the bright city lights glistening below. There was a certain beauty to it the first few hundred times, but it had quickly faded. Even if she tried, Anika could not have focused on the view. Instead, her gaze was firmly fixed on Rurik as he reached up to relieve himself of the mask.

Despite her curiosity being peaked from the moment, he stepped onto the balcony; Anika found herself surprisingly hesitant to find out what truly lay beneath. She had no idea what to expect. Without releasing, she held in a breath of floral-scented air.

When he revealed the puckered flesh beneath, Anika could not hide the fact that she was taken aback for the second time that day. However, it was far from in the way that Rurik likely expected. She smiled. It was small, barely registering on her expression, but it was the first genuine smile she had offered him. The sharp click of her heels echoed out across the garden as she stepped closer to him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to see the flecks of colour in his eyes, to smell the unmistakable scent of metalworking on his skin. Close enough to take it all in.

It was like reading an exceedingly detailed first-hand account of the entire ordeal. She was impressed by the scars, and by the fact that he had been courageous enough to show them to her in the first place. When he answered her lingering question Anika could not honestly say she was listening. The pattern of jagged lines across his face was a glaringly open book. A true testament to the power of the dark side of the force. He had been handsome once, and many would not have been able to look past the scars to see the beauty that had once been there, but Anika could. It was strange to admit to herself that they did not bother her in the slightest. Other women may have been disgusted at them. Perhaps even put off entirely, but not her.

Raising her hand, Anika trail a pained nail gently over one of the larger scars near his neck. As if touching them would reveal something further. She didn’t notice the pain behind his eyes, or the uncertainty he projected. If he was concerned that they would scare her away, it was clear that that was far from her reaction.

At the mention of darkness, she finally pulled her hand back and drew her gaze up to face his. It was hardly an answer. What she wanted to know was how possessive he would be of her. She was far from the type of woman who could be owned. Regardless, she would likely find out the truth of it sooner or later. Her smile widened, but it was no longer genuine. “Greater substance?” Lips parting, she elicited a soft laugh of disbelief. “I do not expect to stay on Ord Cantrell for the rest of my life if that’s what you mean.” She stepped away from him and motioned for them to continue their walk down the more private paths of the garden.

Anika couldn’t quite understand. What was he expecting of her? For her to stay here? For her to follow him across the galaxy? For her to settle somewhere of his choosing to make a textbook life for them? Either one of those answers did not sit well with her, and she wasn’t one to sit silently in confusion. “I’m not sure what the Imperial Order told you of me, but I’m not the type of woman to chase the dream of children, or a perfect marriage or an unshakeable home life. Nor do I think you are. That's not to say I wouldn't be willing to try, but I have plans that stretch far beyond marrying you. When and if all of that does happen, it won’t be the be-all and end-all of my life.” She turned a curious gaze on him to ask him the same question he had just asked her. “What is it that you expect of me?”

Rurik Fel​

​