Little Lies [Aver]

[Fiolette Fortan]

Fiolette shut her eyes again, she wanted to keep the light out for a moment.

"Dinner with -"

She held her hand up, "thanks Petrovsky, I can take it from here."

With a single wave of her hand she dismissed the man and rose from her bunk. Transport to this region of space had been booked well in advance but it didn't make it anymore comfortable. Her sweat pants hung along her waist, she headed for the latrine with the intent of putting on her best face. Mysteriously she had resigned from the First Order Navy, maintaining her disagreement with the rest of the nation of instigating hostilities with the Galactic Alliance.

She was running low on savings and it meant she'd have to put some serious work into the company. Fiolette was still waiting on word from the First Order regarding a contract for the ships her company had built for them and for the ships she wanted to build. Until then the Galidraani woman had been forced to look elsewhere. Elsewhere turned into speaking with the disgraced former Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Valessia Brentioch.

Turned out, Brentioch knew a few people and managed to snag the meeting for her.

The former Admiral dragged herself into the latrine with her muscles twinging. It felt like every step had them vibrating in pain with only an echoing crescendo in their wake. The bright light of the latrine stabbed at her eyes. They forced her to shut her eyes again, where she rubbed the crust from her eyelids. Her hands braced up against the sink and she looked at herself in the mirror. "Fiolette Yvarro of Primo Victorian Shipwright," she said as more of a pep talk to herself than anything.

The blonde's voice was dull, and rasped with sleep.

She turned from the sink and headed into the showers.

--------

Kwenn Station.

Fiolette arrived with a nice black dress, one of the few she grabbed before heading out here. Valessia was kind enough to set the Admiral up with an apartment on Brentaal IV although she suspected that it was more of a way to recall a favor when needed. Black dress hugged at her curves and a slid platnium necklace swept around her neck. It was simple, but enough that people could understand that she was here for business.

Il D'orgo.

It was an upscale restaruant, which suited the Galidraani just fine. The moment she was picked up on camera someone knew where to direct her. "Thank you," she managed in a hushed tone before being seated. In that fleeting moment she wondered just what Valessia had gotten her into and then in the same moment Fiolette smiled inwardly. Grateful for the opportunity, she hoped to make the most of it.

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

A well-mannered maître d’ led [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] to her seat at the very back of the establishment. They wove between far-spaced tables, between wisps of hushed conversation that lent the artificial evening of the station a near-mystical atmosphere.

As they crossed into the back room, a keen eye might have noted the width of the reinforced walls; the robust construction of the doors; the lack of windows. It wasn’t so much a VIP section as a bunker – tastefully decorated, though.

In the two minutes that Aver left her waiting, the shipwright would’ve had plenty of time to take in the scenery. Dimmed lights shed warm darkness across the wall-wide paintings depicting some obscure Iegan legend. The table itself was large enough to accommodate the many courses served in Il D’orgo, yet still small enough to allow for intimate conversation.

Truly, they’d thought of everything.

The merc cast an appreciative look at her new acquisition as she strode through the door. Perhaps even two of them – only dinner and time would tell. The cuisine, at least, was a certain success.

Smiling her pointed smile, she sat across from the woman and unbuttoned her suit. A burgundy waistcoat peeked from under the lapels, as sleek as it was protective – long live plate insertions.

Her hand was not quite warm as she offered it to the other woman, red tattoos clinging to pale skin like a bad omen.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Yvarro.”

Just as soon as she settled in her chair, the waiter materialized again with their menus. Old-fashioned prestige, paper. Everything was à la carte, and everything was on the house.

Aver tilted her head to the side, icy eyes glinting from the shadow.

“I can’t help but wonder, though… to what to I owe it?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Fiolette[SIZE=11pt] could appreciate the old world charm, not many understood it. She was delicate with her menu, her eyes read through it with care. She felt Aver’s wintery stare but nevertheless took her time in selecting her meal for the evening. [/SIZE]Fiolette’s back fit with the posture of the chair with perfect ease, perhaps a natural trait from any Galidraan worth their salt. She didn’t bother to correct the woman, it was Mrs. Yvarro and had been for quite some time even with her divorce. She never bothered to reclaim the Fortan name, wasn’t hers to claim any longer as far as she was concerned.

The question posed to her by a curious [member="Aver Brand"] remained. It hung in the air with a precious tone. “I heard a rumor that you were shopping, and decided to offer up my services.” She paused with purpose as she drew her hand along the edge of the menu and turned the page. Her eyes once more drawn to the writing on the page. The menu hid the smile on her features. Distracted her eyes from drinking what was in front of them. “If.” A beat. “You’re willing.”

She hadn't missed the decor or how thick the walls were here. Years of service taught her not to miss them, but she was vulnerable here and perhaps her host knew this. Perhaps not, but she would never give away that she was in need. No. That was never proper of any Galidraan woman no matter their cause. When the waiter showed again she placed her order and set the menu down, legs crossed and hands placed on the table so that her host could see them in plain view. "We're, diversifying our assets if you will."

 

[Aver Brand]

Four decades of hunting across battlefields had taught her plenty about appraising eyes. If she minded, the mercenary didn’t let it show. Her posture remained that of a predator relaxing in its lair, which wasn’t, perhaps, as far from the truth as her guest might’ve hoped.

“Sure,” she gestured for the blonde to continue.

Blue eyes betrayed trace amusement as [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] ordered. She didn’t look away when the waiter turned to face her. “The regular for me, Arles. And I think… Whyren’s Reserve, tonight.”

The balding human gave a shallow nod. “Of course, Miss Var Nabba. Would you like a Black label with that?”

“Mm. Now there’s a thought.” She lifted a finger from curled lips. “Do you smoke, Miss Yvarro?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

"I do, Miss Var Nabba." She was sure to answer with the name on her tongue. She hadn't smoked in ages, but she was more than familiar with the habit. It was a dirty thing that Josef had introduced her to when they had first met so many years ago. The former admiral remained as she was, relaxed as she could be with the poise of the typical Galidraani woman. "For a long time, Primo Victoria was exclusive with the First Order. We've designed many of their navy's finer vessels." Finest as far as she was concerned but she was sure that some in the Imperial Naval Engineering Corps would protest the notion. But the blonde was curious as to how much the other woman knew and just what Valessia had set up for her.

"Of course, that's if the rumors are true then we can discuss specifications and designs, but for now." She took a moment to study Var Nabba, blue eyes traced over the unbuttoned suit and the burgundy waistcoat that had peeked from the lapels. For now, she would simply enjoy the view, her eyes said this but her lips said another, "for now, however, I believe I will enjoy an evening out." While she decided what it was that the other woman's company could afford her. In the moment she could not recall, for she had no real use for any of it. Weapons, armor, or even technology, if she wanted it she would make it herself. It had been awhile since she had treated herself or been treated to dinner. Cameron Centurion had been the last, and his memory danced in the back of her mind while the vision before her captured her attention.

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

The second the affirmation fell from Yvarro’s lips, Arles was already gone. The shipwright intruded upon the silence that followed with her cultured Galidraani accent, clearly testing the waters. Not a bad idea, that – hard to tell what lurked beneath the surface, here.

Aver quirked a brow at her words in open curiosity, folding an arm over the back of her chair. Places such as Il D’orgo expected their clientele to observe a certain manner and etiquette – there was complacency in her blatant disregard of those rules. It grew more obvious still when the maître d’ returned with their drinks and indulgence, and never batted an eye.

“Your hors d'oeuvres will be arriving momentarily, mesdames.”

The chilled whisky clung in amber lines to the crystal of her tumbler as she raised it to her lips. Aver smiled around the glass, lids drooping low as she took the first taste of liquid wealth.

“Business and pleasure, then. And here I thought you weren’t the type, Miss Yvarro.” She picked a Black label from its wooden box and produced a lighter from her inner pocket. Leaned forward as she cut off the tip, then offered it to the woman.

“May I?”

[member="Fiolette Yvarro"]​

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

"The story of my life, Miss Var Nabba." Her accent squeezed its way around the name, "truly."

She punctuated the sentence with the gesture for the other woman to light the cigarra. Almost immediately upon drawing from the Black Label, the woman felt a sense of calm but if she were, to be frank, Fiolette had already been far calmer here than she had in months. Even before the drag, her drink of choice was an old favorite of hers and a brew she hadn't seen in a while. Tapani Brandy, it wasn't common in the First Order and rarer still shipboard. There was a neutral accent or at least one that was being washed from what Fiolette's ears could pick up from the woman across from her. "I see what I want and I take it." In anyway that she can, there wasn't a lot in life that Fiolette didn't take. She had to, no one would simply give them to her, a lesson she learned the hard way in her early years.

Still.

There was something about Var Nabba that the former admiral could not quite place.

Maybe it was in the way the woman's ice-like eyes looked at her, or maybe it was in the expression or how she pulled on words.

Whatever it was, Fiolette could not quite ascertain, and maybe that was for the better.

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

She lingered in Yvarro’s personal space a beat longer than appropriate, eyes dancing even brighter in the light of the blue flame. With a breath of amused air and the flick of her thumb, Aver pulled back – safe distance, measure reestablished.

A war of attrition, then. Just as well – they had five courses to go, and the night was still young.

Well. Four courses to go.

The waiter peeled from the shadows to place fine porcelain and finer appetizers in front of the two women. He gave but a short introduction for the pair of dishes – one cold, one hot – and retreated again. Arles was no stranger to the dining habits of his boss, and knew well to make himself scarce.

Aver lingered against the back of her chair with her whisky and plumes of blue smoke. The food… could wait.

“And what is it that you want from me, Miss Yvarro?”

[member="Fiolette Yvarro"]​

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Another drag.

This one slow as the billow of azure smoke floated from her lips and dissipated into the air.

Fiolette's eyes drew along Var Nabba's form once again, "truth be told this was a business dinner to start with." Brandy did much to encourage Fiolette's next set of words, "and then you arrived and whisked any breath of business away." Honesty was a fine thing at the moment, "and I decided in the moment that I wanted you." Her appetite had changed and what she was once dreading an hour ago on the transport was rapidly changing into something else. She'd blame the drink later, she was sure. She let the ash from the cigarra tap into the tray beneath it as she set it down and crossed her legs. Truth be told Fiolette was grateful for this even if nothing came of it the woman was finding that letting herself free from a life of service as a military figure was, refreshing. Faded accent awash with Imperial service drawn on the next phrase, "contracts are a dime a dozen, but you, you are not." Not at all and as her sweet blue orbs locked a tracer-like gaze on Var Nabba, they gave away her intentions quite clearly.

[member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

And to think she was ready to maneuver through this evening like a surgeon through an open heart surgery, when a hammer to the ribs would’ve worked just as well.

A grin full of teeth spilled across her sharp features.

Devoid of any hurry, the mercenary curled forward to extinguish her smoke – her electric gaze found the blue eyes staring back through the silver haze. Aver unfolded from her chair with liquid motions and drained the remaining amber from her glass.

Whatever flimsy veneer of civility she’d maintained before had died along with the embers of her cigarra. Aver wet her lips and dragged her gaze along the sinful length of bare leg.

“Business can wait.” Her timbre was the whiskey that still lingered on her tongue – she closed the meager distance between them, her tall form cutting off the filtered light. She’d done some light reading on [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] before showing up, but none of her files (illegally obtained, of course) had betrayed anything like this.

Variety is the spice of life, no?

“Want to skip straight to dessert, or would you prefer I kark you in a bed?”

It would hardly be the first time this room was privy to more than just conversation. Granted, it was usually blood they ended up cleaning from the carpet, but Aver doubted they would mind the change of pace.

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

It was late morning by the time any actual negotiations had gotten underway. Fiolette sat in her hotel room with a glass of juice on one part of her table, her datapad in her hand with a small earpiece on. She was having a conversation with one of her engineers. "Yes, I'm sure." She looked over at the table and plucked a lit cigarra from the ashtray, "don't worry I've got a buyer for her, just have the ships ready. Yvarro out." The blonde took a drag of the cigarra and watched for a moment as the embers danced on the edge before allowing a plume of smoke out from her nostrils. Dislodging the earpiece she set it down carefully beside the datapad. "So here it is, the Hama." Fiolette edged the datapad over toward Dren Var Nabba with ease.

Her voice mocked the name of the ship it wasn't her design by any means. The Galidraani just finished it and ran the production, [member="Amaya Cardei"] had done all the work design wise and while Fiolette had offered to let the Nabooian-Mandalorian woman stay. She declined having signed over all stocks and ownership of House Verd Hangar and Armory to Fiolette. The Hama right along with, and as it happened the former grand admiral found a buyer for her. She set the cigarra back down on the ashtray, unfolded from her seat with ease, blonde hair spilled over either shoulder. The hotel room was brighter now thanks to the 'morning' cycle of the station her black suit looked okay but as she looked [member="Aver Brand"] over. "Nice suit."

It was a genuine compliment.

 

[Aver Brand]

[member="Fiolette Yvarro"]

That ‘nice suit’ in question was currently still draped over the backrest of a nearby chair. Aver acknowledged the words with a slight nod and continued to button up her shirt.

“It is, isn’t it?” Blue eyes flickered up from her cuffs as she straightened them out. With practiced motions the merc shrugged her jacket back on – it fell over her shoulders in the way only a bespoke piece can, fitting her form to a t.

Aver strolled over to finally take a look at the model she was buying. Her lips curled with appreciation at the sight – and the specifications. “Hama, huh?” She perked an amused brow. “Very nice, Miss Yvarro. How soon can you have them ready for me?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

"Very soon," Fiolette replied as she moved to cross the room. The smell of her perfume Chrisjen No5 wafted through the air as she did. Delicate hands worked the suitcase open. Blonde hair spilled and draped over her blocking her features from view. "Here." She called as she took a small device from the case.

"This is our production schedule for the Hama, I'm between deals at the moment trying to find space. Narrowingbetween Brentaal IV and Bakura, either way, you can pick them up, send someone or we'll fly them to you." She added with care, "and here is my personal holo if there's anything else that you need."

The Galidraani walked back to the table and plucked her datapad from the top of it. "Just sign here, and here, initials there that says you are purchasing the Hama line, this says that you have reviewed the contract and agreed to the terms and finally you are initialing that you identify yourself as the person listed on the contract." Her eyes drew to the firrerreo her expression seemed softer than the night before, either that or she still hadn't quite woken up. Donnager was already getting caf ready on the Fleetwood, it was a long ride to Naboo and he was sure she'd need it. "And, here..." She grabbed her pen and a small piece of paper from her notebook, a gift from her daughter a few years ago. They both enjoyed a good stationary, "my number in case you need anything."

[member="Aver Brand"]​

 

[Aver Brand]

Leaning against the backseat of her chair, Aver took the proffered datapad and inspected the details about her new purchase. Funny, how they tried to tell you that money didn’t matter – yet here she was, buying out the galaxy like so many cheap Nal Hutta schuttas.

“Brentaal sounds like the better option,” the merc added offhandedly as she set the datapad back on the table. “Nice and neutral.” And, more importantly, not Bakura. That’d be an unfortunate place to set up camp, wouldn’t it now?

Plucking the digital pen from its slot, Miss Var Nabba read the document through before slashing a few quick strokes on that fine dotted line. Her signature joined the elegant script of [member="Fiolette Yvarro"], and just like that… the deal was done.

Though who exactly was the devil in this little dance, it was hard to tell.

Red lips twisted into a hook of a smile. “Your number.” Her lilt dragged across gravel and corpses as she looked up. “And what kinda anythin’ are you offering, Miss Yvarro?”

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

Azure eyes were distracted by the ink that flowed from the pen. Fiolette wrote down in the old Galidraani script: Brentaal IV. Her finger slid the pen between each digit as her gaze flowed like the river and connected with [member="Aver Brand"]'s own ice blue eyes. "Whatever comes across your mind, Miss Var Nabba." Her voice was flat, void of emotion and rather professional even. The blonde's facial features were stiff and hardened as well if there was any indication of play she didn't show it. Instead, she grabbed the datapad and took her notebook and pen, stylus right along with it. "I appreciate your business and am glad that we were able to meet." Kwenn Station seemed to hum beneath her feet as she crossed the hotel room and stowed the loose items into her luggage.

Her eyes caught the garment bag that held her old uniform and medals. "I'll have Mr. Petrovsky contact your office with further details on the Hama's delivery." Fiolette settled the garment bag over her luggage and then checked the room once more to make sure she hadn't left anything behind. "You'll have to give me a little more detail on who does your tailoring, but I'm afraid that conversation will have to wait." She said with some disappointment. The blonde strode toward the taller woman and placed a polite kiss on her cheek. "Until next time."

She then turned around grabbed her things and headed out of the hotel room with a contract from Nadir secured. Fiolette was ready to move into the next phase of Operation Independence.

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0MldsqKGnLA[/media]