Private Promise Whatever You Like | Invite

[George Vitalis]

​

It was exactly like the holofilms; George found himself transported, far away, in the tomblike environs of a transformed Herevan Hold. These days it annoyed him more than frightened him -- or that's what he wanted people to think. That he grimaced and then laughed in the face of danger. Not that part of him was afraid every single second that he might once again be in that horrible, damp version of Herevan, once more subject to the clutches of a villain, some perverse mixture of his Talbot Vitalis and Sieger Ren. When he closed his eyes for too long in silence he could still hear the whispers, the poisonous words that had dripped into his ears every moment...

Luckily, here on Coruscant, there was never really silence. Airspeeder traffic whipped along in steady travel lanes at all hours of the day and night, and even though the penthouse his more owned was a bastion of tranquility, it was never quite silent, either. The shuffling of servants, the chiming of communicators, the holos droning news coverage all provided a rather delightful background hum.

The newly-installed Crown Prince of the Renascent Republic and the First Imperial Crown-in-Exile (what a mouthful, George thought grimly) had taken to his new public role like a duck to water, attending functions in his mother's place, cutting ribbons, unveiling plaques, and raising funds for the Renascent Republic's efforts to address the growing refugee crisis in the Galactic Alliance. And when Natasi had pledged, publicly, to remain on Coruscant -- well, that was where George had to be, too. He didn't mind, especially. He know Natasi hated Coruscant because it wasn't Galidraan, but George wasn't as deeply connected to their ancestral homeland as she was. That made his sister's impulsive sale of Herevan Hold a little easier to bear, but the wound ran deep with Natasi.

One more thing to take care of before his mother's upcoming nuptials. He had made arrangements with Dyrn Grav to spend some time today to take care of other tasks. They had a final fitting for their suits, something about the marriage license, and perhaps some others. George hoped to pick his would-be stepfather's brain over drinks -- or lunch, if they felt like being responsible -- about the Reima situation. His mother went selectively deaf when George said his sister's name, and Reima merely scoffed whenever George mentioned Natasi. It wouldn't do, it simply wouldn't.

Coruscant wasn't Avalonia, either -- thank God -- but neither was it New Sterandel. He had an immediate fondness for the place, and had spent the last few months since his rescue from the Netherworld ingratiating himself with the population there and all across Aegis and the Adytum System. He had pulled pints in New Sterandel pubs, joined a mining crew in an Themis, taken a turn behind the wheel of a fertilizer on Tyche, as well as a tour of duty aboard the Renascent Navy's Titanic-class flagship Hyperion. Now reassigned to 'official duties,' he missed the structure of those days in the Renascent Navy, where was not once referred to as a Royal Highness but instead Lieutenant Vitalis.

Still, George mused as he leaned against the railing of the broad patio that jutted out over the cityscape of Coruscant below, in the Navy he couldn't very well light up a cigarette whenever he wanted one. At least here he only had to worry about his commanding officer finding out, and Natasi Fortan was expected to be out on Senate business for much of the day. As long as Dyrn didn't tell, everything would be golden. He took a drag of his cigarette and self-consciously reached up to brush his brown hair to one side. His formerly golden locks had been overcome by deep chestnut ones, the relentless Fortan genetics asserting themselves at long last.

Speaking of Dyrn, was that not the broad-shouldered Duke and bridegroom to be in the doorway? George took one last drag of the cigarette and stubbed it out in the nearby ashtray, disposing of the butt before crossing over to greet him. "Good morning, sir," he said pleasantly, offering a hand. "Not long now, eh? Are you nervous? You don't look nervous."

But then again, Dyrn had spent a considerable amount of time in the Netherworld alongside Natasi. After that, it was hard to get nervous about normal things.

Dyrn Grav | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Dyrn Grav]

Coruscant was a completely different place, compared to anywhere else Dyrn had lived or served. The sheer size of the ecumenopolis city-covered planet was staggering to comprehend, with levels upon levels far beyond anything he could visit in a lifetime. Dyrn could only imagine the lower levels, how dense and populated and claustrophobic it would feel; and it was with some relief that the ex-Guardsman - now a Duke - had made home in one of the many looming towers above that. Not that that would have mattered, if Natasi had chosen to live on the lowest city levels, as Dyrn would have joined her no matter the locale.

In the end, it was just comforting to see the sunrise amidst a city that reached the horizon.

The speeder ride had been uneventful, despite the sheer traffic that moved like millions of mynocks on a hunk of metal debris, with a surprisingly safe - and relatively simple - experience over the city below. Dyrn landed without issue, presented himself, and was permitted entry to the penthouse where George had come to call home. The tall man was dressed neatly, though still somewhat casually, as he figured it was best to be ready for a range of activities throughout the day, without the want for refinery or stifling fashion getting in the way - there had been ample time for that, in the past, with Dyrn being a Duke.

The bell sounded, the door opened with a whoosh, and Dyrn stepped into the interior. Ahead he saw George, the young man looked better, on the mend, and it was good to see. The Force knew the last few months had been rough on the youth, which wasn't even accounting for his position as public figure of governments, let alone the events of the Nether; that had been a nightmare for all involved, truth be told, but in the end they had emerged stronger for it.

"Good morning, George," Dyrn said with a nod of his head, as he crossed the distance in several long strides, and took the other's hand. "Well, I've been a Guardsman. Shot, stabbed, crash-landed, fought and stopped assassins, all the while controlling my fear and nerves... as it stands now, I'm petrified."

Dyrn offered a smirk, his words playful; he felt that both men knew the truth of it.

"Have you been well? I apologize for not checking in with you sooner, I've been somewhat inundated with high dignitary expectations and the Alliance."

With a sigh, but also a smile, Dyrn reached up and gave George a firm squeeze of the shoulder. The young man had stepped into his obligations well, there had been some measure of pride in Dyrn's thoughts at that, and soon the pair would be related by an even closer bond. The discussion of being step-father or step-son had never really been brought up, it simply was what it was, but Dyrn had always tried to present an open and approachable father figure if George ever wanted it - someone to talk to, someone to ask advice, or even someone to just enjoy a hunting trip and some time away.

"I understand we have a list to see to," Dyrn said, eyebrows raised. "Did you have a particular agenda to begin? I am more than happy to accommodate your busier schedule, so by all means, where should we start?"

It was good to be near George again, it had been far too long.

George Vitalis | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

​

George Vitalis had a father, of course; almost everyone did, unless you were a clone or one of the relative handful of species that reproduced in different ways. The name of Talbot Vitalis had loomed large over much of his early life, and after his mother's death it was one half of the formula that made George the tragic case that he was. He's just like his father, poor little boy, they would say. But George had never met the man, as far as he knew he had never laid eyes on the man. He had died when George was an infant, and other than the various pictures and portraits and newspaper clippings he had been given growing up, George couldn't remember ever seeing his face.

As far as surrogate fathers -- well, his mother's cousin Pierce came to mind, and his uncle Thaddeus had taken an active interest in his raising. But it felt almost strange to think of getting a stepfather, especially reasonably late in life. For as long as George could remember, his mother had been a glamorous widow, sleek and dark and relentlessly well-dressed. There had been gossip years ago about her and the man George knew as Uncle Alec, his father's dearest friend who had come to Natasi's side after Talbot's death. George didn't set any store by it, but he had to admit that Dyrn Grav bore a striking resemblance to Uncle Alec.

Perhaps Natasi Fortan had a type after all. The thought made George feel slightly uncomfortable, irreconilable to the vision he had of her as some mythical, quasi-virginal figure, unmoved by physical desires or anything, really, besides duty.

But George liked Dyrn. They hadn't spent a lot of time together -- for obvious reasons -- but they had gotten along well, and George knew that the ex-guardsmen loved and cared for his mother very deeply. The two of them deserved some happiness, George thought. "You hide it well," he told Dyrn as he pumped the guard's hand enthusiastically.

"I'm well, yes, thanks," George said, avoiding Dyrn's gaze as he cast his eye around the balcony area. It wouldn't do to cast a pall. "Mother's been keeping me busy, but -- you know what that's like well enough. But I'm relieved of duty for the time being, other than the wedding to-do list and, uh... well, a bit of a challenge I've set myself. I might need to pic your brain about that, actually, but -- we don't need to get into that now. I've got the tailor, the florist, the photographer, and hopefully we can find some time for a bite somewhere in there. Same list for you?"

Dyrn Grav | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Dyrn Grav]

When Dyrn saw George, he couldn't help but reminisce about some of the times they had shared, especially when the young man had been younger. It came as some level of pride when Dyrn considered how far, and how much, George had been through - and was still yet to accomplish. And even though the ex-Guardsman held no assumptions about being a father to the young man, he still liked to think - or hope - that there was some degree of fatherly figure or role model; someone to look up to, someone to confide in, someone to learn from and take lessons to do even better in life.

"I am glad, I can only imagine how busy you have been."

Dyrn smiled, as he released George's hand.

"Ah, yes. The to-do list. That sounds about the whole of it, yes, though if I recall anything further, I will mention it," the Duke said with a nod, as George spoke of the list. "I had thought we would need more, honestly. Yet, your mother is ever the efficient planner, as you know."

With a casualness, Dyrn pulled his commlink out and spoke into the device, requesting the speeder. He relayed it be prepared for departure on the landing pad, before he slipped the item back into the pocket of his dark tunic. For a moment, Dyrn considered, then he raised his eyebrows as he asked.

"For this outing, how do you feel about the security staying at arms length?" Dyrn glanced out the filtered window to the traffic beyond. It was hardly an indication of what to expect on the walking levels of the city itself, but served as a reminder of the sheer populace. "I understand if you are hesitant, of course, and accept if your position limits that possibility. However, if it helps any, I would be close by and have not let my training slip."

It would be nice to simply enjoy the time with George, without the retinue surrounding the pair in relative close proximity, though the younger man's security was vital. It was something to consider, at any rate, and George would be far from unprotected when around Dyrn. Still, while the suggestion was up for thought, the taller man motioned to the exit and gave a smile.

"Do you have a preference on where to start with the to-do list? I was partial to the florist first, as I put in a special request and am eager to see if the retailer has been able to complete it," Dyrn began to walk from the personal rooms, keeping pace with George at one side. "Am I correct to assume we will side with tradition for the tailor, and opt for black and white? Has your mother expressed other wishes regarding that?"

The walk to the landing pad was short, and as the doors opened to permit access to the inset personal hangar, Dyrn angled toward the speeder that waited - noting the security nearby, likewise ready and seated to travel - before the Duke slipped into the waiting open door and seat within. He took a moment to calm, as the reality of making the final preparations echoed in his mind, but otherwise continued to smile as final checks and belts were secured.

"To the florist, then?"

George Vitalis | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

​

"That sounds ideal, actually," said George in response to Dyrn's suggestion about having the security detail keep its distance. "I think I'm probably safer here -- especially with you -- than anywhere else. Nobody knows me here and nobody cares." He grinned at this development. "And, you know, I'm not entirely helpless on my own. Major Judicar saw to it that I can look after myself if push comes to shove. But it's nice to have backup." He nudged Dyrn with an elbow to show that he was aware of the absurdity of the sentiment.

George did miss Judi; he wondered idly what the guardsman was up to these days. But it was too busy a day to let himself get distracted with those kinds of thoughts.

"Florist first -- works for me," said the Crown Prince as they headed for the speeder. "As for clothes -- I'm afraid that's rather what you signed up for by agreeing to marry a Galidraani aristocrat. It'll be morning dress: grey trousers, a morning coat, a waistcoat, a high wing collar. Obviously, dress shoes or boots."

George ducked into the speeder, unbuttoned his blazer, and settled into a seat, then set about buckling his seatbelt. "I'm sure Mother didn't leave much to our choice; you know how she is. Perhaps we can choose our own pocket squares, if we're lucky. It has been a fashion lately -- so I've been told -- that men in a wedding party might wear festive socks, but I guess that's between you and Mother."

Some men might find it emasculating, but George personally found it helpful. A uniform -- and that's what morning dress was, really -- took the choice out of things, but it also ensured that whoever attended such a function wouldn't look out of place. They wouldn't be viewed as, or hopefully, feel like an outsider. Galidraani aristocrats could be clannish, it was was true, and as the Fortan family shrank in numbers the distinction only got more distinct. Natasi Fortan had stopped being merely an aristocrat many years ago, first as the Head of Government of a galactic superpower and later as Supreme Leader. George wondered whether Dyrn knew what he was signing himself and his family up for.

It was not an easy road to hoe, George thought.

"To the florist," George agreed, then cracked into a chagrinned smile. "Well, aren't we the two most masculine men this side of the district?"

The car lifted and eased into traffic, and George glanced at his communicator, hoping without any great expectation to find a message from his sister. Nothing. He tucked the communicator back into his inside jacket pocket and turned his attention back to Dyrn. "When are your family arriving?" he asked conversationally. "Will you have much time to show them the city?"

Dyrn Grav | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Dyrn Grav]

Dyrn looked to George as he agreed with the security detail giving the pair some space, though the larger man's face became more impassive as the other mentioned Major Judicar. The fate of the guardian for Goerge had been both unfortunate and left somewhat vague, as the truth of his circumstances had been lost in the nether - quite literally, during the tragic events of the past, when the Crown Prince had been abducted. The decision to keep the untimely death of Judicar from George had been made, by Natasi and Dyrn, following the young man's inability to recall... though for good reason.

George does not need that burden.

"Agreed, your training has come along nicely, especially with the fundamentals provided by the Major," Dyrn said simply, with a nod, though he put a smile on his face. "I suspect we will be fine, just faces on the street."

Coruscant was so large it hardly felt as though either man would draw too much attention; and if they did, well, there were plans in place for that.

Dyrn listened as George explained the upcoming attire for the event, and smiled. He couldn't help it. Natasi had a way of doing things, which was classy and proper at all times, and it had always been very endearing. So it came as no surprise that the Galidraani tradition would be upheld, with the groom having the option to wear a small token of festivity for the celebration; though, whether it was socks or a pocket square, Dyrn was unsure, as he had something else in mind.

"I see," the large man said slowly. He smirked at George. "Thank you for clarifying. I have great respect for traditions, especially those your mother holds to, so I see no reason to object or interject with my own frivolity. Though, if you were being wed, would you consider festive socks?"

Perhaps something to keep in mind for the future, assuming George married.

"Masculine? Most definitely. And it does seem to follow some unspoken rule that the groom and groomsmen handle their immediate preparation, though I can hardly claim to be knowledgeable in these affairs, given the less structured Keshian ceremonial approach... I have been witness to a wedding or two, on my homeworld, with one being little more than stating names, presenting tattoos, and kissing the bride."

The recollection brought a chuckle to Dyrn, as he recalled his uncle's wedding from his youth.

"I dare say a Keshian ceremony was never an option. A fact I am comfortable with, mind."

The question about Dyrn's family caused the Duke to smile, as he thought about the information he had been provided by his father, which had been typically precise and official. A soldier for life, as it were, though probably a shared commonality passed onto Dyrn himself. Dyrn adjusted the cuff of his tunic and looked over to George.

"My parents will be arriving tomorrow, provided transport stays on time. Karthen, my father, was very particular with specifics, though Loris, my mother, has expressed utter pleasure over the chance to see Coruscant." Dyrn raised a finger, as though something had chimed in his mind, and added. "However, my sister Faroe, remains here on planet, having completed studies and having secured a position within Government. I expect her response to be fashionably late, though I doubt she would miss the ceremony."

Dyrn turned to George and raised his eyebrows.

"Have you... heard word from Reima? Do you know if she plans to attend? I understand things are not as... civil as we might like, between your mother and sister, though I had hoped you might know more. It would be a shame for Reima to miss this."

It wasn't an easy topic to broach, but Dyrn felt that at least opening the dialogue - and potentially knowing the answer or intents of the wayward Fortan - would be worth the discomfort; besides, Dyrn liked Reima and didn't want to see her miss something important to Natasi (and himself) because of other personal circumstances.

It was also around that time that the speeder descended, which caused Dyrn to look out the passenger window and scour the space, as his mind immediately looked for threats or suspicion. He couldn't help it, it was how he was wired now after so many decades, though for the moment it seemed clear and perfectly suitable for the Crown Prince to disembark. The pilot touched down with barely a bump, before the doors unlocked and the low hum of the engine slowed and stopped.

"Well, shall we?" Dyrn asked with a smile. He stepped out and looked across the sea of sentient locals. "Ah, there it is."

Dyrn spotted the shop. He waited for George and then fell into step alongside him, headed to the florist...

George Vitalis | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

​

George hadn't seriously considered his own wedding for years. In truth, he was sure he would have preferred a registry office wedding like the one being planned and prepared for now. "I'm not sure I'll have much choice in the matter," he said thoughtfully. "Then again, I don't remember a single cartoon from my childhood, so I don't know what I would put on festive socks." He glanced over at Dyrn. "And I'm sure the Crown will have something to say about my wedding plans. I think I'll be lucky to choose my own bride, let alone my socks."

He pictured a service in the temple of the Enlightened Balance in New Sterandel, him in his dress uniform, his mother in some sort of pastel confection with a hat -- Galidraani weddings also featured hats. Dyrn, at least, would have the option of whether to wear his dress uniform or morning clothes.

"A Keshian wedding sounds much simpler. More... sincere, in a way. But just try to get mother to get a tattoo. You're a braver man than I am, Gunga Din," George muttered at the description of the Keshian wedding ceremony. He wondered if Dyrn had broached the subjected of tattoos with his extremely uptight mother, and if so, what had been the result. George was very familiar with his mother's selective deafness -- neither responding nor outright rejecting the question, but a rather dignified silence and changing of the subject. George liked to think of it as diplomacy.

George had known that Dyrn had a sister but didn't remember that she was still on Coruscant, though he knew she had studied there. It would be nice for all the family to be together -- Fortans and Dyrns (and Vitalises, for that matter) -- to start getting to know one another better and build bonds. There was the fly in the ointment, though. The other Vitalis.

"I'm meeting her for a drink tomorrow," George said grimly. "She refuses to come to the flat, so it'll be at a hotel. Mother would never say, but I think she would be very hurt if Reima didn't come. So far all Reima has said is that she hasn't been approved for leave." George slipped a finger between his collar and his throat, tugging a little. Though he loved his sister dearly, she did rather suck the oxygen out of a room these days with her ongoing hostility toward Natasi. "I've half a mind to put her in a sack if she won't come quietly, but I'd rather it didn't come to that."

He cast a glance outside as the speeder slowed. George followed Dyrn's lead and stepped out, buttoning his blazer as they headed into the florist. "Ahh, welcome, welcome," said the florist, an older woman who, despite her years, was strikingly beautiful. She came around the service counter to greet them. "Monsieur Vitalis. Monsieur Grav, come in. We are getting close to the big day, no?"

"Madame Levesque," George said, shaking her hand. "Yes, very. We've just come to have a look at your samples for approval."

"Of course, of course. Let me go and pull them. Henri!" She called for an assistant of some extraction as she disappeared into the back of her shop.

George turned to Dyrn and cocked his head to one side. "Just what is this special request you put in, anyway?"

Dyrn Grav | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Dyrn Grav]

"You may be right."

Dyrn couldn't deny that George probably had a point - or, more accurately, several - regarding the socks. There was little doubt that his wedding would be a very important affair, something carefully planned and implemented, to a bride that secured any number of alliances or agreements. Those had been some of the very reasons Dyrn and Natasi had kept their relationship quiet, especially back when the latter had been Supreme Leader of the First Order.

"Perhaps, though each culture has their particular traditions," Dyrn said, when George mentioned the Keshian ceremony. "There have been others who use bracelets, of course. Tattoos can be seen as too far, though the less permanent approach is not seen as less. And no, I would not dare try to convince your mother to get a tattoo."

That caused Dyrn to chuckle.

When it came to Reima, however, the smile subsided and Dyrn listened to the other. There had been a lot of divide between the two women, particularly from Reima, so the hope that - somehow - George might manage to have his sister agree to being present was ideal. Whether it worked, it was impossible to say, though if it came to it Dyrn felt comfortable speaking to his future daughter-in-law on Natasi's behalf... though that was certainly a second to George's attempts, which likely held more weight.

"With luck, we may yet see those most important at the ceremony. Though, given the task of convincing Reima to attend, I daresay I should call you Gunga Din."

It was around that time the speeder arrived. Dyrn exited, though he cast a quick glance around them to be certain of safety, before he started toward the florist with George. Once inside, Madame Levesque greeted and began talking, to which Dyrn smiled and offered a nod of the head as George spoke up in response.

As the Madame disappeared into the backroom, George asked about the special request.

"A moment, George," Dyrn said as he leaned to one side in an attempt to peer through the back curtains. "It may be easier to show you."

It didn't take long, and the older woman had returned, alongside someone who could only be assumed as Henri. There were various flowery samples arrayed before the pair, each with striking differences, ranging from size, to shape, to colors. Off to one side, a rather plain flower was placed, with its petals a mossy-green and the stem an off brown... and it was that one that Dyrn smiled at and stepped over to pick up.

"I am glad you were able to get the flower, Madame," Dyrn said, as he turned to face George. "This flower is from Öetrago. It comes from a secreted away place on the planet, inside a cave, where its simple - perhaps even unsightly - shade of green hides another secret... one known to your mother and I."

Dyrn turned the flower in his hands, staring at the piece with his unique eyes.

"I want this flower to be incorporated into Natasi's bouquet."

To him, it was fuchsia rose.

"What do you think of the others, George? Do you feel inclined to some that your mother may prefer?"

Dyrn gently placed the mossy-colored flower down and smiled to Madame Levesque. He appreciated the effort for the distant and hidden away request, and hoped Natasi would - upon seeing it - realize the significance also...

George Vitalis | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​

 

[George Vitalis]

​

And then, it became clear why the two men were there rather than Natasi herself. Dyrn wanted a surprise, and wasn't that just so damned romantic? George smiled fondly. This was the kind of man his mother deserved: romantic and spontaneous, in a way she could understand and appreciate. And the fact that he would walk into hell with a gasoline can for her didn't hurt, either.

As to the rest of the flowers, George took a moment to consider. "She'll want... lilies, I think. Long-stem. White is traditional, and will look good whether this is ... this color," he indicated the green petals of the flower Dyrn had selected. "And whatever color you see." He turned back to the table, surveyed the options. "Knowing mother, she'll want something... simple. Classic. Elegant."

He paused a moment, stroking his chin. "May I, Dyrn?" he asked, reaching for the flower from where Dyrn had left it. He took it and gathered a few more of the blooms before taking a handful of the white calla lilies, forming a sort of circle around the focal point of Dyrn's selected flowers. "Madame Levesque, if you would?" He offered the sloppily constructed bouquet prototype to the expert. In just a moment, the elderly woman had it looking presentable. "Missing... something," George murmured, glancing at Dyrn before turning his attention back to Madame Levesque. "What do you recommend? Those... fern things? I think I've seen those in bouquets before."

"Ah... the plumosus," Madame Levesque said. "Excellent choice. Henri?"

The two huddled together, facing away from the two customers, and when they turned again they had a more complete bouquet, stems wrapped in some kind of ribbon.

"What do we think of this one, monsieur?" asked Madame Levesque, holding the bouquet out to Dyrn. "If I may ask, what color does the gentleman see? Perhaps we can accent with this color. If it is not... how you say... ze clash."

Dyrn Grav | Natasi Fortan | Reima Vitalis​