First Reply Stirred

[Natasi Fortan]

Coruscant truly was a city that never slept. An entire planet covered in layers upon layers of city, it was always day somewhere in the city, always night somewhere, always twilight, always dawn. It was evening when Natasi Fortan looked up from her work in her Senate office, taking a double-take at the hour by checking the elegant filigreed watch at her wrist. Turns out it was correct, indeed. She took a slow breath, then pushed her chair back and stood, strolling over to the door. Her private secretary stood instinctively, bowing at the neck. "Kenat, I'm sorry, I didn't realize the time. Go home."

"I go home when you go home, Senator," Kenat said.

"I'm going home," Natasi said. "At least, I'm leaving the office."

"Do you have anything for me to file or send out before I go, ma'am?" Kenat stood and began to put his blazer on.

Natasi paused and retreated back into her office to pick up her own cloak as well as a folder. "I was going to take this to the staff secretary's office myself, but -- if you're headed that way?"

Kenat helped Natasi into her cloak and took the folder from her. "Of course. Just a reminder, ma'am, you have an 0600 with the Prime Minister tomorrow."

The Senator nodded as she fastened her cloak. "I think I'll take it from the residence, if that's convenient. No need for you to open the office; I'm perfectly capable of placing the call." Her PPS hesitated, then nodded once, assenting to her proposal. They walked out together and parted ways at the next junction of the hallway -- Kenat went left toward the staff transit station, with a stop at the staff secretary's office on the way, while Natasi went right toward the Senators' garage.

The irony wasn't lost on Natasi that here, on the most populated planet in the galaxy, with more people per square kilometer than anywhere else in the known galaxy, was where Natasi felt most alone. Nor was it lost on her, as she climbed into the back of her airspeeder and settled into the plush seat, that she was more or less trapped on Coruscant, lusted after by so many galactic leaders. Natasi had always cautioned the Supreme Leader and the Moff Council that Coruscant was a third rail in galactic powers. Yes -- it was where the power was -- but as a consequence, if you touched it, you died. So a world in which she had never had an interest had become a prison of sorts. A pleasant prison. Luxurious, even. And she had agreed to be there, at the Prime Minister's request. But it still felt constricting nonetheless.

The driver asked where she wanted to go, and Natasi almost said home. Her penthouse apartment -- also constricting. Empty but crowded with the ghosts of her myriad failures. Reminders that George was out there -- somewhere -- trapped in the Netherworld. That Reima was so disillusioned with Natasi and the Fortan name that she had sold Herevan Hold to a stranger, had fled, and had as yet declined to answer Natasi's calls and emails and letters. A host of Fortan and Vitalis ghosts lined up to remind her of every failing. Instead, she said: "Can you recommend a restaurant? I'm starving."

After a moment's hesitation he said: "I've heard good things about Emerald. Here in the Senate district and popular with your colleagues."

Natasi looked out the window and then nodded to herself. "All right. That sounds nice, thank you."

Ten minutes later, the Supreme Leader was standing humbly before a hostess stand with a young blonde woman chewing gum and scrolling through a tablet. After a few more moments she looked up apologetically. "Sorr-eee," she said in a tone that suggested she couldn't be less invested in the discussion. "We're fully booked in the dining roooooom, basically aaaaaall niiiiite." Natasi didn't know how she knew that the girl said 'nite' instead of 'night,' but she just knew it. She reached up and scratched her neck, inadvertently exposing her small Senate identity pin. The hostess' eyes narrowed on it and she said hastily, "But I could get you into a seat at the baaaar, if you waaaant?"

The Senator smiled tightly, about to refuse, but then -- "Oh. Lovely. Can I still get food?"

"Of course, sweetieeee -- I mean, miiiiiss." She turned, raised a hand. A tall twi'lek approached, vivid pink lekku twitching. "Salnya will take youuuu."

"Thank you."

Natasi followed the twi'lek. "Busy night," Natasi observed.

"You've no idea," Salnya said with a sympathetic look over her shoulder. Her brows furrowed a little. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I -- I sit in the Senate," Natasi said, blushing a little. "Perhaps you've seen me on the news. Background footage."

Salnya made an uncertain face. "Maybe. Well here you are. Bar menu is there. Wine by the glass or by the bottle in this menu, and of course, you can order anything from the kitchen." The twi'lek pointed at the differing menus. Natasi thanked her quietly and spun the barstool so that she could climb into it and spun to face the barkeep, her inexpert ministrations causing her knees to brush the stool of her neighbor. "Sorry," she murmured as she settled in and shrugged out of her cloak. Perusing the menus, she decided on a cocktail.

"May I have a sidecar, please?" she asked the bartender. "And could I please have the tasting menu?"

​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

​

The haggard figure entered the bar with some heaving. The apparatus strapped to his face ensured that his face was disguised. Totally and utterly. But despite having been on Coruscant for business, the avid amateur historian neveretheless felt as though he owed the planet and its history some recreational time. With a respirator strapped to his face, and obscuring his features, the former Admiral Regent of the New Imperial Order, turned Galactic Empire strode into the bar. It was, pleasantly busy. No one would bat an eye at a man like him. Attired in a crisp black coat, and business man's tunic. He looked just another suit trying to recline. "Sir, Hopkins has managed to secure the perimeter. No SIS or local forces nearby."

Rausgeber however was not alone as he entered. There was a retinue of bodyguards who followed him with. They were undercover of course. All of them. As far as the Galactic Alliance was concerned 'Alec Barry Regules' was merely a shipping magnate in Wild Space. Seeking medical treatment at the prestigious G.A.R.M.A research institute. A medical think tank, specialising in cutting edge treatments for terminally ill patients. The credits he paid, the vessel he had travelled in, they betrayed no inkling of the monster within. "I.... Want.... A Drink." Rausgeber rasped from beneath the respirator. It confined most of his face, and cheeks beneath a mask. One which quietly grunted and groaned with each breath.

"As you wish sir," Agent Galen Roth grunted, approaching the matrie de. "A table, in your cocktail lounge please. For.... Four." Galen flashed her some credits, and they were on their way. Salyna, the same Twi'lek who had obliged Fortan a seat, then serviced the incognito imperials. They walked with some rigour, although Carlyle hobbled as they were lead toward the cocktail bar. Upon entry, they were bustled toward a booth seat. But it was then and there, that he saw her. Shrugging off the cloak. Carlyle remembered her. His servile impotence before her. It made him seeth, but also... Comforted. She had landed. Unlike so many others, on their feet. Rausgeber moved toward her. Agent Roth stood up, "Sir-"

"Hold... Your tongue." Rausgeber glowered, Salyna, who had been watching the exchange seemed a little shaken. "I.... Am merely meeting... An old... Friend." Carlyle rasped. Roth stood down, getting back into his seat, and examining the menu. As Carlyle moved toward the bar. He was nearly unrecogniseable. Shaved bald. His eyes, glassy and blue. With thick, black bags sagging from them. He looked a sickly sight. And yet, while limping forward. He managed to carry some form of militant posture. Rausgeber approached Fortan's rear. Respirator clasped to his face. Attired in that businessmans suit, like any Coruscanti executive.

"Is.... This seat... Taken.... Grand Moff?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Out of context, Natasi didn't recognize Caarlyle Rausgeber . The man had died ages ago, she recalled, his psyche transferred into some kind of holographic droid body as Robogeber . After that... things got fuzzy. The man before her was a shambling wreck, the ghost of a ghost -- less than that. She was immediately revolted, but decades as a diplomat and at one point the most public and photographed woman in the galaxy, she had learned to control herself. The only reaction was a slight knitting together of the flesh between of her eyebrows; her dark eyes studied the man, until she saw a similarity, an echo of someone she recognized.

"I don't -- " She almost said believe it, but Natasi had defeated death, too. She was not so remarkable that it was a feat only she could accomplish. She looked around, her gaze wary. She had studied up on the events of the war between the Alliance and the New Imperial Order -- or whatever they called themselves now -- and cavorting with one of their senior personnel seemed fairly close to treason. Yet -- Natasi Fortan did not oversee immigration control on Coruscant. Perhaps he was here legally.

"Please, Grand Admiral," Natasi said, gesturing towards the seat. How the man expected to eat or drink with the apparatus on his face was beyond her, but that was his business. "It's Supreme Leader now, not that there's much left of which to be Supreme Leader," she said softly, taking her drink from the bartender with a grateful nod. "Or Senator."

She looked sidelong at him, her eyebrows furrowing.

"What in Balance happened to you?" she asked grimly.

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

​

"Admiral... Regent." Rausgeber wheezed, as he took position next to her. He grunted and groaned as he placed his haggard form on the chair next to the Grand Moff. Carlyle's gaze rested on the menu, and looked to it. His eyes narrowed into little slits, with black bags poring over it. "One... Bareknuckle Gamorrean." Carlyle glowered, "Shaken.... Not stirred." He commanded with a stern glare to the bartender before his attentions returned to Fortan. His eyes creased over her. And he reached within one of the pockets of his suit. He seemed to have done something, as there was an unmistakeable hiss. Something that sounded a little like an airlock unsealing. "You look... Ravishing." The fellow First Order alumni mused. Before looking around once more. Seeming to scan for spies and the like.

He winced, briefly. His whole body shuddering. Before he managed to almost wake up, "There are not many of us left." The imperial mused, having given himself a dose of some sort of antibiotic or painkiller. "Those who survived the Ssi-Ruuvi, who can trace from that era are almost dead." Carlyle grumbled from beneath the mask. His bloodshot gaze now forlorn as he examined the bartender making their bevrages. "The Galaxy we once conquered and tamed is gone." The imperial lamented, "Sieger Ren's legacy is dead. And now..." He paused, as the bartender returned with a drink. A liquid, or purple and lime hues, served in a flute. Rausgeber obliged a curt nod to the man, "And now we are what is left." He reached for the edges of the respirator, and began to unclasp it from his features. "Although of all the people... All those years ago, I never believed you a democrat... Would willingly sit in Coruscant's halls of power." The authoritarian despot mused, "I thought," He offered the wryness hint of a chortle. Or was it a cough? "You'd shoot yourself first."

It was then, it became apparent that they had hidden some more injuries. The skin was pale and sickly as Carlyle removed the mask, placing it on the bar before them. It was almost white. With a thick, red line marking where the mask had sealed itself on his face. Particularly egregious was the redness around his mouth. Almost as if it was a second set of lips. Cutting into his skin. But that was without referring to the fetid, gaping maw on his left cheek. Which revealed a septic wound. The skin around it, gangrenous. And slimy. Incapable of being shut, Carlyle had opted to seal it beneath that great mask. His teeth, jagged and still sore from the wounds. Ooze seeped from his gums. And the imperfections of his teeth, were shaded brown or even black. Almost an ornate albeit imperfect mosaic on his fangs.

"But...." Carlyle reached for the flute, and began to toy with it. "To answer your initial... Inquiry." He cleared his throat. His voice was raspy. It carried that same authoritative baritone. But was... Distinctly weak. Vulnerable. "I played with my food." Carlyle informed her, before taking a sip. His tongue lapped at it, trying to keep most of the 'Gamorrean' in. But trickles of it escaped from the fetid, open maw. Dribbling onto his suit collar.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

"There are moments when I'd really rather like to," Natasi said with a subtle chuckle. "Democracy is... perhaps the most inefficient process I've ever come across. There are days when I long for the nigh-absolute power of being Grand Moff -- to get things done rather than simply deliberating about them. But as I've said many times, those whose hands itch for the levers of power are seldom the most deserving of wielding them." She stirred her drink with the small, saber-shaped cocktail pick that hosted an orange slice, idly watching the spirits mingle in the glass as she considered. "I am perhaps biased, but -- well. Things were different back then. Very different."

She paused in a companionable silence briefly, before her eyes drifted to their corners to take in the spectacle of the man's mask.

It was horrifying, actually, and would have seemed tragic, except that something about his response gave Natasi the distinct impression that he got what was coming to him. Played with his food -- that was grim.

"What, pray tell, is an Admiral Regent?" Natasi asked coolly. The title did not exist within the First Order. A reminder that when she had returned and the First Order had re-established itself, Carlyle Rausgeber -- in any of his iterations -- had failed to materialize. Too busy, it seemed, chasing glory with the New Imperials.

A disappointment.

But she kept her tone light. Best not to spoil the pleasant environs just yet.

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

"You were perhaps one of the very few capable, or worthy of wielding absolute authority." Rausgeber informed her, "You had the wishes of the people and the empire at heart." He mused, "You were... With conviction. And strength." His bloodshot gaze rested briefly on her. Before moving back to his glass. He reached for a napkin, and began to dab at where the liquor had escaped the gaping maw of his mouth. He winced with every tap. But it seemed to be a regular occurance. Cleaning around the septic maw. "You were with power. And you lead us. More than Sieger ever did." Carlyle mused, "You... You were the true leader." He lamented bitterly, "And I would have followed you anywhere." He sighed, "Perhaps your time away from the throne has... Muddled things. But. You should know, I believe that if given the reigns, you could carve a new order into this Galaxy."

"I did not come up with the title." Carlyle replied. "It means, I was head of the New Imperial Navy." Rausgeber informed her. His voice had an even edge. "I merely inherited it. And those who came up with such a term are now...." Rausgeber seemed a little pained, and winced, "Well, they're dead." Rausgeber drily finished. Before he took another sip. This time slower. He pursed his lips, as more of the cocktail exited his wound. However, he seemed to have at least tasted it before the exit. "I sense... Disquiet, Supreme Leader." He swirled the flute around, "That you perhaps feel I abandoned you." He turned fully to face her, "I did not." He turned back to the bar, "Not intentionally."

"I had people, Natasi." Rausgeber mused, "Refugees. The ill. Infirm. Broken soldiers. Women. And children. All who looked on me for leadership. For salvation. For a future." Carlyle bitterly lamented, "I was a but a droid. A narrow, figment of some dead man's persona, now gifted a second chance. I know... What he would have done. But he was never quite stable." Carlyle added, "Never capable." He looked down at his lap, "Perhaps.... Had things developed differently, we would have partnered." Carlyle mused, "But Yvarro, and Madelyn Lowe , they joined the Sith. Carnifex's cabal. They proved themselves... Not weak but... Incapable. Of seeing bigger."

"A rotting empire. Ready to be hollowed out. Obsessed with its wars against Jedi. Not with creating something new. Something greater." The imperial pontificated, "Serving them, bending the knee to some abomination of a force user. A lazy cretin who would delegate to those better than him...I couldn't do it." He snorted. Some pus began to run down his cheek, "It was never meant for us. Playing second fiddle to cultists obsessed with the force." He paused, "Not really." He mused, "Although.... Part of it was for my own vanity." He conceded with what looked like a smile. "I seized the chance. Not just for my people. But for glory. For victory. For a place in history."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi felt her chest seize with an emotion that didn't come naturally to her: pity.

Carlyle Rausgeber had had potential, once upon a time. The First Order had given him discipline, among other tools, to make something of that potential. It restricted his baser urges, as it had done for almost everyone. But from what she had heard these New Imperials had offered no such guardrails. The savagery of the New Imperials was well known, even to Natasi herself. She distinctly recalled the attempt to extort and threaten her for her role in Galidraan's favored status in the Sith Empire.

Fools. And Galidraan lost to their folly.

It would have been easy to hold him responsible, this pitiful monster. In a sense he had enabled them. Yes, it would have been easy to resent Rausgeber.

"The least said about my erstwhile relations, the better," Natasi said through gritted teeth. "But Lowe... that -- " The Supreme Leader's breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, shaking her head sadly. " -- Madelyn Lowe is perhaps the sharpest cut of them all. Of all the people in the old days that might have succeeded me, I was sure it would be her. Amsel was too good at war to do politics -- he would have been a tremendous Supreme Commander, in fact -- and no one would ever trust a spymaster with the big chair so Calgar was a non-starter. But Lowe had... something. I can't put my finger on it. She would have made a fine Grand Moff to my Supreme Leader, but she didn't come."

But she couldn't blame Madelyn. For Natasi, the time between the old First Order and the second iteration was an eternity and it was moments. For Carlyle, for Lowe, for the countless others who had moved on with their lives -- it had been years. And yet more years had passed, with Natasi trapped in the Netherworld. Like sands through an hourglass, the galaxy moved on. It was the nature of things: the galaxy kept turning, banthas kept walking, and the First Order kept tearing itself asunder without a strong hand on the tiller.

Mother of the Nation? she asked herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Gone was the subtle mocking tone of Sieger Ren that had occupied her mind for so long. Her condemnations now were her own, and well deserved. Some mother you are.

"I find myself -- personally, a little disappointed. In my -- arrogance, there is only one word for it, it is arrogance -- I thought I had more to teach you. But you're not a child and I have no claim over you. You need not justify yourself to me." She paused as the bartender came by to place the first course of the tasting menu before her. Her jaw tensed; Natasi's appetite had fled. "But since you brought it up, what do you suppose is your place in history, the place you valued enough to throw in with that -- " She inhaled sharply, seething. " -- band of thugs?"

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

​

" Madelyn Lowe was not near the stateswoman you are." Carlyle scoffed, "You, Natasi Fortan are on in a century. One of the few politicians, capable to play imperial figurehead, and then pivot to senator." Rausgeber cackled, "You, are perhaps the most inspirational leader since... Since fucking Palpatine!" Carlyle declared, taking another sip, "Lowe never came close, she's a capable administrator. And in my experience, knew when and where to defer to the military when governing. But she was not you." Another sip, "She was not a Fortan."

Carlyle nursed the glass, and listened as Natasi proceeded to badmouth his comrades within the New Imperial Order. "We purchased greatness." Rausgeber glowered, before engaging in a spluttering series of coughs. Some of which, lathered the counter before them in bloody, acrid phlegm. He raised a hand to the bartender, an open palm. "My apologies." He plied some credits to him. Before turning to Natasi, "Greatness. We brought the Jedi and Sith to their knees." Carlyle informed her, "We destroyed the Sith Empire. Rebuffed the Silver Jedi! And we blunted the Maw! And damn well nearly did the same to-" He paused and looked around, self aware they were on Coruscant, "And we nearly managed to destroy the Alliance." He paused, and then glanced back to the bartender. "I want the next two cocktails on my shout." He passed the credits over the bar, before turning back to Natasi once more.

"The Empire was set to rebalance the Galaxy, reframe it." Carlyle lamented with some guilt, "We were to create the first force in an age, which did not rely on Jedi or Sith. Which had purchased victory honestly. With its own blood, and those who it needed to conquer." Rausgeber added, "And we could have done it. But with the death of Irveric Tavlar . And then Rurik Fel , it destroyed such aims." He cocked his head briefly to the left, "Even if the latter was an Imperial Knight, he knew leadership was not... Not for him." He added, "The Empire, had it had you, a strong figure head. Instead of men like me, like DECEASED Erskine Barran or Ignacious Korvan , would have survived. If not flourished." Carlyle biterly informed her, "We could have changed the Galaxy, for the better." He seemed to become more and more agitated, "We could have-" He raised a clenched fist to his chest, and beat it several times. Gagging briefly, before continuing. Sweat running down his brow.

"You have no need to apologise for arrogance." Carlyle declared, "The Ssi-Ruuvi, my death... None of it was your fault." He lamented, as he finished the last of his cocktail. He now glanced at the menu, "A 'Rutan Dancer' please." He ordered to the bartender, before his mind turned back to her, "In fact, I think a lack of confidence has lead you here." Carlyle bitterly mused, as more pus seeped from the gaping wound on the side of his face, "Think about it Natasi. You now play lapdog to some senators on Coruscant, the Galaxy meant better for you."

"But I? I was never meant to play politics." Carlyle mused, "I... I don't know quite how to explain it." He conceded, "But... Every problem, every calculation... It isn't, it doesn't come in my mind normally." He pursed his repugnant lips together, "It just... It comes out as... As code. And I am forced to sort it from there." He glumly conceded, "You and me Natasi, we are of two different breeds. Even when Carlyle was alive, I was not of your stock." The Admiral Regent informed her, "I was always bult to subjugate. To crush, and destroy." He looked at her, with a forlorn gaze.

"I just wish I now had someone worthy to command who I destroyed."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi regarded him with wide dark eyes.

The exchange was more personal than any they had ever shared, more raw than the time he had screamed bloody murder into her face, back when he was a Captain and Natasi was a mere Governor. The memory brought her back, to when she was young -- not just looked young, like now, but was young. Things had been simpler, then, somehow. The galaxy was laid out before them to conquer, Natasi and Carlyle, Sieger and Ludolf, Rolf and Sybil and yes, Madelyn too. Before empires they had built and administered, before wars they had united to win, there had been potential.

His accusation of a lack of confidence stung -- not only because it was made by someone she still viewed as a subordinate, as a junior officer, ludicrously so -- but because it was true. At least in part.

"I am no lapdog," she said coolly, picking up her drink and giving it a swirl in the glass. "And I am not here because of a lack of confidence. I'm here because Renata Westaway asked me to be. She had faith in my ability to communicate the needs of the people we both serve to the Senate. That it's the Senate and not -- I don't know, some Imperial Remnant somewhere or another -- is a coincidence of geography. The location for the settlement was chosen before the borders were as they are now, you understand. But I'm responsible for the people there. To the extent that I can serve them, I will, and this is how their chosen leader has asked me to do that."

To their peril, probably, she reminded herself cuttingly.

Natasi sipped her drink, licked her lips. "But tell me what I have to be confident about. The First Order -- overextended by war, so unloved by the rest of the galaxy that after the sacrifices we made at Omega and elsewhere, when the scales attacked Dosuun, only the Sith Imperials bothered to send a token force. The sacrifice I made wasted by turning the largest and most powerful nation in the galaxy into a fractious band of squabbling warlords. I made the First Order in my image, Carlyle: their failure is my failure." Natasi took another drink, polishing it off, and raised a finger to the bartender to request another.

"And then my aunt wades into the Netherworld and drags my soul out and we have the chance to do it again -- do it right -- and the whole thing collapsed even faster, into competing interests and squabbling the moment my back was turned." She shook her head; Natasi wasn't just angry, she was nearly incandescent. "And it's my fault, you must understand. I am not the great white hope you seem to think I am. Quite the opposite, I have failed at every significant task ever laid before me. Do not argue."

Not just the First Order. Her marriage, and before that, other significant romantic partnerships. Her children. The rest of her family -- well, those she couldn't blame herself for, and as far as she was concerned a clean break had been for the best.

The bartender delivered the drink and Natasi murmured her thanks. Natasi didn't look to Carlyle, staring blankly ahead. A single tear escaped her lashes, rolling placidly down her cheek; she made no outward sign of noticing. "We are the same," she said, her voice dull and cracked like blasted stone. "I destroy, too. Perhaps by accident. But ask the people of the First Order who put their faith in me -- twice -- whether that matters."

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

​

"So a kind, honeyed word sees you degrade yourself to... This..." Rausgeber lamented with a small frown. Or what looked like a frown. It was hard to tell with all the grimace betrayed across his features at all times. He however paused, and reconsidered, "That was unkind." He looked to her, "My apologies." He paused, "It's just... Hard. To see you like this.... Seeing you here. Drowning your sorrows in some..." He hesitated to call it a dive. It certainly wasn't. "In a bar, like some passionless officer." He conceded. It was exactly the place Carlyle would've drowned his sorrows in Avalonia, before the First Order. When he was merely a Dosuunian captain. Weakness, is what it was. And she deserved to be one recognised for her strength.

"I have realised, if I may," The impeiral mused to his lapsed comrade, "That it was not your fault, the First Order collapsed. And to heap the burden on your shoulders, denies you the recognition you deserve for having lead such an accomplished force." Carlyle complimented, "It was the pettiness of the Galaxy. The callousness, and narcissism of the Sith. And the idealistic, moral grandstanding of the Jedi which killed the First Order." Rausgeber countered, "I believe, had the Galaxy, and it's peasants not so readily clasped and flocked to these.... Gods amongst mortals, then perhaps we would be able to rule, as their betters. As those capable of siezing and building a Galaxy without such irritants."

The malformed war criminal took a long sip from his cocktail, and paused. Chapping his lips as some of the alcohol seeped from his gaping wound. "You, look on these trials. These tribulations, as failings. And while perhaps in the grander scheme of things.... Perhaps that is correct." He paused, "However, we have neveretheless, have left a mark on the Galaxy that will continue to echo." He clenched a fist, and raised it. A gesture of solidarity, strength. "We wiped out the One Sith, it's remnants. We crushed the Galactic-" He paused, and hushed his voice, "Alliance. And we provided a stable and secure Galaxy for our denizens. There is a generation, more than one. Who even once we're gone, will read in impeiral libraries. Be taught in our schools." Carlyle conceded, "Political power, includes legacy, and you more than most have an enviable one."

"Pragmatism may have driven you here to Coruscant, but I have no illusions," Carlyle continued, "That if given the right ammunition, the allies and position, you can rise above this chaff. Become a leader the Galaxy will both admire and fear." He added, "You fear another failure. Another.... Avalonia. Another collapse. And it's understandable. But with the right fire, the right passion," He reached, and clasped her hand, squeezing it, "I see but a Supreme Leader waiting in the wings."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi regarded Caarlyle as she might an interesting insect. There was curiosity there, of course, but also revulsion hiding behind it. The man's body had been ruined, but it was the ruination of his mind and his soul that troubled Natasi. All had come about by his association with an organization that only encouraged his baser instincts, rather than providing the structure and moral leadership that would have channeled his strategic mind into something productive.

It was worse than a shame; it was a waste.

Her starter sat in front of her, steam rising in silvery curls from the fine bone china. "Can you -- that is, would you care for some?" she asked, nudging her plate toward him with her fingertips. It wasn't clear to her how his ruined face could eat, even if he was hungry, but it seemed rude not to offer. She reached into her handbag and withdrew her datapad, her fingertips making light falls across the screen. "Apologies, just checking in with the office," she murmured, glancing over at him again.

"You needn't worry about me, Admiral," Natasi told him, forcing a Galidraani neutral face. "I came here for a meal, not to drown my sorrows. Like any good Galidraani aristocrat, if I should ever drink to excess, I do it at home, alone, where no one could see me. You know me: dignity, always dignity." Her voice was touched with the sardonic.

She found it hard to disagree with his assessment of the Sith and the Jedi. Her latent distrust of those gifted with the Force went beyond her years as Grand Moff; it was inborn, from her very earliest memories of the Cosmic Balance catechisms. Those with a talent for connecting to the Force stood outside the Balance, influencing it, gaining boons while not suffering the requisite losses. Even once Natasi herself, the most famous practitioner of the Cosmic Balance, had returned from the dead with tales of the Netherworld, disproving the basic concepts of the Balance, it was hard to throw those shackles.

It didn't help that Natasi herself now touched that very forbidden power source, the Force, though she had done nothing to develop it. Merely knowing it was there was problematic enough, but to take advantage of it for benefit would, according to her faith, cause misery for others.

But he was wrong. Even if it was not her fault that the First Order had collapsed, it was her responsibility. She had made a solemn vow, a pledge to serve and protect those people. Even if there was an argument to be made that her sacrifice -- thought to be final at the time she had made it -- concluded her responsibility, she couldn't accept it. It was Natasi who had overseen the power structure that couldn't survive without her, not once but twice. To err was human, but this smacked of egomania. She considered Caarlyle, eyes narrowing slightly, and wondered if his was the type of personality that could conceive of such an argument, to draw the conclusion that she easily could. Or if to him, her egomania represented a justified view of her own abilities.

He saw her diminished authority and saw a problem.

Natasi saw her diminished authority and saw a solution. She had proved -- twice -- that having only her hands on the levers of power was a recipe for catastrophic failure. She had things to say, ideas to offer, but even in her arrogance she recognized that she was not infallible. Her datapad buzzed, and she checked it covertly before taking another drink.

Time was running short for them both, now.

"Enough about me," Natasi said, and she admired the way she made it sound airy, conversational even as her pulse began to race. "What brings you here? Business, or pleasure?"

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

​

"Obliged." Carlyle wheezed as he examined the food. He procured a fork, and began to poke and prod at some of the morsels on the plate. "It has been..." his voice began to crackle and fail, "Too long. Since tasting the finer things..." He drawled. Reflexively drool seeped from the corners of his hideous maw. Some even dripping from great scar where his left cheek should have been. Green, and sickly, as he raised the fork to his mouth. And began to slide the fork into his mouth. He seemed to realise how uncomfortable it would make her to see the cross section of his decaying teeth chewing. The Admiral Regent's eyes fluttered shut, savouring the taste of fresh Coruscanti cuisine against his starved taste buds.

His tongue rolled over it, and prodded. Before he began to chew. Carlyle raised a palm, with a napkin covering it to hide it. As his muscles churned and chewed, he winced with each dab of napkin against his cheek. Swallowing finally with an anguished grunt. "Thank you..." He wheezed, before procuring an autoinjector from his jacket. And jabbed it into his throat. His fists clenched, but he relaxed. His breathing easing. "That was... Marvelous." Carlyle mused, eyeing the starter, "Again... Thank you." He placed the napkin on an empty plate. The remains of some food, mushy and now coated in pus, were briefly visible before he saw fit to fold it neatly. Sparing the former Grand Moff such an unseemly spectacle.

"I am dying." Carlyle flatly informed her in response to her inquiry as to his business. "Well... I'm certain, you gathered that. Based on appearances alone." Rausgeber conceded with what seemed like a harsh bark of laughter. He was a husk of what he once was. Even in droid form, there seemed at least to be some spark to him. Rather than this decrepit shadow. "Death... As you probably realise more than most, is but an obstacle. But this form..." He seemed mournful, "It is not long for this realm. And regrettably... The science to salvage it, and create a replaxement.... is costly."

Rausgeber snorted, "So for sometime, unless I wish to return to the.... Shell." He seemed to curse his previous automaton state, "I am to suffer." He paused, "Perhaps... Carlyle, the one you truly knew... He lived a comfortable existence." The imperial hardliner mused, "But this... Pain. Anguish... It's been enlightening in its own sense. I am feeling something... Experiencing something he never had, and probably never could." The career officer lamented. Pale digits tapping against the bar, "It is hard, when one was born, almost with binary. Code, which relegated all existence into one's and zeroes to effectively describe this... mode of living if you will." The clone informed her, "But... It makes me wish to inflict this, on those who trespass against me... Against us."

"Coruscant harbours many scientists, whose work may not fall fully within conventional norms of what science and politicians dictate." Rausgeber mused, "I am merely here to purchase time. With this form." He added, "You may perhaps not feel it fully, I assume your time in the Netherworld was... Traumatic. But to not be able to... To..." He seemed caught, fixated with vexed anger on how incapble he was of describing the Hell of being a droid, "To feel... To touch... To taste... To smell... It's.... It's intoxicating! And even now," He became animated. A return to almost his original form, "As I die. Cancers eating at my muscles.... Gnaw at this festering heap... I feel... I feel enough to make it worth it."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi instantly regretted her hospitality when Rausgeber began to pick his way through her comté gougères before moving on to the steak tartare and wasabi. The way he ate was sickening, literally stomach-turning, and the Supreme Leader had to turn away, her eyelids fluttering shut and squeezing tightly against the image. But it was too late; it was seared into her mind's eye.

"I'm sorry," Natasi said in response to his announcement that he was dying. And despite the fact that she had just betrayed him, casual as you like, didn't make it any less true. She was sorry, but she felt sure that it was probably better this way. She didn't know which was the more merciful: to let Rausgeber die before facing justice, or to see him brought into custody and given the best medical treatment while awaiting trial.

The question was, at the moment, academic. Natasi had no way of knowing it, but the Strategic Intelligence Agency was already on its way.

How Carlyle spoke, how he talked about inflicting vengeance against the shadowy 'others' that had trespassed against them only reinforced her view that she had made the right decision. He had become a wraith, this broken man before her, wandering a ruined but rebuilding galaxy, looking to undo the rebuilding. Looking to visit vengeance. She idly wondered what had happened to his children; he had had -- two? Her memory was fuzzy, to be sure, but she vaguely recalled that there had been some.

Perhaps they had perished. Perhaps betrayed him, somehow. Either way, he did not seem to be at all interested in planting trees under which future generations could seek shade. For all his high-minded talk about the legacy that they had built, he seemed to want his legacy to be fire and blood. That made him separate from Natasi Fortan -- irrevocably, it seemed.

"Can something to be done?" she asked him, signaling the bartender for another drink. He came and whisked the glass away. Natasi turned her gaze back to Carlyle, hard as it might be. "Modern technology, surely...?"

Caarlyle Rausgeber​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Natasi Fortan

​

"Your condolences are appreciated." The Admiral mused to her, he looked down at his drink, and took another sip. Once more, more than half of it never reached his gullet. And he had to dab his shoulder with a napkin. "When this body was forged, my hubris took great care to ensure it would be a peak specimen." The Admiral replied drily, "I was imbued with DNA from super soldiers. We plied the egg and the seed used to create this.... Form. To be everything." Carlyle bitterly lamented. "Expert reflexes, incalcuable IQ, and the bodily strength most of the Galaxy's special forces would die for." Rausgeber explained.

"Alas... This form, it's ideals..." The imperial continued, "It meant that medical science is limited." He extrapolated, "Even the sciences, which created it, have lead to my downfall." He mused to Natasi in a glum fashion, "See, this form, it was so pronounced, and unique, that the maser blast to the jaw," He gestured to the gaping wound on his left cheek, "Could fester. The radiation from such a blow, allowed to continue, uninhibited as my form, unable to combat it, attempted to oblige but token assistance. As now appropriate blood donor, nor cancer therapy could apply due to the unique nature of the DNA therapies conducted to create this form."

"Rather, this new presence, outside of a droid shell, has become a prison of its own." Carlyle declared, "It has made me vulnerable. Wounded. And capable of feeling all those... Those nuisances and pains which I had sought to isolate and destroy!" He angirly glowered. He took some time to asses and comfort himself. Another sip from his cocktail, of which the result remained the same, "I only hope, science can oblige me a cure, one which I can also imbue with Maxamillian," He referenced his son, "So, he is not afflicted by a similar ailment."

"The boy may be stupid," He conceded, "But his mother, his sister, even if they have absconded their duties, deserve at least someone who can make amends..." Carlyle conceded to Natasi, "Even if their father has not earned such privleges."

 

[Nikolai Messervy]

​

The Supreme Leader would not have a chance to respond before there was a kerfuffle at the front door of the establishment.

"Sooooryyyy, we're fuuuuully boooooked," the hostess told Nikolai Messervy as he led a group of uniformed agents into the restaurant. "I'm not here for a table," Nikolai responded, flashing his badge. "The building is surrounded, so nobody goes in or out. I'm informing you, not asking you to enforce it. Don't worry, we'll handle that."

He left her at the hostess' podium and scanned the dining room briefly. He knew his quarry wasn't there; the tip had said it was the bar. Still... better to check all angles. Messervy went into the bar, his blaster still strapped to his hip. This didn't have to get ugly. And besides, the agents of the Strategic Intelligence Agency that backed him up all had enough firepower to blast this place to cinders if it became necessary.

He instantly recognized Natasi Fortan, and his jaw tightened. How this woman had managed to end up smelling like roses -- a Senator, no less -- he could not conceive. And yet, here she was, cavorting with a man known to the SIA for his brutality and criminal activity on a grand scale. He approached, cutting into the conversation like a hot knife through butter.

"Carlyle Rausgeber," Messervy said coolly, flashing his badge briefly. "You're being detained in connection with an investigation into acts of terrorism, chemical warfare, and other crimes against civilization. I suggest you come quietly, but we can do this the hard way if we must."

He glanced at the brunette sitting next to him, who looked almost teary at her friend's predicament. "Natasi Fortan, you're being detained as well until we can determine just how you managed to end up here with him. Same disclaimer vis a vis the hard way." Messervy spread his hands as if to suggest he could really go either way.

Caarlyle Rausgeber | Natasi Fortan​

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

THE MONSTER
Nikolai Messervy | Natasi Fortan

​

Carlyle's gaze briefly turned back to the door of the restaurant. Curious. But not entirely unanticipated. The Coruscanti elite were a privleged lot, who expected the very best to be provided to them on a silver platter. Typical. Rausgeber returned to swirling his glass, and consuming small, piecemeal sips from it. The Admiral Regent in very subtle ways, enjoying his drink. However, as he returned to his beverage. He heard brisque steps, and then a gasp. And that was when the warrant was read. "Carlyle Rausgeber," a voice declared in a cold, albeit even tone. Carlyle froze in that moment. A quiver of pure, abject terror reverberating within his decrepit form, "You're being detained in connection with an investigation into acts of terrorism, chemical warfare, and other crimes against civilization. I suggest you come quietly, but we can do this the hard way if we must."

The glass shattered in his grip as his entire body seized up. Behind Agent Messervy the quartet of personal security Carlyle had brought with him had risen to their feet. Concealed blasters now holstered and pointing at the man. Without even looking at the man, Carlyle thundered, "Halt!" His thundered. Already his analytical mind was getting over the shock. And sprung into gear. Perhaps most critically, that this agent was not alone. He would clearly have backup. Reinforcements. Some sort of overarching security detail. "Protocol Seven ....Agent." Carlyle snapped. The entire bar transfixed on him. Before Agent Galen Roth could protest, a single syllable passed Rausgeber's lips. "Now."

As the four agents starred at each other, and departed, Carlyle examined his ruined right hand. Blood seeped from the wound as shards of glass buried themselves deep within his soft, tender skin. It stung, badly as the spirits from his cocktail now seeped into the wound. Typical. The warrant and warning read to Natasi passed him by. As he used a napkin to stem the wound. Wrapping it around his hand, and grimacing. Blood staining the white fabric a deep, and raw red. "A moment... Please Agent. To gather my effects... Use of force is unneccessary." He tried to figure it out. Calculate it. How. How had they found them. And that's when he realised the stinging truth. Natasi..... Right as she had been typing. That hadn't been to some aide. It had been to arrest him. As he sought her counsel, her company... Her friendship.

Rausgeber reached for his respirator, and clasped it to his face. It sealed and his breathing became low and metallic. His gaze narrowed. "You...." He growled, his voice low, as he looked to Natasi, getting off his chair, he remained, facing her. "You insolent... Traitorous.... queen....." Carlyle drawled. His chest heaved up and down. He clenched his fists. While his other features were obscured by the mask. It was his eyes which betrayed his anger, but not just anger. Sadness. Tears of frustration. Fury. Hurt. They all welled in those bloodshot ducts, some beginning to slip down into those heavy bags beneath. "Coruscant has made you weak." Rausgeber rasped, the respirator obliging a mechanical tinge to his words. "I would have followed you once more.... Scourged worlds, subjugated systems for you! Conquered a Galaxy!" He bellowed, "But.... but this...." He wagged a finger at her. "This........" He was working himself up. His breathes became more laboured. "There will be a reckoning..... Natasi."

Approaching Agent Messervy, Carlyle reached into his jacket, and produced a blaster pistol. He deliberately handed it to him, in a way as to not at all put his digits near the trigger. A display of trust and surrender. There was no escape. "I never thought it would come.... To this." Carlyle drawled, "My security detail is of no consequence to the SIA." The imperial mused, "While of course... I'm certain you're not the authority to seek a bargain with.... I assure you, my men are little brutes with weapons." Carlyle informed him, "I'm the one you want.... Not them." He raised both hands. Right one still covered in that crude and increasingly bloodied torniquet.

"Shall we?"

 

[Nikolai Messervy]

​

Messervy watched the melodrama unfold dispassionately. These Imperials, always so dramatic.

When Rausgeber offered the weapon, Messervy hesitated, then nodded to one of his men to come forward and take it. Handle with care, he willed the other agent before withdrawing a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. "All right, all right," he muttered. "Let's take it down a notch, Garik Loran, there are no holovid cameras here. Turn around." He glanced at one of his other agents. "Tell them we'll take the medical transport; Rausgeber cut his hand."

The agent communicated silently with a hushed comlink, then answered: "And the press? There's a few paparazzi gathering outside."

"So?" Messervy asked.

"Well sir, they wondered -- with the Senator and all..."

Messervy glanced over at Natasi, who had the good grace to be standing demurely, looking down. That little display of the Admiral's had apparently been rather cutting to the poor dear. "The Galactic Alliance enjoys freedom of the press, Agent. This isn't Dosuun." He slapped the cuffs on Rausgeber and began guiding him toward the door. "As for your men," he said gruffly. "I've got bigger fish to fry for the moment, but if they stay on Coruscant I'm going to pick 'em up and they'll join you. Now move."

He nodded to the others and murmured under his breath to one: "Bring the Senator. Don't handcuff her; we'll be in a world of hurt if, on the off chance, it turns out to be a happy coincidence that Rausgeber just ended up having drinks with her." He glanced back at Fortan, repressed a sneer. "But put her in the back of a speeder. She is being detained."

And that was how it came to pass that a wretched Imperial Admiral and a Grand Moff-turned-Supreme Leader-turned Senator were marched out of an upscale restaurant in the Senate District, much to the intrigue (and delight) of some in the Coruscanti press.

Caarlyle Rausgeber | Natasi Fortan​