That Was A Year | Invite

[Natasi Fortan]

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They stood in rows, hands behind their backs, shoulders square.

They were silent and still. They stared at her blankly. They waited.

Some of them bled. One in ten was grievously injured. Blood trickled from gaping wounds to the head, from the mouth and nose, from the ears. Seeped into their hair, their uniforms.

Pooled at their feet.

Covered the flagstones.

The sun crept over the horizon and turned the sky red. She leaned forward, spoke into a microphone on a podium. "Begin."

As one, the men unclasped their hands. When they came from behind their backs, they were each stained crimson. "Begin," she said again.

The men each picked up a brick from the piles in front of them, and began to approach her. Natasi picked up a brick. Her hand was covered in blood.

"Begin."

The first man reached her and swung the brick without preamble, and --

Natasi blinked and Victory Square dissolved in front of her. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she saw spots swimming in front of her. She sucked in air and looked down at her hands, then peeled her driving glove forward to look inside. There was no blood. She breathed heavily as she tugged her glove back in place, looking around. Not Victory Square. The driver's seat of a late-model sports landspeeder, on a road outside of Avalonia. She had stopped to get a drink and a snack at a refueling station; how long had she been sitting there?

This hadn't been the first time in the week since that grisly display in Victory Square. Natasi suspected it wouldn't be the last. She squeezed her dark eyes shut for a few moments, then shook her head clear, turning to unbuckle her crash webbing, and spotted [member="Carach"] in the passenger seat. It all came flooding back; they were taking a day trip to visit a horsebreeding friend of Natasi's, to look at a horse for Natasi. She had scheduled the visit weeks ago, in the interest of possibly starting a racing stable, and Natasi had invited Carach along to keep her company on the drive. Since his break-in at Halm, they had resumed an arms-length friendship, for which the Grand Moff was grateful, particularly with the war in full swing.

"Sorry," she said. "Miles away. What did you say?" She finished unbuckling herself.

 

[Jairus Starvald]

A V A L O N I A​

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[member="Natasi Fortan"]​

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There was still a moderate amount of care that the Sith Lord went through with the resumption of their friendship.

It was not within his personality to feel extended spite, but there was still the caution that fueled his movement. It was the caution of a predator roiling around its mark. The caution of a predator realizing that its mark was slowly growing and becoming a threat in its own right, but was Natasi this threat?

Surely not.

A beautiful woman with her head straight, ambitions aplenty and intelligence like a woozy, but did it threaten his own ambitions, to move forward with this?

"Oh, I was considering the ramifications of the Silver Jedi's slow fall on the Tion Cluster, Galidraan, Derillium and so fort." A shrug followed soon after. "I wonder how much their grasp frustrate the Tionese people."

The attention shifted back to Natasi.

"Been thinking about the Square again then?" Just a good guess. It hadn't left her mind since it was executed and after sharing her concerns with him.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

The Grand Moff finished undoing her seatbelt and then slumped resignedly against the seat of the car, her dark eyes scanning the more-or-less abandoned parking lot of the small cafe. Galidraan being under the thumb of the Silver Jedi was a problem for Natasi, since it made visiting difficult -- not to mention that the only reason the First Order hadn't dispatched a battlefleet to the Silver Jedi in retaliation for their hostilities at Kaeshana and Skor II was that they had their hands full with the Alliance.

"It's rather galling," Natasi responded darkly. "Particularly if they pursue an alliance with those wretched Tygarans, like the Security Bureau thinks they will." She pulled the visor down and flipped the lighted mirror open, studying herself in the reflection for a moment, to see if she had any imperfections in her makeup. When [member="Carach"] mentioned Victory Square, Natasi's eyes glazed for a moment, her motions stopping.

How can he always guess? she wondered, her dark eyes cutting to one side. "There's a lot happening now," she obfuscated, then opened the door. "I'm thinking chicken salad," she said, changing the subject. "Or perhaps cress. What are you getting?"

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Natasi Fortan"]

It was the curl of amusement that followed next.

The obfuscation was noted, but in the end left alone for what it was.

If she wished to speak of it then she would in her own time. If not? Then that was a pity, but ultimately fine with Carach. After all, they all had their burdens to carry and forcing his assistance onto her was insulting in its own right. He stepped out soon after that and pondered a little while on the question.

"Something light, I think." An arm was offered for her to take, but as they walked he reconsidered. "Perhaps I will have a Berbersian crab salad."

Brows furrowed in calculating thought.

"Yes, I think that would be quite grand." But once that was figured out his mind went right back to the silver equation. It was still too early to tell if this new Remnant Empire would be a true threat to the Silvers, after all, those Jedi had been holding the fort down for the past decade now.

It would have to be a concentrated effort to unseat them completely.

The itch to get involved was already high up in the air.

"You should try it," The Sith Lord offered gently, before pushing the door open and allowing her entry. "It tastes quite delightful."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

With a smile of thanks, Natasi stepped over the threshold and into the cafe. A long, glass display case laid out the shop's wares, from muffins and scones to sandwiches and wraps, all the way through to cakes and pies. Natasi studied the selection carefully for a few moments; each was pristine, displayed beautifully. The sandwiches had no crusts, and were attractively compiled with lettuce, tomato, and in some cases cucumbers. The Grand Moff moseyed up and down the front of the case, trying to decide. Her opinion of the chicken salad began to waver; it wasn't that it wasn't appealing, but when she saw the cheese and pickle, her nostalgia kicked up, and she was very taken by it.

She glanced at @Carach. "Berbersian crab," she mused thoughtfully. "They're quite spicy, aren't they? I think I'd better stick with -- " Her voice trailed off as she heard sirens approaching the door. She had barely made it to the door to look out when she saw a small VTOL atmospheric copter landing in the field nearby. One of the Horsemen hustled to the door as security force fanned out around the shop. The Horsemen pulled the door open and guided Natasi away from the door. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear before glancing over his shoulder at Carach, then leaning in to whisper something else.

"Hoth?" Natasi repeated softly, eyebrows lofting. "Not surprising, but... yes, of course, they're right. I need to be there."

The Grand Moff turned back to Carach. "I'm so sorry, Darell, but there's been -- well, you'll see. I'm afraid I have to return to the city." Natasi turned back to the Horseman; they conversed for a few moments before Natasi turned back to Carach. "They'll be pleased to give you a lift back into the city or wherever you need to go." The security men would handle the return of the rental vehicle, and a second shuttle was landing nearby that would, if he chose, take Carach to the destination of his choosing. "Be careful, Darell. Security will be very tight in the city just now. I'll be in touch when I can." Without so much as a look back, she was escorted out of the shop by her detail, ushered across the field and into the waiting VTOL copter. As the vehicle rose into the air, Natasi was patched into an emergency security briefing.

"Catch me up," she ordered. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to look down at the cafe and filling station. Was it always going to be like this? she wondered to herself -- but a moment later, Isobel Churchill was beaming maps to her secured datapad, and Natasi had to put aside the pretense of being a normal woman and donned the armor of the Grand Moff of the First Order. It came first -- and it must always come first. "How old are these reports? Get me updates."

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