Faction The Coronation Ball [First Order | Invited Guests]

[Nora Lithos]

… Zero.

The white voids in Nora’s eyes were pried away from her watchful patrol around the floor. The breath in her lungs was knocked out of her from the accidental stumble into someone else, unaware of the events that she had just caused to happen. Nora let her hand reach out to grab the other person’s arm on instinct in case they had lost their balance. Her fingers brushed against their scaly skin, and as they both regained their balance Nora let her pale hand slide off the equally pale skin of the stranger, eyes wandering up to give them an apologetic smile, lips practically cracking open to speak as she moved back.

But there was no sound, not a noise or even a hiss as she slowly felt her nerves tangle up at the sight of the one she had bumped into. It wore a familiar face, but it wasn’t even a person. It was a vision of the past, of wounds that were supposed to have healed. On instinct Nora felt herself recoil back, her feet barely catching her as she began to stumble. An arm moved up to protect her from the woman that stood before her as her breathing grew more and more haggard for each passing second that she managed to remain standing. There was a burn in her chest, a fire in her lungs as piece of piece and person for person the world began to blacken.

The apparition spoke her name as if the past hadn’t even happened, showed as much remorse now as she had the last time they’d met. As the room continued to darken the last few remnants of the people around her disappeared. Hallways and lights twisted into something they were not until Nora was right back where it had all began, where fate had been cheated and the force denied it’s just dues. The long corridors of what had once been home and the garden where she should have died stood before her. The fear had taken a firm grip of Nora by then. She tried to take a step forward but the hallway twisted, it got longer. As her heart began to beat harder and harder against the cage that kept it locked in place she felt herself stumble backwards to stare into the vast empty darkness that had taken shape behind her.

This was a familiar darkness, a welcoming dark; her darkness. Her eyes peered over her shoulder, away from the void and back towards Hazel and the corridor that had turned into a mile-long hallway. Her mouth opened as the struggle to even breathe seized her. She needed to move or she would fall over. An arm extended before her to shield her from the shadows that blocked her path. The people that had come to surround her watched in utter confusion as the honorary Jedi began to push and throw people aside delved deeper and deeper into the recesses of her mind, further and further away from what had once been the one part of the galaxy that she had felt safe in.

The part of the galaxy that Hazel Zanteres had once denied her, and the very same part of the galaxy that Nora herself had rebuilt in her own image when Zanteres had been too weak to do what was right. By the time that Nora had reached home, fear had turned into anger, and anger into hatred.

There was only one way that this reunion was going to end.

Nora welcomed that end with wide open arms, if she so had to.

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Tag: The Major

Natasi couldn't tell whether what she saw was a glimmer of recognition in Sybil's demeanor. It was always so difficult to read her.

Things had changed since they had last crossed paths. Natasi remembered the taste of bile, the smell of fear as she rode the turbolift to the bridge of the Supreme Leader's ship. She remembered the sound of Kyrel Ren 's footsteps, the smell of ozone as his lightsaber erupted from its hilt, the look of triumph on his face. Then the look of disappointment. The fear in her own chest as she placed herself between the Master of Ren and Sybil, saving the towering woman from Sieger Ren's wrath.

With anyone else, the gratitude would have been palpable.

Natasi had never gotten the vibe from her. The only thing she remembered feeling was resentment. And still, Natasi had trusted Sybil with her children in those desperate moments where she was devising the plan that would save her people and cost her life. There was so little time, so few options, but Sybil had not been a last resort by any means.

People were strange.

And here she was. "I realize this sounds... strange. Especially coming from me," Natasi said quietly. "But: I thought you were dead. Where have you been?"

 

[Kassandra Distorith]

Tag: Resurgent Narrative​

The lady was utterly lost in thought, savoring the peace of the gardens and the music filtering through the strategically placed and skillfully masked speakers. It was enough to provide a most delicate backdrop to the sibilant sounds of the water cascading from the fountain's various tiers. She breathed deeply, reaching up to absently pluck a blossom from the vine surrounding the alcove she was perched in. It was a creamy white blossom, heavy with fragrance, which she savored with a half lidded gaze.​

There was another, who joined her briefly and spoke, his voice echoing through the area. A faint moue of distaste marred her features as she realized he had wandered off, and Kassandra made a mental note to find Salamander and apologize a bit later in the evening. It wouldn't do for him to think her rudeness intentional and have it mar the possible relations between the First Order and the Sith Empire. She had seen the writing on the wall when she took her leave of Bastion but appearances were important, and even the perception of rudeness was not to be tolerable.​

She recognized Ariel Yvarro and nodded to the young woman as she passed by, and gave her attention over to the servant making the rounds of those guests partaking of the beauties of the gardens. Speaking quietly and sending the young man scurrying back towards the palace to fulfill her request, the lady canted her head to the side when she heard Ariel's voice addressing her more directly.​

"Of course, my dear...think nothing of it. Leave him with me." she purred softly, moving to the young man's side. A hand gently placed on his back, she guided him slowly over to a padded bench, free hand flicking fingers toward the light hanging overhead, dimming it slightly. Kass took the time to observe the young man and realized she'd sensed him before, on Needan. She had intended to make inquiries as to his name and his family given the feel of him through the Force, but time had quite eluded her with the whirlwind of activity that had led up to the ball.​

Accepting the wine glass from the servant who returned and waited silently nearby, she asked him to bring a bottle of the distilled water from the bar for the young man who was going to need something to rinse out his mouth and soothe his upset stomach.​

"Deep breaths, my dear boy. Deep breaths...that's it..." she echoed, her voice soft and soothing as she extended a tendril of energy to bolster him. Kassandra took the time to fully delve into the Force and see if she could figure out this most fascinating of familial puzzles that had been placed before her.​

"...feeling any better, yet?"​

 

[The Major]

“Dead?” Repeated Sybil, not out derisive mimicry, even if perhaps it could be so interpreted, but instead a sense of wonder as she internally masticated the idea. The concept of Death reverberated back and forth within her mind’s jaws, bouncing haplessly in a chasm therein; though it was not an unwelcome or debilitating notion in any manner. Nay, it helped contextualize that void which yawned wide, ever cavernous, in her memory beginning two years ago. Roughly. Time and the passage of months were not exactly postulations she could assuredly grasp yet -only that they were concepts integral to the fabric and action of the universe.

“I suppose I am -” She frowned, cutting herself off while lightly waving her right palm over and back, eyes jabbing left in search then on target again before correcting herself, “was dead.”

Natasi's affirmation when asking about Sybil’s death, real or not, relayed a message to the former Fallanassi -definitely not an intended one. The Fall and Rise again of the fortuitous Fortan was something of a propaganda piece in circles, especially in recent refugee and immigrant circles, whether the tale was figurative or an amazing reality. To say it was strange for the Supreme Leader to ask such a question, particularly in her case, implied some sort of commonality between the two women. Both have experienced some kind of trauma; both were still here to talk about it. This encouraged the taller of the two, though it was an erroneous assumption and not the complete situation. Nor did it take into account the vast differences in their privilege or power. Luckily for the Major, she was devoid of such worries -chemically forced blankness as it was.

“They tell me on Hoth I was found. . .” Sybil recounted in hushed tones cloaked in a sense of doom, voice lowered to keep their words private. “. . . some three years ago.” Shepard had stepped forward now to a range that may be a tad unseemly, perhaps in some excitement that didn’t match the leaden look upon her visage. In this light it was now possible to peer upon the unnatural surgical lines slashed across her face and neck. To call them scars would be unfair, for each piece seemed to fit well with minimal gaps, nor were red and raw. They did unfortunately give the revolting impression that each chunk of cheek, nose, and forehead was not actual skin, but a facsimile of a face rebuilt -made up of many porcelain protheses like the kind used in ancient galactic ages before bacta revolutionized modern medicine.

“Since I’ve… been shifted around a number of infirmaries, as need dictated. Now most recently transferred to a medical facility within Avalonia a few months ago.” Her blue, darkened eyes seemed to drain of color in emptiness, for the names and manner of those various houses of healing eluded her skill. At the moment the only thing she could pinpoint were numerous others around her undergoing treatment, but this seemed useless to relay. Sybil had been trained to push past such disruptions and pitfalls to keep conversations smoothly moving forward.

“But,” She hesitated momentarily to speak out of turn or offend inadvertently, but decided to continue in an effort to learn, “ Supreme Leader,” Her voice dropped to an even more quiet volume as though her next words were a secret.

“Shouldn’t you know this?”

She finally blinked.

Natasi Fortan ​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Tag: The Major

Tedious, a voice whispered in Natasi's head. She closed her eyes for a momentary blink before opening them again. As unwelcome as these interjections usually were, in this case Natasi couldn't help but feel that it might be correct. Natasi came away from the greeting thinking that whatever may have come of Sybil Shepard during the intervening years, her ego was still well and truly intact.

"It may surprise you to know that I've had some things to contend with that have prevented me from tracking down each and every former employee," said the Supreme Leader, her dark eyes gazing past Shepard for a moment, following the retreating form of her cousin Ariel. It didn't escape her notice just who was retreating with her. Natasi glanced around, trying to see who else was taking notice. Frowning thoughtfully, her attention turned back to The Major .

"In more ideal circumstances I would have been made aware of your circumstances immediately," Natasi conceded. It was true, and Natasi didn't want to give Sybil the impression that she was not relevant. "Unfortunately, the occupation of the Ssi-Ruuk Imperium spared neither the records offices or the mid-level bureaucrats. Even if the staff you interacted with knew to run your name against the database, I doubt whether the databases we have access to are complete and integral enough to have popped a red flag up to my level."

Natasi finished her champagne and set the flute on another waiter's passing tray. "But here you are. I'm sure there's more you feel I ought to know. No time like the present. Give me a status report."

 

[The Major]

Sybil blinked once. Slow. ​

Her body began to react before anything clanking away inside her brain could redirect the pipes to engage. Cold it was. Ice over her face and head. Needles on her neck. Hairs thereupon freezing in place once they stood up.

Sybil blinked once more, as if, perhaps, this was the strangest of lucid dreams. A second more in this sudden vacuum, and she’d be back in hospital trying to log down whatever swirling images hadn’t yet decomposed. A strange log it would be -more nonsense.

That plan failed. Willing away reality seldom accomplishes much of anything.​

Natasi Fortan had yet more to say. Instinctively, as her voice rained down, what was once in a previous life the haughty, contemptuous Major shrunk backwards a single step. Feeling her foot drag in recoil had the squishy, restrained ire of stepping in mud or deep snow.

Her only respite, the only unintentional blessing within this moment, was that Sybil could not understand the context or deeper meaning of what she was hearing. A story book -horror, no doubt she’d ascribe if she could think- with most of the pages torn out; a chapter or two left, and still somehow a few of those paragraphs would be cut out crudely. This quite mercifully saved Shepard’s life -at least for these passing minutes.

It was now that she realized her mouth was a slight, open oval. Control returned steadily. To push on while ignoring the deep purple splay, pale like a bruise, which hummed upon her cheeks was her only way forward. Shepard, curious despite circumstance, couldn’t help but brush her hand on the numbing warmth spreading upon the cracked face she unfortunately bore, found it wet to the touch, managed to smear it into a drier state in one motion, and decidedly clenched her fists into a tight clasp behind her back to keep them from trembling.

“. . . I . . . Wou. . . of. . . nev. . .Sor. . .”​

Pausing here enabled her to further run the cogs. How stupid of her. How clumsy. To come here and accost a political leader with questioning because some broken database suggested there was some form of interaction in the past was folly; to assume there would be some important connection, a measure of sympathy forged by previous comradery that would help ease the gaps in herself and mend them was worse than ignorance. It was hubris. So much was lost back then. What was the Major when measured up to its immeasurable vastness. Insect classification would be charitable to say the least when comparing it all. Even if it was good to have survived tunnels through Hell, it offered nothing to the State now. Much more would have to be done first. There was cheer to take away from the Ball if there wasn’t some form of punishment in store for meddling. Shepard came wanting to know her place and in a sense accomplished the task. Where there was a desire to know her past, now she knew it to be a dangerous place and was thankful for the shade of oblivion. Best to flee from anything resembling that kind of knowledge. She was now aware that asking questions might cause something deep inside her to stir wantonly, witlessly, beyond her control.

The decision was then made: never interact with this head of state again, or at least as little as possible, for the danger was too great. Fade away behind whatever obligations the State deemed appropriate. Fade behind the music in the air and the brass of the band into the very glue that held carpet to floor. Fade from any connection to the past in order to build a future.

Sybil’s gaze dropped and listed away to the right, knowing she would never dare look Natasi in the eye again.

“Nothing further to report, Supreme Leader; thank you for your time.”​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Tag: The Major

Natasi gritted her teeth as she watched Sybil's reaction. Natasi hadn't meant to offend; thinking back to their banter in the old days, this seemed fairly tame by comparison. Natasi recalled the time she had threatened her then-Director of First Order Security Bureau with a beating for having the audacity to suggest that she, Natasi, engage in sexual congress with an apparently reformed traitor, because in order to be a suitable leader for the First Order she needed a partner.

Oh, how they had laughed. Well, not laughed exactly. As Natasi could remember, it all ended in tears: the traitor was not as reformed as Sybil had hoped, and Sybil very nearly took the blade of Kyrel Ren's lightsaber at Sieger Ren's order, and would have if Natasi had not interceded.

But it was all water under the bridge now, wasn't it?

"Relax, Sybil," said Natasi after allowing her jaw to relax a little bit. "Come over here and tell me everything you remember since Dosuun." She took Sybil by the elbow and guided her into one of the thoughtfully-provided conversation alcoves, drawing the curtains so that they would be neither observed nor overheard. She settled herself on a plush settee and waited.

"Take your time."

 

[The Major]

The cold shame within the very center of Shepard’s stomach cascaded down her hips and up to her throat in such a way that once the Head of State clasped upon the Confuddled Ginger’s elbow and guided them away from the ballroom floor it would not be impossible to picture her capture as some beleaguered ostrich: lanky, ugly, and unsteady when surprised. Mercifully, for the sake of appearances which were so poor as to spoil the evening, the Major’s gullet was too dry and caked in patchy fear to squawk. As they passed into a private alcove spikes of paranoia stabbed wantonly across her roughshod brain, regardless of the Supreme Leader’s request to relax. Morbid fantasies crisscrossed like rogue malware codes smashing across a battlenet: images of a trap lever pulled which let her fall into a trash compactor, or a handing over to guards for a vacation at Sump, or even being torn apart by some unseen power at the behest of Fortan.

All these things were ridiculous, unlike anything in reality, catastrophizing on the level of a Super Star Destroyer’s full salvo of turbolasers. If Sybil could only remember the Calgar Play, or the Tanomas Gamble -even the stay of execution thanks to Natasi’s intervening- Project Aeternum, the Downfall of Dosuun, or the final mandate to save those kids on Bakura. Dozens of times Shepard did everything in her power to extend the influence and splendor of the person so calmly directing her to sit now; but, what about all the suffering caused during that process. What of backdoor dealings to circumvent Natasi or even harm her out of jealousy, obsession, and selfishness. Perhaps the folly was clear enough, so extensive, spelt out and all consuming. Clear as it gnawed guilt and decay in her marrow, driving her so mad that the Major’s ultimate solution of absconding to some unknown end -alone in some freezing closet of a ruined archive on Hoth years ago, was the only reasonable action to take after a short life of terrible, wanton conniving.

She should have stayed dead. The Netherworld was owed a soul, this much was metaphysical certitude -the Major’s tendency to wiggle out of punishment be damned. Sybil deserved neither respite nor mercy. No redemption. No compassion. Here she was, however. Surviving on. Morphed, yet undeniably resolute in a way and with strength impossible to her to know in her previous life. Breathing more deeply now, she slowly began regaining some of her wits and was able to formulate thoughts that were separate from the ravaged core spiraling within. She closed her eyes while concentrating on Natasi’s previous words, playing them over in her head because panic had muddled their content. Master conversationalist and twister of words she was no longer.

“This hasn’t happened to me before.” She attempted to explain the tearing while hunched over, wiping away at the moisture welling from her eyes before finally giving up on the exercise. The irony of such a statement was lost as it escaped her lips. How would she know?

“Don’t remember anything since Dosuun.” Sybil swallowed, a bit more steady now. “Or anything at all. Who I am. Why I’m like this. Been told basics; been shown files. Read some reports. May as well be a history holo-vid ripped in chunks. Motivations? Senseless. Too incomplete. It’s as you say, they, ‘spared no record offices.’ Doesn’t help that I used to erase my tracts -erasing myself. Hah.” A bitter exhale of air; a poor substitute for a laugh. “Running away, more like. Wish granted, maybe. Planned in advance? Possibly.” It must have been irritating to listen to Shepard speak in this staccato manner. It was a pathetic comparison from conversations they once shared. Unfit and sloppy for the ears of this Head of State was an understatement.

Her face twisted suddenly up in a splash of anguish. “Stars! Doctors had to teach me to speak Basic again. How to take care of myself. How to fight and think. Was told we were once closer. Followed it as a lead. Thought I would be proud to be here. Find a missing piece. Move on stronger.” She almost looked for Natasi’s face, shook again, angry now at neurons in her brain firing uncontrollably, and vaguely settled at aiming her eyes at the Supreme Leader’s seat. “Instead, I feel ashamed. Like an idiot. Brain scum. Light on my feet, heavy in heart. Should be the other way. Did you wrong, somehow. Can feel it inside, an echo. Or a belief.”

She at least calmed down enough to be a bit more useful to anything, even if it came with minutes of rambling. Sybil had no idea if anything spoken would even make sense. “Did I?”

Natasi Fortan​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Tag: The Major

The look the Supreme Leader gave Sybil Shepard was equal parts probingly inquisition and motherly concern. She reached for Sybil's arm and, after a moment's hesitation, took it firmly. Her other hand joined in, so that she was cradling The Major 's hand between both of hers. When she looked back up at her former confidante, they had a shining, glossy look, almost amber-bright with unshed tears. "No," she said simply, shaking her head. She smiled, sad, and squeezed her hand to punctuate her point. "No, Sybil, you didn't."

The fall of the First Order was a at once terribly complicated and painfully, starkly straightforward. If you believed the pamphlet published for this event, it was caused by the original sin of the First Order's hubris. Poppycock, Natasi knew, but someone believed it enough to print it on her coronation program. She'd be unraveling that little mystery later. But the First Order had been distracted by conflict with the Galactic Alliance and then the Outer Rim Coalition, distracted enough that they didn't notice that an old enemy was gaining strength. That was the complicated part. The straightforward part was that when the Ssi-Ruuvi Imperium finally did strike, they had an unstoppable force and overwhelming numbers.

"On no level did you disappoint me. Professionally -- there was no indication that the Imperium was gearing up to strike us and there was no way to know they had the numbers they did. It was not your failing. The truth is if it was anyone's failing it was -- " Her voice faltered. She was about to say mine but that didn't feel right, either. In her heart of hearts, she felt that the blame lay with Sieger Ren. His choice to reignite tensions with the Outer Rim Coalition was a significant factor in the First Order's attention being diverted from the First Order.

But passing the buck wasn't leadership.

"Mine. I was responsible for directing our resources in a way that kept the nation safe, and I failed." She blinked and the surface tension broke; a single tear escaped each eye. Natasi reached into her décolletage and withdrew a kerchief, which she dabbed her eyes with carefully so as not to smudge her makeup.

"As far as personally... you exceeded my every expectation and thanks to you, my children survived the worst. What in the Balance makes you think you disappointed me, Sybil?"