Private A Lesson in Patience (Athassel Sylar)

[Alessandra Sylaar]

Footsteps struck the tiled floor with the measured cadence of a marksman. Hard, flat slaps of booted feed against the glossy, gleaming marble. Five, six, seven steps, then a hard crack as she turned, pacing the other leg of her journey back and forth across her father's well-appointed sitting room. Her close-fitting dueling clothes were lightly marked with sweat; the well-tailored and expensive fabric was meant for heavy exertion, so she must've been fighting hard indeed.

The gorgeous view outside of the window did nothing to detract from her frustration. She didn't seem to be able to stand still, venting her frustration with movement, an expression of absolute focus on her face, peridot eyes locked forward in thought.

She knew she had made a mistake; she had lost her patience, allowed one of the other students at the dueling school to get under her skin, and she had broken his arm in reprisal. He had mocked her for her seriousness, relentlessly teasing her as they fought. He was a good fighter; she had had great difficulty landing a hit upon him, especially as she had grown increasingly frustrated. Finally, she had smashed aside his blade, disarming him - but instead of stepping back as she should have, she allowed her anger to get the best of her and she had struck again. He raised his arm defensively, and she had broken it cleanly halfway up his forearm. She had been removed from classes for the day, and, most insultingly, her father had been called to address her failure.

And she hated failure.

Athassehl Sylaar

 

[Athassehl Sylaar]

A massive sigh escaped Athasshel's lips, the silver plated protocol droid: A-340 opened the door. He ignored his servant droid's programmed greeting response walking past him as if he were a potted plant. Thoughts of what his daughter did lingered in Athasshel's mind and refused to escape. He taught her to be better, to be above the petty squabbles. But Alessandra Sylaar was infected by the folly of youth and the symptoms were impulsivity and the need to show off. The same afflictions that Athasshel had when he was her age, it took decades of experience to slowly weed the recklessness away.

The news of Alessandra's assault on a student not only reflected on her but on Athasshel as well. As a man who is seeking to place order in a Galaxy filled with chaos, having a wild and unruly daughter was a sign of failure on his part. But Athasshel is a man who does not look at loss as failure but rather something he can learn from. Alessandra will do well to learn from this if she has any humility. Approaching his estate, Athassel handed his briefcase to the Gungan servant and made a beeline towards where Alessandra was at.

"I've heard of the news," Athasshel said folding his hands in front of him. "Attacking the boy was foolish. I taught you better than this Alessandra. What happened?"

 

[Alessandra Sylaar]

When his footsteps swept into the room, Alessandra stopped in place, standing in the center of the room. Her hands fidgeted at her side; explanations lived and died in her hands without a word of them passing her lips. Finally, she drew in a heavy breath as if her lungs could filter a sufficient volume and deliver a suitable explanation. Instead, her chin dipped slightly, her anger and frustration briefly pushed back behind her respect. "Father," she bowed slightly, "I apologize for causing you trouble." It was always best to lead with an apology; and she was sincere, a broken arm was probably a lot of trouble, even if these spoiled overgrown children could afford the bacta to have it fixed up by lunch.

"Another student..." Had been teasing me? Baited me into losing my temper? Tricked me into letting my guard down by insulting me? The words died on her lips for a moment, and she drew in another deep breath. "He... Doesn't understand why I take practice so seriously, and..." It sounded childish, now. Of course it was childish, I lost my temper. "He was trying to trick me into letting my guard down with insults, and he... found some that... provoked a stronger reaction than intended. Father," her voice dropped, practically pleading, "I understand the need for secrecy, I do, but I cannot stand to be insulted for my dedication to-" She cut off. The First Order. He had trained her well enough not to speak aloud where they might be overheard, and she was unsure if this room was safe. "... My training. To- to them it's... Fun. It's a sport. They don't understand that I'll need this training... In the real world. It isn't just games to me. I am learning to fight for... my life, and against the enemies of... Order."

She gestured with her hands in accompaniment to her words, her fingers often more vocal and outspoken than her lips. Their fidgeting betrayed the ongoing arguments in her head. She busied one of her hands with straightening her single long braid, fiddling with the ends after a moment as it ran out of things to do. She gave her head a little toss to throw back the platinum hair from her eyes, drawing in another breath through her nose as she forced her hands to stillness at her sides.

She looked up to her father, muscles tense, as she awaited his response.

Athassehl Sylaar

 

[Athassehl Sylaar]

Athasshel fell silent listening to his daughter trying to justify her actions. It wasn't about keeping their allegiance as a secret as much as her self-control. Alessandra was as controllable as an out of control Wookie as a child and it took great effort for Athasshel to ween Alessandra out of her wild and unruly nature. They say a person's nature is set when they were born but a good thing about people is that they are not bound by what their genetics tell them. Environment also plays a large factor in raising a child. Alessandra was given the finer things in life but Athasshel wandered if a life of luxury led to a decay. There was no delayed gratification, she can get what she wanted Athasshel hoped that a life devoid of the chaotic storm that he endured would give structure. It turned out it was the opposite that happened.

"The noble doesn't care about the opinions of the peasant," Athasshel said with a tinge of spite in his voice. "You cannot lash out at anyone who looks at you differently. Remember what I taught you Alessandra. You must control your emotions and have them work for you. Too little and you become as detached as a Jedi. But too much you'll be nothing more than a raging animal not better than a Sith Lord."

Athasshel walked closer to her. "I taught you to be above that," he said.

Alessandra Sylaar

 

[Alessandra Sylaar]

She drew in a deep, shaky breath... and dipped her head slowly. "You did, father. I forgot my lessons and allowed my pride to get the better of me. I am sorry." She couldn't restrain all of the anger from her mind, but she could go through the motions of breathing, quelling those emotions.

"I am ready for more, father. I am. I am ready to... Make a difference." Her voice was steely with determination. "Really make a difference." Her voice dropped lower. "I want to go on a mission. Prove myself to you, and to... the Order." She dipped her head to hide that she was gently biting her lip. When she lifted her gaze again, any uncertainty was banished from her expression.

Yes, she was young. But she could out-fight any her age and most who were older. She fought as if every battle was real, as if every wound were actually inflicted. She drew in a deep, slow breath, eyes briefly closing as she pushed that feeling, that certainty into her aura, allowing him to feel her determination.

Athassehl Sylaar