Private Autumn in Axilla

[Lysander von Ascania]

Fatine von Ascania
Ship | Meow
​

Hyperspace had been his classroom these past few days, devoid of distractions. Having delved into meditation, completed precise katas, he allowed the Force to settle in him like cooling embers, his signature concealed by a veil.

Lysander was no longer the student of Korriban, but carried the lessons forged into him. Lately, his life was a circuit, orbiting between Brosi and Malachor V, where business demanded his presence, and Desevro, where training threatened to break him in body and spirit alike.

His freighter tore through the Ukatian sky, a deathly wail that rattled the hull and reverberated through his bones, until the landing struts finally kissed duracrete.

All black, as always. Cloak, tunic, boots polished. A silhouette that would’ve surely read as menace to anyone watching at the spaceport soon. But the teen's demeanor was anything but wrathful; his shoulders were relaxed, and his energy was calm. Today wasn't about business, nor anything revolving around Sith philosophy.

Today was about something rarer.

He thumbed his datapad before lowering the ramp, scrolling through the list of contacts.

Blonde, blonde, blonde.. and then there was Fatine.

Quince Shopping District. Meet me there.

In the corner of the cockpit, another cloak lay folded. Inside, nestled against the fabric, a small bundle shifted in sleep. A loth-cat kitten, ears twitching, paws chasing imaginary prey.

So he wrapped it carefully, but not fully, its tiny chest rising and falling. In truth, such a sight softened Lysander in ways he’d never admit aloud.

Adjusting the cloak so the creature wouldn’t wake, he finally gathered it into his arms. A smile ghosted, unguarded, carrying warmth that gentled the edges of his features.

Axilla stretched before him.. basically modern towers stitched into an old world that seldom gained respect from outsiders. The streets were alive with vendors calling from stalls, with both speeders and horses weaving about.

The shopping district wasn’t far. Natives with all the audacity stared as he passed: a tall figure in black, carrying a cloak with a kitten’s head poking out. A few looked with suspicion, others with amusement. Sure, he probably looked ridiculous, but Lysander had never been one to care about the opinions of others.

For the first time in months, he wasn’t a student, a fighter, a survivor, or a name tied to lineage. He was just an older brother, walking toward a meeting place, carrying a gift that purred against his chest.

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

In the middle of the marketplace, Lysander would be the recipient of a swift and sudden smack to the back of his head with a folding fan.

"Oh. My. Stars!"

Maybe his space wizard senses would've warned him to her approach, or perhaps there were too many souls milling about for him to parse her out. Either way, when Lysander turned around, he'd be greeted by the sight of the second eldest of the von Ascania daughters.

Fatine borrowed more from their mother's side in terms of appearance; rich brown curls were perfectly coiffed in a fashionable Ukatian style, and her large dark eyes were rimmed with kohl. Perhaps the most scandalous attribute was the deeper shade of burgundy lipstick, a tone thought to be rather in vogue and not proper for noblewomen to wear.

Lysander would find her a little taller than the last time they'd met in person. Some of the baby fat had disappeared from her face, too, sharpening her angular features.

Painted lips pursed as she waved the fan over her brother in a gesture at well…all of him.

"Look at your hair! So shaggy," she tsked. "Just because you're away from home doesn't mean that you can stop taking care of yourself, you know?"

Fatine snapped her fan shut and brought her hands to the deep purple of the satin gown draped at her hips, then leaned her weight to one leg. Just because she knew how to be poised did not mean that she wanted to be.

"And all black? Really? That is so not cute unless it's…mourning chic."

Her lips pursed together a little tighter, shoulders almost trembling as they tried to hold back her excitement. In a burst of energy, Fatine shot forward and wrapped her arms around Lysander's shoulders.

"But, I guess I'll have to forgive you! Just this once." She laughed.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Fatine von Ascania
​

A merciless crack reverberated against the back of his skull, echoing through the market. All of Axilla hung in hyperspace, sound stretched thin, sunlight fractured, until finally collapsing into the singularity of the fake von Ascania.

Brows knit, his chin tilted with the purposely slow precision of a future Sith Lord. One that refused to be startled. Cloak settling around him like a shadow, he turned, voice clipped. Actually, it was quite incredulous. “Fatine, what the actual fark?”

Lysander wasn’t angered.. not even close. Just the forgotten familiarity of disbelief that always seemed to come with her.

She was taller now.

The baby fat softness disappeared from her face.

That grin reminded him she knew exactly what she was doing. If he were lucky, it was equal parts mischief and affection.

Still annoying though..

.. exactly like him.

Which meant she hadn’t changed at all.

She’d grown, sure; but she was still the baby sister to him.

The teen's polished emerald gaze narrowed in mock seriousness. “You look like you’re still capable of ruining every family holo portrait,” he muttered, as she started in on his hair, his clothes, his everything?

He didn’t even have the vocabulary for that horrific shade staining her lips.

So, words failed him, but his eyes did not.

They lingered there, a fraction too long. For those familiar with Lysander, his pauses were like their own language, sharper than any quip!

Then he was engulfed by cheap perfume and laughter. At first.. his shoulders locked, having grown quite guarded in recent months. With a breath that tasted of surrender, he let the tension simply bleed away.

One arm curved around her shoulders, the other still cradling the gift.

Sister and secret, both gathered close. It was the kind of embrace he hadn’t known he was starving for.

“I've missed you.”

Pulling back, the blonde’s focus settled on that chaos of a crown. A quiet inspection; the stare was not a compliment. “I see you've bullied those curls into submission.” His mouth was twitching. “Very brave of you.”

The cloak at his side shifted, a chirrup betraying the secret. With a theatrical motion worthy of screen time in a holodrama, he drew the fabric aside. A loth-cat kitten blinked up at her, ears way too large for its head, orange and tan fur a smudge against the dark. Lysander turned it toward her.

“Kinda skittish when cornered. Voracious when bored, like Cora. Lil guy has bitten me twice already.” A nonchalant shrug was given. “I found your spirit animal.”

The kitten's tiny, but sharp claws, found Fatine’s sleeve. “It’s for you.”

A faint curl lifted the corners of his mouth. “The family needs more villains.”

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

It took Lysander a moment to return her embrace – that was fine, she had pounced on him, after all. Could he even feel it through the harshness of his black ensemble?

Fatine only giggled as Lysander finally embraced her. It had been too long since they'd actually interacted in the flesh. Though she'd always be grateful for the holomessages they'd exchanged while he was away and she was attending finishing school, there was nothing quite like hugging him in person.

"I've missed you too, you big oaf." Her voice came muffled as she pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of travel and...a trace of...spice…?

Fatine pulled back and gave a twirl, using her free hand to toss back a mess of chestnut curls. "Obviously," she giggled as the satin of her skirt settled around her. "I'm not a baby anymore, Lysander. I'm a real actress! I have to look the part."

The flutter of his cloak didn't draw her gaze down, but the squeak did. With a flick of her wrist, Fatine opened the fan with a flourish and held it over the lower portion of her face. She peered over the painted panels as Lysander brushed the fabric aside, revealing a puff of orange fur. Large green eyes peered up at her like gems from the darkness of her brother's outfit. A long moment passed during which the girl stood completely still, rooted to her spot. Not even an errant curl dared to drift out of place.

Then, all traces of ladylike composure vanished in a storm of squeals. Fatine darted forward, seizing the kit from Lysander. Her fan clattered to the ground as she held the cub aloft, eyes glittering. She didn't even seem to care that a tiny claw had snagged her sleeve.

"Ohmystars, where did you find him? In the trash?" With a coo, she tried to cradle the kitten in the nook of her elbow. "Wait, he's for me? Like, a present?"

Another pause, during which she blinked. A moment of hesitance that they both knew wouldn't last for long.

"You mean it!" Came her gasp, edged with a giggle. "Oh, thank you Lysander! I always knew that you were my favorite brother! I promise I'll take extra good care of him." One hand steadied the wriggly kit as he tried to climb her shoulder while the other arm wrapped around her sibling in a grateful embrace.

"I don't know about villains, but you're like, far too nice to be one," Fatine mused as she pulled away. "You've got the wardrobe down, though." She gave him another obvious once-over while pulling away. "You do own actual colors, right? I might just have to take you shopping this afternoon."

The glimmer of sheer delight in her eyes indicated that shopping might be more mandatory than optional.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Fatine von Ascania​

Lysander’s brows pinched at her declaration. A real actress? The look he offered wasn’t mockery. No, he'd never scoff at the profession if it truly interested her. It was just that slow, skeptical tilt of his head, trying to decide whether she was being serious or if this was just another performance. Maybe she was already a master of the stage.

A pause, long enough to sting. “Right. Actress. Suure.”

But then his little sister squealed, loud enough to turn every head in Axilla, and the cub was gone from his arms.. swallowed by her delight. And for the first time in months, his youthful visage cracked into something real. A smile. It tugged relentlessly as he watched Fatine cradle the loth-cat kitten like it was a treasure.

The cloak was now folded in his hands.

“Trash?” he echoed. A low, dry laugh followed, a well-known sound from Lysander.. one often suggesting he rarely took anything seriously. “Actually.. yes. Something like that, you could say. Outer Rim trade port, a hub of scum. Smelled worse than trash, too.”

Her heartfelt gratitude hit him with force he hadn't anticipated, so he leaned in. "Of course it's yours, Fatine. Always will be. Never forget that."

Unfortunately, she wasn't the first to poke fun at the wardrobe. And as always, the same response followed. His eyes rolled back with such exaggeration that it was as if they were traveling through hyperspace. Perhaps she'd even see the emptiness lurking within.

“Several shades of black, in fact.” The silence that followed was so he could begin winding up a jab. “It goes with everything. Even that terrible lipstick of yours.”

Then, with a calculated flick, he nonchalantly procured a credcard.

This one was thicker, heavier than the standard issue.

The blonde had come a long way in the halls of Kor’ethyr Academy.. where a deal with Professor Madrona A’Mia had him slinging skunky herbs to other acolytes. What started as a side hustle became Spore Industries.

Gone were the days of selling out of a dorm to survive after their father’s death.

He let it catch the sun’s rays between the index and middle finger. “Shopping was exactly what I had in mind.”

A small gesture with his hand set him into an unhurried stride. Lysander slowed just enough for her to catch up. “The first stop is an obvious one. We totes need meiloorun spice lattes so you’re not fainting halfway through the store.”

Basic as feth. But at that moment, he was cool with it. Happy, even.

There was too much to cover.. too much to unpack today. But somehow, out of all of it, the thing that rose to the surface was her calling herself an actress.

“Daphnes seems written for you.”

 

[Fatine von Ascania]

Fatine's grin, bright as it was, outshone even Ukatis' twin suns overhead. Just for the moment.

Coming from a brood of ten, it came as no surprise that some of the Ascania siblings had lacked in personal attention. While her elder sister was groomed to be the perfect bride, Fatine had been sent away to boarding school. Perhaps that was part of the reason why she chose flashy clothing and bolder pursuits. To be noticed.

The kitten though - he would always remind her of Lysander. Of this little moment between them where she was the focus.

"Well," she continued. "I'm glad that you had the sense to give him a bath. Must've earned yourself some battle scars from that?"

Normally meticulous about her clothes, she didn't seem to mind when the kit tried to crawl beneath the back of her collar. Fatine only giggled at the sensation of fur and whiskers, half-heartedly trying to coax the little thing down without much luck.

"Silly brother," she admonished pleasantly. "You wouldn't know what's popular if it bit you in the - oh!"

The credcard glimmered in the city's sunlight like a beacon. It reminded her of the ones that some of the wealthier theater patrons flashed.

Fatine made a teasing grab for it. Whether or not she managed to nab it from his hand wouldn't bother her.

"Well, if you insist on paying…" she grinned, practically skipping alongside her brother. "Do they even have meiloorun spice lattes in the outer rim?"

By now, she'd given up on trying to lure the loth-cat down from her shoulder. He was a small, comfortable weight, one that allowed the girl to scratch behind his ear.

"You think so?"

Fatine's expression softened into one of genuine hope - and perhaps, a distant longing. "I mean, of course I'll make it there someday. I'm only just starting out, after all. You know how our family didn't approve of acting."

Their father had deemed it as a frivolous venture, beneath their noble blood. Something that would invite scandal into their home.

"But I've already been in a few stage plays! They're not like…major parts. Not yet. I was Ophelia in Taming the Devaronian Devil, you know." Pride surged its way back into her voice at having landed one of the secondary parts in a small-scale production buried somewhere in the arts district. "It's adapted from one of those Lady Velvet novels."

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Fatine von Ascania ​

Vendors calling, hooves clattering, outdated speeders sputtering. Somewhere in the mix, was the pluck of a stringed instrument, something that managed to steal Lysander’s focus for a moment, until Fatine’s voice brought him back. He felt the loth cat’s claws again on his knuckles when she teased him, as the creature had left red lines across them.

When she reached for the credcard, his fingers tightened just enough so that it might not slip away.

A smirk betrayed the game though.

“Outer Rim has everything,” he said, voice dry as Korriban’s red sand. “Even meiloorun spice lattes. You just have to know where to look.”

The siblings walked together then, their rhythm uneven, but unmistakably theirs.

Her hopeful question pulled his gaze sideways, though he’d nearly scoffed at the mention of Lady Velvet. Lips twitched, breath catching, but he was reluctant to swallow it back at the last moment. Lysander’s jaw tightened, then eased.

In all fairness, he held little ground for cynicism. He’d sat through The Rule of Two Hearts, Shadows of Serreno, Last Kiss on Alderaan more times than he’d ever admit. He knew the monologues, the betrayals, the arcs. A ‘scholarly interest’ some joked. Not much of a secret these days.

“If you can make an audience believe in Taming the Devaronian Devil,” he said at last, “I think you can make them believe in anything. Daphnes isn’t out of reach for you.. not if you want it.”

He shrugged effortlessly, like the entire galaxy couldn’t touch him. “I mean, if you’re going to scandalize the family, might as well do it on stage. I’ll be on the front row too, clapping louder than anyone." His chin tilted with an air of disdain. “Better than politics. At least if you lie there, people pay for the tickets. In the senate, they just like to pretend it’s noble.”

A stall came into view, where steam rose from tall cups, and already he could smell the scent of roasted meiloorun.

It looked like the man was selling salvation..

His emerald gaze snapped back to her. "I could even make the critics mysteriously disappear, you know. Perks of having a brother with.. connections.”

Perhaps more words than necessary, but the truth was, he remembered all too well what it felt like to want something and have no one in his corner.

Lysander wouldn’t let her feel that same isolation.

The cafe stall was a quick interlude, for he ordered without hesitation, sliding the credcard across with the flick of a wrist.

One was passed to Fatine before allowing his own to spread warmth into his palms.

Then, he glanced down at her feet, half expecting to see claws of an Acklay.

“So, what's first? Shoes? Jewelry? Anything but hats. Those are for Kowakian monkey lizards."