Private Estate of Echoes

[Runa Trozky]

TAG: Dominic Praxon
EQUIPMENT: Lightsaber (Amethyst Blade)

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It had been far too long since she had last seen him; the passing months pressed heavily on her mind, each one blurring into the next until she no longer trusted her own sense of time. Standing before the Praxon Estate's door, she wondered what awaited her beyond it. The electronic bell's chime drifted into silence, leaving her alone with her thoughts, with the steady thrum of memory.

Nobility, and political intrigue. Both things Runa and Dominic had been born into, and both had embraced. And yet it always seemed Dominic carried more of the drive for it.

More of the fire, more of that smoldering ember of spirit. At the very least, that was how it always seemed to her.

And then, she had joined the Jedi, after the worst tragedy that could befall her friend and her friend's family. Murder. That was the reason her heart gave, the justification it clung to. Perhaps it wasn't the only one. Perhaps another reason was the message it sent to her father; that she wasn't trapped by it all. That she could walk away...

Because she could.

When at last the door opened, a droid appeared. “Lady Trozky,” it greeted with practiced warmth, “a pleasure to see you on this fine day. How may I assist?”

She hesitated, studying it briefly as if grounding herself before she spoke. “I’m here to see Dominic.” The name felt heavier than it should have, carrying the distance of absence and the uncertainty of reunion.

“Of course. This way.”

The droid moved ahead, its gears whispering and clattering in steady rhythm, an oddly grounding sound in the hush of the halls. Runa followed close behind, her steps measured, her thoughts less so. Months of silence, of wondering how he had fared, despite the polls she saw, now funneled into this slow walk toward him.

They soon stopped at a door. The droid turned with unfailing courtesy. “I shall inform him of your arrival.”

As it slipped inside and the door closed once more, she found herself waiting, the weight of unspoken words pressing against her chest.

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Stacks of annotated briefs fanned across the desk before him, their margins filled with his neat, compact handwriting. Dominic had been circling the same sentence for minutes, weighing its phrasing as if the balance of the entire debate might hinge upon a single verb. Words mattered. More than numbers, more than handshakes. A phrase sharpened just so could cut deeper than policy itself.

The quiet of the study broke when the door clicked open.

"Sir?" A staffer in muted livery stepped inside, pausing at the respectful distance drilled into Praxon retainers. "Pardon the interruption, but you have…a visitor."

Dominic looked up, pen arrested mid-stroke. "A visitor?"

"Yes, sir." The staffer hesitated, as if unsure how best to frame the name. "Lady Runa."

For a moment he did not move, only let the words settle. Months of absence collapsed into a handful of syllables, carrying with them the weight of childhood halls and the arguments left unfinished. He leaned back in his chair, setting the pen carefully upon the desk, and exhaled through his nose.

"Very well," he said at last, his tone even, practiced, though the small tightening of his jaw betrayed otherwise. "Bring her in."

The staffer bowed and withdrew, leaving Dominic alone with his thoughts, and the quickening rhythm beneath them.

Runa Trozky​

 

[Runa Trozky]

TAG: Dominic Praxon
EQUIPMENT: Lightsaber (Amethyst Blade)

​

The door opened for her without hesitation, and she stepped into the room with unhurried grace. Her hazel eyes swept over the study, the air carried the faint musk of ink and parchment, heavy with the scent of long hours spent in thought.

For a heartbeat, she simply stood there, her gaze resting on him, her brother, bent over his desk as though his entire Senate run hung upon the stroke of his pen. Perhaps it did. Peculiar, she thought, that she could cross half the galaxy in service to the Republic, and yet here he was fighting his own battles with words alone.

She let the door close softly behind her before crossing the floor. No rush, no urgency, just a slow and measured walk that carried her forward. At last, she broke the silence with a smile that warmed her features.

“Dom!!” The name slipped out, light and bright, and yet quiet and thoughtful. Carrying all the warmth of her genuine joy at seeing him.

The invisible line his staffers had held so reverently, she crossed with ease, her presence carrying none of their hesitation. Soon she was before him, cloaked not in formality but in the simple garb of a Jedi, an echo of a life far removed from the study surrounding them.

“It’s good to see you...” she said softly, her voice gentling as her gaze moved from him to the desk and back again. “Have you been faring well?”

Her eyes lingered on the notes, the endless annotations. “I see you’re still working on every phrase.” She allowed the corner of her mouth to lift in a faint smile, half-teasing. “You’ve always believed words could sway more hearts than just about anything else.”

There was a pause, filled only by the subtle hum of silence between them. She drew a quiet breath. “I worried you’d be too buried in all this to spare a moment.”

She folded her hands loosely before her, standing steady as she always did. “But I didn’t come here to take you away from your work; at least not entirely.” Her expression softened, hazel eyes steady on him. “I only wanted to see you again. To remind you that, senator or not, you’re still my brother.”

 

[Dominic Praxon]

For a long moment he did not answer. He simply regarded her, as though the sudden reappearance of his sister were some apparition conjured by memory and want rather than the present. His hand, still resting on the desk, tightened faintly upon the papers before he drew it back and set them aside in a careful, deliberate motion.

“Buried,” he echoed, a wry note tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. Though I fear it is less noble burial and more willing entombment.” His gaze lingered her as she teased. The warmth in her smile disarmed him more than any opponent in the Assembly ever could.

“I thought, more than once, that you had forgotten me,” he admitted softly, the words uncharacteristically unguarded. “That the Order had claimed you entirely, as politics has me.” His expression shifted, the mask of the would-be-Senator receding enough to let the brother show through.

He rose then, not with the practiced gravitas of a statesman but with the quiet, human impulse of a sibling long denied. Crossing the space between them, he allowed a small, genuine smile to surface, and an embrace for the ages.

“For what it’s worth,” Dominic said, voice low but steady, “I am glad you did not.”

Runa Trozky​

 

[Runa Trozky]

She accepted the embrace without hesitation, though her manner carried the calm gravity that years within the Order had taught her. When she stepped back, her gaze lingered on him, hazel eyes steady yet softened by something undeniably warm.

She drew back just enough to study him, her hazel eyes softened but searching. “Forgotten you?” Her brow arched with gentle incredulity. “Dominic, you are my brother. I could no more forget you than I could forget my own name.”

Her gaze floated briefly to the desk, to the neat stacks of papers and annotations that bore the imprint of his tireless hand. “The Order demands much, as does the path you walk. It is no surprise we have been kept apart by such callings.”

She allowed herself the faintest smile, not indulgent but sincere, touched by fond recollection. “Naboo clearly holds your heart, as it does mine. But remember, you were Dominic before you were a candidate, before you were running for Senator. Our destinies lie on different paths, but family... family endures beyond such details.”

Her words settled in the stillness of the study, deliberate and unhurried. At last, her voice softened, the warmth slipping through her composure. “I am grateful as well. That this moment is not memory, but present. That we stand together again, if only for a time.”

Her lips curved just slightly more, a glimmer of mischief beneath all the serenity. “Besides… if I had truly forgotten you, who else would be left to keep you from taking yourself too seriously?”

Outfit: xxx | Tag: Dominic Praxon | Equipment: Lightsaber (Amethyst Blade)
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[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. "Still think I take myself too seriously, do you?"

He shook his head, moving toward the sideboard where a kettle waited. His hands worked out of habit as he filled, sett it to boil, and pulled down a pair of cups.

"Don't think I've forgotten," he added over his shoulder, a small edge of mischief in his voice. "That time you poured half the sugar bowl into my tea and swore it was how the Queen drank hers."

He glanced back, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. "I was sick the whole afternoon."

The kettle began its low hum, steam just starting to rise. He set the cups down, simple porcelain, the sort they'd used since childhood. For once, no Senate polish, no performance, just tea, and the unspoken comfort of sharing it.

"So. Tell me of the exploits of the great Runa Trozky..." He said, while handing her a cup. With his hand free, he gestured toward a seat on the small balcony that over looked the Estate's main courtyard.

Runa Trozky