Private Opulence of Dark Company

[Astra Sadow]

Empress Teta. Opulent ecumenopolis that didn't get nearly as much attention as Coruscant, and managed to avoid all the heartache that came with being a target. A thriving venue for someone to enjoy all the splendors the galaxy had to offer; and discretely exchange offers to keep the real party -- the one that mattered -- never ending.

The club music throbbed through the deck plating and the walls like a heartbeat. Echoes of the crowd's elation quietly roared down the long hallway separating those with from those without. There was no chance some unwashed, ignorant clout would get their hands on the VIP occupying the Lounge. Three able-bodied men would make sure of that; and if someone tried to flood the zone, then they'd just break out the heavy repeaters and lay them low by the dozen.

It wasn't that Astra hated them. They just weren't worth her time. That didn't mean she didn't enjoy the sound of elation from people too... otherwise disengaged from the realities of their galaxy. It was an ambiance worth killing over. And this club was well suited to providing it; balanced with the privacy necessary for someone like herself to conduct her affairs even while enjoying her indulgences.

Leaned back in the arched sofa, Astra held a datapad in one hand before her. She'd finished scanning the contents seconds ago, but no point making people think you were anxious to advance the conversation. Let them simmer. See if they'd break under the pressure and babble their way out of a hand. There wasn't time for fools though. Some would take advantage of the weak minded, but to Astra they were a waste of time. The sort best cut adrift for someone else to play with.

The galaxy was full of action, and even Sanguine Enterprises had to task its resources to take advantage of real opportunities; not be burdened with dreamy prospects and hollow speculation.

It was her job to discern whether they were worth the effort.

Soon the pad was extended off to her right for her attache to take. This one might just have something worth exploring. Astra had handed it off to her staff to settle the finer details and make arrangements if they didn't find anything unexpected in their guest's background or financials.

A smile grace her red lips as they invited them off to the side. Words? What need had their been for words? If their offer panned out then she might engage them socially, but as things were all they had was potential. Astra wasn't going to spend all night sweet talking them. They needed her, not the other way around.

With that out of the way, she brought a flute up to her lips for a sip of her liquor. Her smile softened at the sight of the two, private dancers on the stage across the room.

​

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

Setting foot on Empress Teta for the first time, he found it was familiar in the way that all disappointments were. The ecumenopolis sprawled outward like Coruscant. But that was a personal feeling, he knew, and personal feelings earned you no merit in the galaxy. A lesson he was grateful to have learned early. The Sith was here for credits, or for whatever else the planet was willing to part with. Ideally both. In his experience, every world had something it didn’t know it was offering.

The contact for the woman here arrived through the same channels that once dismissed the Covenant as a gang of marauders from the Outer Rim. Half feral.. unconstructed. There was truth in that, sure. A group forged in the Galactic Kaggath’s aftermath, raiding planets, and eventually setting their sights on Coruscant out of something that, if he was honest, had never been much more than wounded pride. What none of them had reckoned with was what came after wanting. The Covenant needed more than firepower and ambition; it needed actual architecture.. and sustainability. A foundation that’d been missing from his life since he stepped away from the Mid Rim. Best to build it with his own hands.. but even so, he needed more allies who understood the difference between bloodlust and opportunity.

Benevolent, perhaps, by the standards of his kind but he was a Sith nonetheless. Today, at least, he dressed in a manner that called for something other than when planning another campaign. The peacoat was black, fitted to a lithe frame. Beneath it, formalwear in layered blacks. A high collared shirt. Trousers with a lavish sheen, and boots polished like a mirror. Everything that cost a great deal.

The guards at the VIP hallway straightened as he approached. Years of work bought that, in compounding installments that slowly foreclosed every other version of a life for him. So, only one direction remained. You couldn’t liquidate a position like this.

“Name,” the lead guard said.

“Lysander von Ascania.”

The man’s expression didn’t shift. “This area is reserved access. Do you have a confirmation code?”

“No.”

“Sir, without a code-“

“Then don’t. Let me past. Run it after. Or don’t run it at all.. that would also be useful information, and it will be recorded as such.” A thoughtful hum escaped him. “The Covenant doesn’t punish people for doing their jobs poorly. But It remembers their names, their postings, their families’ names, where those families are. It remembers the small moments, the delays, the guard who held a corridor for forty seconds longer than he needed to. These things accumulate. Then they become a file. And files, well, those eventually, become decisions.”

The man's jaw tightened. "You're cleared, sir."

Lysander stepped forward, drawing near the lounge.

One of the other guards muttered under his breath.

“Thought he’d be older.”

The comment didn’t reach the blonde. Prince of the Core, he’d once told his sister. That was who he was now.

What distance had separated Astra and himself was closed. Only a formal incline of the head emerged.

“Lysander von Ascania.” After that, he sat. “I have thirty minutes before my next obligation. I’ll use twelve of them here.” Nothing was placed on the table. “So, I’ll keep this brief. I’ve read your work. As I understand, you have a reputation for not wasting time. I’m going to assume that’s accurate.” One hand was turned over and set flat. ”I’m not here to negotiate terms or discuss preliminary frameworks or have the kind of conversation that gets summarized in a memo afterward.”

He paused; most people, in recent experience, were not capable of keeping pace intellectually. “There are gaps in the Core’s supply chain. It’s been there for eight months. The people who should have closed it haven’t, and at this point I have reason to believe they won’t. What I’d require in return is your attention, without the performance.” His eyes didn’t drift from hers. “I think you’ll find that’s a reasonable place to start.”

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra was getting comfortable in view of the show her dancers were putting on together. She slowly uncrossed and recrossed her legs with a smile as they moved. Well, she had the pleasure of this exquisite club, she might as well indulge. Even the rich and powerful didn't desire to remain aloof forever. They had appetites.

A hot breath escaped her lips as she begun to lean forward away from the comfort of the sofa when a noise drew her burnt, golden gaze. An almost inaudible rumble deep in the recesses of her throat followed. The tension bled out of her and she settled back into her plush accommodations. There couldn't possibly be that many people clamoring for her attention today in ways that left a woman unsatisfied.

No movement was made. Not even a flicker of annoyance followed Lysander's approach and casual claim of a seat to her left. Two personal bodyguards' eyes had tracked the man; all it would take was the slightest gesture and they'd be on him faster than a Mandalorian on Beskar. Such a gesture had yet to come, however, so they held their silent vigil.

Astra's eyes lingered on the bold figure as he spoke. Nice of him to introduce himself. Completely unnecessary, of course. The Club guards outside might be thick, but the Chairwoman of Sanguine Enterprises knew all the faces and all the names of people of importance in The Core. In fact, this little meeting was something she'd been waiting on for some time now. Others flocked to the Triumvirate eager for handouts or to sell themselves for duties and obligations to the rulers of Coruscant and its territory. Not her. If they needed her services, she wasn't a hard woman to find when you moved in the right crowd. The Triumvirate was certainly the right crowd.

A slight upward twitch of her fine brows followed Lysander's pause. A silent invitation for him to continue... seeing as how he was a very busy man and all.

Twelve minutes. Bold. Audacious. Borderline insulting. So, those in charge of the Covenant weren't simply lucky fools that'd stumbled into power. They had some skill in asserting themselves. Good.

"Drink?"

The singular word had one of the servants wearing a practically see-through outfit take a step forward with a tray adorned with glasses; if Lysander didn't decline they'd crouch down and offer the selection up upon both hands without a word.

Astra took the second Lysander would take to respond however he chose to take another drink of the choice already in her hand.

"Gaps can be filled for the right price, Mister von Ascania. You know my portfolio. You know I can deliver. And you know I have no qualms about doing whatever it takes to meet your needs. So, really, all I need to know is what, where, and when you need something. And what I get in return." She might not chase after them, but given the chance to do business with the Covenant... yes, Astra would take it. Gladly.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

He clocked the arch of her brow. Almost reassuring really, to know she was tracking and not just listening. There was a difference. Most never cleared the first bar. That might’ve even influenced him not declining the drink outright. Fabric, almost nothing, was difficult to ignore, just as he was aware of dancers at the room’s periphery. The Sith wasn’t made of stone. Naturally so, awareness didn’t fully insulate you from such things, but it did indeed change the texture of the distraction. You could still appreciate the engineering of a lock you had no intention of picking.

An amber glass was accepted without drinking yet. There was a color logic to spirits he’d grown to trust. A colorless one, to him, was poverty of the imagination.

“There’s something smaller. Before we talk about supply chains.” Lysander let the chair take a little more of his weight. “There is a subcontractor operating out of Brentaal. They move freight for one of the Core’s mid‑tier holders. Derivative commodities. Nothing high profile, one might say. Two months ago, their manifests stopped aligning entirely with their filed routes. Enough to believe someone is testing boundaries.”

Lysander assumed she understood terrain that extended beyond the walls of this particular room. Everyone in this business did. The Hydrian Way and the Perlemian Trade Route was arguably the most valuable junction in the galaxy. So much that it might’ve been closer to a law of nature, the way gravity was a law of nature.

“I have auditors who could look into it. One word to the right counterintelligence officer, if I wanted it handled that way.” The glass turned slowly between his fingers. “But that’s not what I want. The moment I move on this, whoever is watching, and someone is watching, they’ll know I moved. Then they’ll adjust. And I’ll have learned nothing except that they’re cautious, which I already know.”

Calculations were already running. Perhaps the datapad was just an ornament. “A one percent discrepancy there propagates into a three to five percent delay across the Hydian Way. Seven percent slowdown in Core bound industrial shipments. Fourteen percent spike in black market routing through the Perlemian.”

Silence took the lead after his revelation. There was more to say, but sometimes the first question a person asked revealed more than anything said after. At least, that was a principle that’d served him well.

 

[Astra Sadow]

So many interesting ways one could digest what Lysander had described. So many responses.

"What would you have done to whomever is found testing these boundaries?" There was a strong implication that it was not a desirable act, but Lysander hadn't actually given insult or injury. His calculations might suggest it was undesired, but a fourteen percent spike in blackmarket routing could actually be quite lucrative if you were positioned to take advantage of it. So, was he really wanting them shut down, or curious about leveraging someone with the gall to try? Obviously, they weren't doing it quite well enough to escape notice, but a little... guidance could take care of that so others didn't discover it. That was the alternative read on not informing counterintelligence officers.

Of course, the straight read that Counterintel had itself -- or even could have at all -- a mole was something of note as well. It didn't narrow the field, but just knowing a thing was possible could be enough to dig deeper. To use or deny the use thereof.

And there was the more personal aspect as well. Volunteer too much before Lysander's objective was known and she just might find herself the one whose neck was in the noose. Sith were lateral thinkers, but that didn't mean they all tolerated criminals. Some of them were more dogmatic about 'order' than Jedi. Not that Lysander's history with the Sith suggested he was a hardcase. Though his latest Master did warrant a bit of caution. Mercy's mercurial nature might rub off. Given the restraint shown here, however, Astra expected Lysander wanted more than a confrontation; but that still didn't mean being allies was a foregone conclusion.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

The glass rose from his knee, taking a pull that was held for a moment before swallowing, spreading hot across the back of his throat. The burn settled in his chest and the space below. There was a sharp intake of breath that followed, a flare of his nostrils.

Inside, the Sith's mind was continuing to unfold the problem. In isolation, any anomaly could be an errant data point to be noted and simply discarded. But this was becoming a pattern, structure pushing back. He weighed the two readings at the same time, one an act worth suppressing to preserve stability, the other an opportunity to channel that same force into a covert revenue stream. Guidance might be more effective than outright repression, but only if the agent in question could be disciplined toward what would serve the system.

"I would first map the fault line. Is this breach an isolated revolt or the first fracture in an otherwise sound framework. If it is isolated, then I want the junction contained so that leverage is on my side."

Lowering the glass, his traced the rim once. Across the room, the dancer moved, but Lysander looked toward the figure without truly seeing her, her shape dissolving into somewhere on Brentaal.

"If it is systemic, then suppression only deepens the fault. The system must evolve and shed the substructure that allows such routing to fester. And that would require more clarity about which values remain core and which must be sacrificed."

He leaned forward. "The mole, if there is one, is actually useful to me right now. It keeps others looking inward and second guessing." Lysander's free hand found his chin, forefinger drawing a slow line along his jaw. . "Whoever crossed that line, I am not ready to protect them or execute them. Not until I know what they actually are. Could be a pawn. Could be something else."

The image dissolved and his gaze turned back toward Astra. "I would rather reshape a thing than burn it. You burn it too fast and you get ash, and that does not build much of anything. Leave it alone too long and it goes static on you. Same result.. different route."

Enough of his hand had been shown, more than he usually would, and now was curious what she had built from it, what shape her thinking might take.

"How would you keep something alive that is already turning on itself? When does it stop being a recovery and start being a longer way down."

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra's eyes were with Lysander for the duration of his thoughts voiced aloud. The dancers would be a delightful plaything, but now that business was at hand the Sith warrior needn't worry about holding her attention. Amusements came and went. Opportunities were time sensitive.

"You don't." She deliberately chose that moment to take another practiced drink from her flute. "Organizations are living creatures made of people. When they grow ill, you apply medicine. When you become desperate for any salve to save the patient, it's time to retire the patient. Better that something new grow on the bedrock of the old. Why start with nothing when there is still something useful at hand? Make use of it." One didn't kill an organization at the first sign of trouble; leaders that weren't self-absorbed in their own power knew the signs when things couldn't be salvaged. The same mistakes time and again by the same people. The steadily growing loss of ground or material for no appreciable gain. An obsession of a single ruler that benefits no other. Falling was quiet at first, but in the end there was always a moment when it became clear the point of no return had been reached.

Astra slowly rocked forward and slid to the edge of her seat with a smile on her lips. "There's still time. Chaotic as things are, a structure can still be built. Not everyone's taken to stripping worlds for parts. No one of importance, anyway. Find them. Use them." Her shoulders rolled as she turned her head slightly away while her eyes lingered on Lysander as if she weren't speaking to him, "That's what I would do."

"If you have the details, my people can get in contact with them. Form a relation." Astra turned her gaze back to the man seated near her. It would take time so they weren't immediately put on their guard, but not that much time. Sanguine might not be a household name, but it was more than large enough for some would-be embezzler to know she wasn't law enforcement in disguise. It was all about convincing them how she'd come across their operation -- and that it hadn't come from someone at the top of the Covenant's hierarchy.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

The patient that is and the patient that becomes. Logic he approved of. Best to avoid the hazards of a blank slate. The Tapani Sector was an example. Those disruptions could easily take decades to fix. And that was assuming cooperation existed, trade routes found a way to reopen quickly, and the Covenant actually prioritized reconstruction. Which they had not. So, the timeline would stretch even further.

”Agreed. An organization isn’t a machine you can just swap parts in and out of. It’s more like..“ he turned the glass once in his hand, “.. a body, as you suggest. You don’t tear the whole thing down because one organ is failing. You only start from scratch when there’s nothing left worth saving.”

Well, plausible enough to accept, especially with the allure of credits and influence behind everything. That generosity was seldom granted to personal relationships; people always failed sooner. Inconsistency, self interest, erosion of discipline. Nothing more grating than watching another you once supported begin losing their purpose.

“I want to be informed throughout the process, which parts hold up under pressure, which ones are already cracking. How influence moves around and how loyalties drift. I need to see where they run. Then change what people stand to gain, move the right people up, eliminate the ones who can’t be brought around, and put my own in their place.” In short, he wanted those with values that mirrored his own.

“I need change that doesn’t look like change. Too fast and I’ll be trading one problem for three. Something gradual, slow enough that the system doesn’t know it’s happening before any think to ever resist it.”

Another sip from the glass followed, held a second behind his teeth before it went down. “My people have prepared encrypted channels, false manifests.. and even a provisional charter. I will share the identifiers and codebooks at the hour you choose.”

It wasn’t often that one could think at altitude without diving straight into theatrics or ego. Perhaps he was selfish to enjoy the conversation, and find reasons to extend it.

“When you can see that something can’t keep going the way it is, how do you weigh the cost of changing it against the cost of leaving it alone?”

He’d witnessed enough poor leadership lately. The entire galaxy burning was hardly a mystery anymore. A year ago, he would not have imagined himself inheriting so many failures.

Soon enough, his shoulder found her before the rest of him slowly turned. Nothing wrong with choosing your focus over offering it freely. “What is your threshold for collateral loss, Astra?”

 

[Astra Sadow]

As Lysander spoke, Astra's smile grew ever so slightly and her head turned a hair more in his direction. Then he spoke of encrypted channels, false manifests, and a charter, which caused an upward curl at the corner of her mouth. Man really was ambitious. Not too dull either. Considerably more... congenial and cooperative than the ruling elite of the Sith Covenant were ordinarily known to be. Made a woman wonder where his limit was. How far he'd go.

"Sounds like you've already made up your mind, Mister von Ascania; the problem is no longer theoretical." Astra paused a moment to regard Lysander. "Frankly," Astra slowly swirled the drink in her flute, "I don't ignore problems like that. Resolving the issue immediately is always worth the expense. You see, Mister von Ascania, it isn't just about profit." She shifted to the edge of her seat to lean forward just a little in his direction. "Its about respect. Your subjects will start losing it the more they see you've lost control. And respect is something you cannot get back. Your problems only increase from that point on." Then again, Astra wasn't just a businesswoman. She did have something in common with a syndicate. Quite a bit. How else was an enterprising woman like her expected to get anything done?

A soft, mirthless chuckle followed his question regarding collateral. "A sensible, data-driven one tailored to the circumstances, Mister von Ascania. As I said, some things are worth the cost. Others..." her brows arched and she leaned a bit to the side with a smirk. "Well, ask my competition. Some people don't know when to cut their losses. Go all in with a busted hand. Lose everything because they put their pride before their survival."

"My people can handle whatever job needs done, Mister von Ascania. They're quite good at it. So, if there's a market that needs correction, and you've already assembled the pertinent details... I'm certain we can come to some sort of arrangement." After all, Lysander would need someone to help manage the corner of the market he wanted to influence. Big shot like him had a thousand things to do. Might as well outsource business to the Corpos and free himself of the tedious day to day operations. And as for Sanguine, well, Astra was certain they could make use of expanding their influence.

"Have you approached any others about this venture?"

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow
​

Respect. Yes, he'd seen entire governments collapse because their leaders misunderstood that word. It was refreshing in some ways, to be sitting here and just considering someone's point, rather than preparing to counter, or dismantle it. He'd had his fill of that lately.

"You're not wrong. Respect is the first thing people measure, even if they don't realize they're doing it. And once they decide you've lost it.. you don't get a second chance."

A smirk of his own appeared, almost contemptuous of itself. And then it dissolved the moment the word competition entered the space between them. As a Sith, rivals were just the galaxy's way of offering him something to sharpen himself against. Still.. approaching the blonde without the requisite skill was an epitaph begging to be written.

Lysander's thumb traced the rim of his glass once. An uninflected nod followed. "Others?" The word turned once in his mind before he released it. "No." He let that truth sit between them. "Just one fully aligned model is all I need. I would never scatter my intentions across a dozen hands and hope one of them closes around the desired outcome."

Redundancy.. that was the signature of doubt. And doubt, once detected, was the only thing in any negotiation that couldn't be walked back.

From what he'd gathered beforehand, her record checked the boxes: systematic, discreet, exacting. No need for superlatives. "Introducing parallel interlocutors increases fault lines, be it competing agendas, information asymmetries, unnecessary exposure. I prefer to limit variables with only one partner, and one point of entry."

His gaze moved across her like a contract he intended sign. Of course, that didn't mean he would be careless about the fine print. "You are that point of entry."

When his glass lifted, another small pull disappeared behind his lips. The cold crystal rested against the lower one a moment. "So, you've seen others lose everything because they couldn't let go. What would you have done with them if they were yours?"

 

[Astra Sadow]

No others. No complications. No competing, unspoken interests. "Excellent. Then work can begin immediately, if you wish."

Astra set her flute aside and looked back into Lysander's eyes. "If you'll take a word of advice, Mister von Ascania, find others. If you want to solve a systemic problem, you need to assemble multiple movers in every layer of society. Systemic problems require systemic solutions. Of course, you could outsource the hiring, but I wouldn't recommend it." Yes, he could have her build a cabal to rule the Core, but then she wouldn't really need him in the end would she? It wasn't that the idea frightened or disinterested her, but the were Sith. Anyone that amassed enough power to rival them would have Mercy's fleet on them -- Astra knew enough that giving a woman like that a target was not a good idea.

On the other hand, if Lysander -- one of their own -- assembled a group under his authority... while Sith might fight, they would be less likely to commit the bulk of their forces to squashing an up-coming competitor. Especially if they hid the extent of the influence being amassed. And, should the situation ever arise, the cabal would always throw off the Sith and form their own hierarchy within. It wasn't a foregone conclusion, but Astra wouldn't rule out the possibility. Especially if the systemic problem couldn't be solved under present leadership.

"If my own people couldn't let go?" Astra echoed Lysander's question. "Diseased tissue must be removed with surgical precision before it spreads. Like I said earlier, an organization is a living body subject to ailment and rot like any other. The solutions are often the same. And there's no need to gouge away healthy flesh in the blind hope of being rid of an infection." Whatever had to be done, but not more than that. Indiscriminate annihilation of your own would only cause the disease to spread rather than be squashed. Organizations were not exactly like a living, singular organization, after all.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

To an onlooker, the hush that followed might have seemed like a lull; to Lysander, it was the next step in examination. Astra had spoken of rot and healthy flesh, and he found the reasoning deeply satisfying. It aligned neatly with his own blueprints of power. Most, if not nearly all, within the Covenant, never bothered to parse the nuance. They'd look upon single, withering branch and decide the only cure was to immolate the entire grove. They never seemed to notice that ash makes a poor foundation. From his experience, nothing lasting grew on ruin. Perhaps, that's why her restraint also felt invigorating.

Lysander leaned forward by scarcely an inch. "I'll grant you the point on outside hires. Outsourcing is often the refuge of those unwilling to soil their own intentions. But assembling influence across every layer of society isn't just about gathering 'movers,' as you put it; it's about creating a net."

A thoughtful hum punctuated the air. "The trick, I suspect, is letting the inconsequential slip through while trapping those overconfident enough to think they can bite the hand that feeds them. But in any case, our goals appear aligned. Governing through spectacle holds little appeal for me. I'd much rather nurture a slow ecosystem that functions exactly as intended, while every participant remains convinced the momentum was entirely their own."

Two taps of his finger echoed against the crystal. "But tell me, Astra." The look he gave her didn't drift. "You describe yourself as the surgeon; the one who knows exactly where the rot begins and how much must be removed. I must confess, it's a compelling philosophy." Sometimes silence was an invitation to confession; this one was drawn out like a held breath. "So let us test that steady hand. If, to preserve your creation, you had to excise a piece of yourself.. not a rival, nor a subordinate.. but your own ambition, would your hand tremble?" Lysander's head tilted inquiringly. "Or have you already paid that price?"

Emerald eyes probed hers with quiet observation; years among the Sith had taught him honesty was rarer than any gem in the galaxy. She wasn't one, not to his knowledge.. but the instinct was there all the same. "How does one distinguish this necessary surgery from ambition wearing a physician's gloves?"

 

[Astra Sadow]

"Precisely." Astra smirked as Lysander seemed to appreciate the slow, steady, but resilient approach. There was no galactic acclaim or glory to it, but when one examined the state of the galaxy what did someone see? The great and mighty conquests of the Sith? The tireless and heart-felt victories of the Jedi? Or was it the mundane happenstance cobbled together from countless disparate people that endured over time? A mess to be sure, but one that could be refined without sacrificing its ability to simply endure.

"By all means," the woman practically purred when Lysander said he sought to test Astra with a puzzle.

A slow tap of a finger on an arm rest followed Lysander's philosophical dilemma, and accompanying question.

"A life's story is often complex and lengthy, tedious and frankly boring. I'll spare you the details, and agree I've already made that decision. You can't be a dogmatic Sith that consumes all for the sake of power, and someone that slowly weaves her way through the streets, markets, and palaces as a well-practiced seamstress. Personal choice where someone falls on that spectrum. Plenty of Lords have made that choice; doubtful you've ever heard the names of the quiet ones, but you've felt their influence all the same."

Astra shifted forward in her seat and smiled over at Lysander. "As for deciding whether you're acting in self-interest, self-delusion, or in service to your intended objective... If you'd like, Lysander, I could always take a peek inside your mind and discern your true intent. Not the one you tell everyone. Perhaps not event he one you tell yourself. The archetypal kernel of truth that drives you." A soft chuckle followed suit. "The difference is in the outcome. Whether it serves your comfort or your ego, or the Purpose. And if you surround yourself with yes-men inevitably you'll fall into the trap of self-service."

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

Lysander’s tongue stilled. The conclusion was handed to him while withholding the proof. Or the trial. Not that he needed the full biography, but maybe just a few sentences she’d swallowed. There was virtue in maintaining the integrity of one’s position, where to draw the curtain; an art form in itself. Of course, she was probably unaware that the Sith now oscillating her shadow loathed settling for the perimeter of a conversation. Well, so long as it was a good one, and not those grey lullabies offered by the weak minded to bridge silence.

"You advanced a pawn when I asked about your Queen. I understand why." Dryness deepened the corner of his mouth. "I even respect it, a little. But I think you're capable of a more interesting move than that, provided you have the nerve to deploy it.” Chess was hardly his preferred language; mayhaps Alderaan left its fingerprints in stranger places, haunting his dialect.

The chalice rose like a moon, eclipsing Lysander's jawline; his focus rested where irises disappeared behind the veil of her glareshades. He afforded a temporal interval, just long enough to synthesize the shape of what she was offering. Afterwards, he paused mid sip, before setting the vessel down on the table next to them with grace.

She wasn’t wrong to assume; he was surrounded by those who always agreed with him. But for all his flaws, he was generally good at turning the blade inward before others ever had the chance. A surgeon of his own psyche.

“I imagine you'll discover a rather unhealthy measure of self-interest. Perhaps even a strata of vanity, curated with no shortage of audacity.” There was a familiar ache at the base of his skull. “But while you sort through the debris of my character and catalog my sins, provided you don’t grow disoriented in there and forget the way out, you might clarify a rather pervasive inconsistency I have failed to make sense of.”

Leaning in, he pressed the tip of an index finger against his own temple as though miming such a difficult thought. "If I place myself above everything else, how have I developed such an.. unfortunate habit of losing those I'd have moved galaxies to keep?" An inviting hum swept away the silence. “Considering the fact that my selection has already fallen upon you, I assume you’ll skip the polite deflection in your next answer. Indulge me with the truth.”

 

[Astra Sadow]

A soft snort followed Lysander's discontent at her not moving the 'Queen' on the board. "Some questions shouldn't be asked before you've a glimmer of what the answer will be."

She listened to the man's analysis of himself and the quandary he seemed taken with in the moment.

"Because you've placed yourself above everything else." Astra made sure to have a wine goblet in her hand before she continued. "Many that aspire or have achieved the recognition as Lord of the Sith do so. Nearly all of them have the same problem. Self-reliance -- where you have no dependency on another -- is a form of strength, but it is one that leaves you brittle." Her thumb had perched itself on the stem of the glass and with a push a sharp, loud snap could be heard. The head of the goblet tumbled into the woman's let hand. The broken stem was held aloft for Lysander to bear witness.

"If you want to keep people close, Lysander, you have to give up a part of yourself. Surrender even a little of the truth of your own identity. Expect the same in return. It'll expose you to a different form of risk, but it'll provide a different source of strength when your own isn't enough. And if you find that too difficult, then they were't the sort of person you've entrusted your life to yet anyway."

Astra set the broken stem off to the side and out of the way, but kept the head of the goblet in the palm of her hand.

It was a little early in their dealings to get personal, but if Lysander was willing to put his life on the line for the truth... The goblet bowl lifted between them in her hand with Astra peering at Lysander through it. She said nothing and remained perfectly still as a spiderweb of cracks erupted across the surface of the glass. A second later the body of fractured glass exploded, but instead of being flung about the room seemed to ricochet off an invisible container that held them over her palm. The glass floated in midair as snow on a pristine, frigid morn.

"I've killed most people that have learned this about me, Lysander. A Queen's reach is far and vast. So, I hope this is a suitable appetizer for the story I may yet tell in full one day; and an answer to your question."

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

For all the uncaring he strived to exhibit, an apprehensive sort of disquiet was beginning to itch away at Lysander’s chest.

Fracturing crystal sang a final note beneath the pressure of her thumb; something about the stem snapping oddly reminded him of bones on a battlefield. Still leaning in, no instinctual retreat marred the Sith's posture. Breath hitched nowhere; a more controlled exhale through flared nostrils cooled the charged air. Observing the impossible required no vocal retort.

Far too protective of his pieces. It was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. Truth was, many would find it difficult to claim even a pawn without his interference. Threaten a single bishop, however, and he'd retract a strategy ten turns in the making. On a board it surrendered initiative. In reality.. cities burned.

"Perhaps I've mistaken refusing collateral damage for mercy, when all I've really done is.. postpone it." Pondering the accusation of brittleness required an internal descent into locked archives. But to surrender even a sliver of the truth of one's identity felt akin to discarding his lightsaber in the heat of a duel.

Quietude stretched. Lysander’s smile was enigmatic in turn; it was clear he took her words at face value, even while captured by fractured remnants suspended above her palm. Only after this internal calculation did focus return to Astra. "The role of Queen can be largely ceremonial. At least, such has been my experience back home." Softness entered his expression. "I gather yours extends beyond attendance at court and the graceful performance of decorum."

Another reflective lull followed. "There is no regret for the questions posed, nor for the manner in which they were delivered.” The time for masks had passed. "Though clearly, I underestimated the depth of your answer."

Shoulders eased back into the upholstery, into a posture of nonchalance. "I've been rather liberal with your patience." Fingers locked in a contemplative spire. "I'd consider it only fair if the next question belonged to you."

 

[Astra Sadow]

"Much," Astra simply replied as she settled into her seat comfortably. It wasn't the sort of Empire most expected. No grand ceremonies of lording over planets. No bombastic declarations of amassing inconceivable power. There was more to be had, but it didn't require that the entire galaxy know her name. In fact, she prefer they didn't. Far too few in the galaxy deserved to have it touch their tongue.

A quiet chuckle accompanied Lysander's gracious offer.

Then, Astra slid and leaned forward in a single movement. A hand reached out to lay along the top and inside of a thigh as she peered into his eyes. "What do you desire, Lysander? Not the dream of power or prestige. Not hopes for a better tomorrow or victory in battle. Those are vague, unrealized objectives everyone thinks will bring satisfaction. What is that one thing you yearn for and all your thoughts are bent toward it?"

A smile spread across her lips. "Mine is for the powerful to depend on me. To need me. Not as a tool or a means of accomplishing their ill-thought out plans, but as someone they literally cannot survive without. They need me. Let them have the false adoration of the weak terrified of their strength. I want them not to beg, but to find themselves distracted by my absence. To yearn for my return. Just that. Just my presence alone to bring them peace." There were so many unbelievers out there it sickened her. Frauds and fakes that filled entire planets. They could work in the mines and collapse from exhaustion for all she cared of those fools. Those that could see her worth and make use of it... to pine for affection... something genuine and irreplaceable. Yes, Astra would like that.

"I would give them their due, of course. My presence alone would be enough, but my services would be theirs to enjoy."

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

The mind was an engine of consequence, parsing the statement. A thoughtful hum vibrated in his throat in response to an invitation to shared frequency. Lysander allowed his posture to soften further into the chair; his knee turned to accommodate the sudden migration, even as a ghost of awareness traveled up the length of his spine. Not that Astra needed the validation. Confidence clearly wasn't in short supply on her side.

"An understated manifesto," surfaced the verdict in an unhurried voice. "Most want to be the Light the galaxy looks to; you prefer to be the oxygen they forget to appreciate, until they start to.. suffocate. I find that to be a rather.. predatory kind of altruism, Astra. Cruel, poetic, and utterly brilliant."

Lysander's chin tilted back to observe her as appraisal commenced. Behind them lay a nebular constellation of possibilities; truly, the memory failed when trying to pinpoint a single star. "My sword and I have shared a more intimate history than most convene in a lifetime of diplomatic parley." Twenty‑four engagements under two different Sith banners was more than enough to show him what Hell looked like.

Then, a sliver of autobiography pierced the Emissary's calm. "Dueling has always been my nature. From the fencer at Ukatis' prestige academy, to the trials of Kor'ethyr Academy, and through the Covenant hierarchy, it is the only heritage I own. If I cannot persuade you with the blade of my tongue, then I must rely on the alternative." Lungs surrendered another breath. "For the longest time.. I believed that would've answered your question."

Silence fell as the Sith measured the cost of his vulnerability. "Truth is, the crown holds no allure now. I spent years teaching myself to want it." Few remembered the throne's architect held the strings. "Now I think I only ever wanted to become the sort of man someone would trust to carry it." Focus drifted, snagging on the remnants of the shattered goblet from moments ago. "The way one carries a vessel of crystal. Not because it's precious.. just that once it's broke, it cannot simply be made whole again. That's what I truly desire, to have another place that matters most in my keeping, and to know, that I will neither let it fall nor allow it to shatter."

Fingertips smoothed a crease in his tunic before returning to search the depths of her expression. "Requiring a level of devotion that borders on the divine is a dangerous game to play, is it not, Astra?" The crisp arch of each brow punctuated the words. "I've a hunch you're perfectly versed in making people worship the absence you leave behind."

 

[Astra Sadow]

Lysander had a way with words of his own. Even a lofty woman of privilege enjoyed being flattered. A little recognition went a long way.

Astra's burned eyes narrowed a hair whilst she listened and studied the man's countenance. A desire for the throne. A desire for power turned into one of worth. To possess something of worth -- other than the monetary sense. She felt he was too young to feel that way; not that he couldn't but that he shouldn't. The galaxy should be ripe for the taking for one such as himself. Hard lessons and recognition of the ephemeral should come much later in life. Too late, in most cases. Wise of him to see it, but a shame all the same. Or perhaps a smidge of envy?

"Not dangerous. Just full of disappointment," she replied with ease. "I don't puppeteer or control them. They worship of their own accord because I am worthy of worship. I give to those of value. I help their empire run like clockwork so they can indulge in their countless passions. If they were to become the very thing we spoke of earlier -- a sword turned in on itself -- then my absence would be keenly missed." It was a long game. Certainly not guaranteed of success. Genuine adoration required great effort and sacrifice.

A light pat atop his leg and Astra withdrew her hand so he didn't misconstrue her actions. Much as she'd refrained from the obvious double entendre concerning swords earlier.

"Being worthy to carry the command of the multitude, Lysander, is laudable, but," there was a brief pause for her to smile, "there are countless ways to get there; and nearly as many kinds of man you may come out on the other end of that journey." Some good. Some bad. Some in between. Anyone could wear 'a' crown. It was all a matter of what kind of crown he sought to set upon his head. "As it happens, I'm available should you require my services to find somewhere that is worth fighting for -- rather than against." As it so often happened, some Dark Siders were swept up in the fervor of killing The Enemy to such a degree they neglected the realm already in their control. Easier to rally the troops to war than to rebuilding a war-torn or economically-depressed world.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

Lysander breathed out slowly; the smile followed. "Disappointment is just the tax one pays for clarity. Offering a mirror to the masses invites them to see their own fragility.. and from my experience, they almost never forgive the reflection." One might say it was universal; they'd sooner call it an insult than a gift.

"Your offer is worth thinking over, at the very least. I've never been one for blind faith, but I've always had a soft spot for a well constructed play." The corner of his mouth moved. "That last offer, though. First one all evening I couldn't immediately assess." It would be foolish not to know where another worthwhile horizon might be found. And, it was always good to have a fallback of sorts.

He studied the fractured crystal once more before reaching inside his peacoat. From it came a slim encrypted datapad, then a packet holding a provisional charter, codebooks, and shipping manifests they'd discussed before the talk turned toward more personal grounds. Each item settled onto the table between them. "Warehouse District Four. My people have already isolated the shell companies and established the channels. That's where the trail gets warm.."

Rising from the sofa, Lysander's thumb ran along the front of his coat where it had creased. "Some conversations leave you with answers. The good ones just sharpen your questions." His head dipped once. "I appreciate knowing which this was, Astra."

He was nearly out when he stopped, not quite turning back. "If your instincts in commerce run anything like they do in a room," perhaps a compliment dressed as an afterthought, "I don't imagine Brentaal stays the last stop."