Private Speaking of nothing and everything

[Xandyr Carrick]

Xandyr Carrick rested the quill before him, rehearsing the words carefully in his mind. His handwriting was deliberate and neat. He dipped the quill once more and began:

Dear Miss Loria Sorelle , heiress of House Sorelle and patron of the arts,

I hope this note finds you well. I write to extend the most modest of invitations: would you honor me with your company for tea at my current lodgings at the Praxon Estate?

I happen to be practicing a piece on the seven-string hallikset from a classical Theed composition. I could do with a well-trained ear to help my understanding of the piece.

I trust the evening air here will find you at ease. My current client, Dominic Praxon may be in attendance at the estate. However, this is a chance for us to discuss matters of little political consequence in these trying times.

Delivered in humble sincerity, Yours,

Xandyr Carrick

He sealed the letter carefully, the wax imprint of Oiran House. This was his own letter and he wouldn't send it under a Praxon seal. The mark of a companion ensured a letter was delivered swiftly.

The invitation appeared quite benign. A companion in the service of a noble was expected to make appearances and entertain. In this case he imagined Loria would have some sense of the reason. She would be observed, he would measure her temperament in refined company and report back to Dominic on the matter.

 

[Loria Sorelle]

Mr Carrick,

Your gracious letter was received with delight, and I thank you sincerely for the courtesy of such an invitation. The Praxon Estate has long been held in high esteem, and I should be honored to take tea there in such refined company.

The hallikset, with its subtle voice and exacting technique, is no simple instrument, and I commend your dedication to mastering a piece of Theed's classical canon. It would be my pleasure to lend what small assistance I may in listening, though I suspect your performance will require little guidance.

I welcome, too, the promise of discourse free from political burden. In times such as these, moments of civility, culture, and quiet reflection are treasures not to be undervalued.

You may therefore expect me at the appointed hour, and I look forward to the evening with anticipation.

With kindest regards,

Xandyr Carrick & Dominic Praxon ​

 

[Xandyr Carrick]

XANDYR

Xandyr Carrick was a man who believed in detail. The garden veranda of the Praxon estate had been prepared hours before Loria Sorelle was due to arrive: a table dressed in crisp linens, porcelain cups laid out in deliberate symmetry, a modest arrangement of Naboo lilies resting at its center.

Nothing ostentatious, nothing gauche. Just enough to show refinement without smothering his guest.

He paced the stone terrace once, twice, and then turned his attention to the hallikset. The instrument rested against a carved chair. Its polished wood caught the faint sunlight that streamed in through the hedges. He strummed, letting a few notes hang in the air.

They rang clear, warm. Then, with a subtle twist of a tuning key, one string soured ever so slightly. Not enough to jar a casual ear, but enough that any true patron of the arts would notice.

He smiled faintly. A test. But not a question.

The tea itself had been chosen with equal care. A strong Naboo blend for clarity paired with a lighter fruit infusion served alongside it. He intended to offer both without instruction. Another small measure of taste, of decision. Would she choose tradition, or curiosity?

This would be - if everything went to plan - a perfectly pleasant conversation. He wasn't a noble, but his was a companion of the house. That meant his position was respectable enough to talk directly with a member of a House.

Still, if he was rude she would be right to walk away. His reputation would be damaged. People didn't reveal their true character when under pressure anyway. He had to let her character reveal itself. Every element was arranged to seem effortless, though each carried purpose.

He sat at last, lifting the hallikset into his lap. As he struck another quiet chord the off-tune string bent against the harmony.

"Perfect," he muttered.

How she arrived mattered too. Who would escort her? How would she dress? He waited for the household staff to lead her to the garden.

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
The Praxon Estate

Loria's speeder skimmed along the Theed causeway. The soft hum offering a sense of comfort as the morning mist spilled into the banks of the Solleu. Her eyes set on the passing city as the silver-coated speeder continued its journey. The Theed skyline catching her eye at every available opportunity.

Her driver, Nivrel, cleared his throat softly, startling the young noblewoman slightly. She let out her soft sigh, her hands softening the folds of her ivory dress, silk gently softening at her touch. Flecks of light scattered throughout the cab as sunlight caught the delicate silver embroidery.

At the controls sat Nivrel, Loria's personal chauffeur. His livery was neat though well-worn after many years of service. Loria eyed the dashboard and then Nivrel from her rear-seat, and then at the rear-view mirror. His worn face carried concern, prompting Loria to frown at their eyes caught one another for a moment through the mirror.

'What bothers you, Nivrel?' she asked, concernedly.

'I...' he hesitated, as if to choose his words carefully and to not betray the Loria's trust. 'It's your father, if he asks where you've been I... won't be in a position to lie on your behalf.'

Loria frowned, her pale blue eyes catching sunlight every so often. 'Well...' she began, unsure how to respond. 'I understand, let us hope he doesn't find the urge to track you down for answers,' she mused sheepishly, her voice shaky.

Loria knew her visit to the Praxon Estate carried consequences she ought not ignore. Dominic Praxon's name had been on too many lips of late, whispered in salons, speculated on in the society papers, and her very presence at his side risked confirming what others only guessed.

Even her chauffeur, she suspected, understood the weight of this meeting, whether through quiet words from her father or by simply reading the same headlines that had already begun to spin the narrative. To go was to step willingly into scrutiny, into implications that might outpace her intentions.

Yet she cared not. She would not let whispers or warnings bar her from choosing her own company.

'We should be there by midday, Lady Sorelle.'

---

A few hours later...

The silver-coated speeder slowed to a gentle halt upon reaching the Praxon Estate. With Praxon attendants waiting nearby, her chauffeur moved to open the door on her behalf. 'Thank you, Nivrel,' she whispered quietly as she exited the speeder with grace, the warm glow of the sun softening her features.

'My lady,' he spoke softly before returning to the cab.

Her gaze turned to one of the attendants who gestured for her to follow. Clutch in hand, her shoes tapped gently upon the stone paving as she followed. The day was pleasant, the warming sun illuminated the stunning architecture of the Praxon estate and its elegant gardens.

After a few twists and turns, she arrived upon the veranda. Her eyes glossed over the beautifully arranged scene, appreciating the modesty of the arrangement. Soft linens, fine ceramic, and the lovely set of lilies put a creeping smile on her lips.

Though there was one figure who caught her attention most of all.

'Mr Carrick, I assume?' she approached the refined gentleman with confidence and ease, her poise graceful and dignified. She paused just before him, offering her hand for a proper greeting. He was not of noble persuasion yet he still warranted respect from the young noblewoman; Just as her own station warranted a degree of respect.

Xandyr Carrick & Dominic Praxon

​

 

[Xandyr Carrick]

XANDYR

"Indeed, a pleasure to meet you."

Xandyr rose smoothly as she approached, setting the hallikset aside with deliberate care. His posture was immaculate, neither bowing too deeply - lest it suggest subservience - nor too shallow, for that would have been discourteous.

Taking her hand with measured grace, he inclined his head. He was a companion of the house, his position in high society was always an interesting once.

“Miss Sorelle,” he said, voice low and evenly toned, “you honour me with your presence.”

His palm was warm, the shake firm but never possessive, a Companion’s balance between courtesy and distnce.

He gestured to the table set beneath the open lattice.

Ivory and silver for her dress. It was an interesting choice, but he hadn't decided what it told him yet.

"I thought the veranda might be kinder than the drawing room. The air here carries the music better. The strings don't resonate from echoed off old stone."

Settling opposite her, he poured the first of the teas—one pale and floral, the other deep with Naboo spice—without further comment, sliding both cups toward her in silent invitation.

He noted where her hand lingered, whether curiosity or tradition guided her choice.

He glanced at the hallikset but waited for Loria before pouring his own cup of tea.

"I trust the journey was pleasant?"

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
The Praxon Estate

Curious. She didn't know what to make of him. His demeanor was polished yet it was evident he was no noble; His etiquette ideal for Nabooian culture. As a scholar of literature & culture, she found herself pleasantly surprised, in fact.

She offered a kind smile as he took her hand, her eyes warmly resting upon his. She would never admit it, but she found Xandyr somewhat intimidating. He was an unknown entity. Towering over her with a sense of confidence and poise that threw her off her game.

Who was he?

'The pleasure is mine, Mr Carrick,' she began her eyes once again glossing over veranda as she moved to sit down. 'You have a lovely selection of finery, I appreciate the modesty of your choice.'

She paused as he poured two sets of tea, the fumes piquing her curiosity: Floral & Spice. Most intriguing.

'Some believe that upon meeting a member of the nobility, one should bring out their finest decor; For some, that makes sense. Yet they often forget that we are just... people, too.'

She rambled a little, doing little to mask the small tremble of nerves. Though there was truth to her words as she figured Mr Carrick did his homework. Loria was not a flashy or ostentatious noblewoman, and she figured that he knew as much.

Her eyes hovered over the two cups of tea, a test perhaps? She thought for a moment, her eyes flickering between Xandyr and the cups. She was curious about the spiced tea, yet she instinctively reached for the floral tea instead; A comforting choice as opposed to an adventurous choice.

She waited for him to pour his own tea before raising it slightly as a 'thank you' and taking a sip. She watched as his eyes flickered to his hallikset for a moment before returning to her.

'It was a lovely journey, I'm fond of the countryside but there's something enchanting about the golden morning fog that hovers over the Solleu in the mornings.' She was a city girl, having lived in Theed all her life. Her parents being the cultural & educational icons they were meant they had little time to escape to the country.

As she concluded her response, her own eyes then flickered to his hallikset. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing it; Perhaps a knowing look.

'Is that a Varin & Solune? They play wonderfully, quite clearly; Popular in the courts, too.'

Xandyr Carrick & Dominic Praxon

 

[Xandyr Carrick]

XANDYR

Xandyr inclined his head at her words, the faintest curve of approval touching his lips.

“You have the truth of it, Miss Sorelle. Modesty is often more revealing than ostentation. In my line of work, one learns that finery dazzles the eye, but seldom holds the gaze.”

He lifted his own cup at last, choosing the spiced blend without hesitation. The Nabooan notes curled richly in the air. He wondered if she would ask directly about his line of work.

"Fog in sunlight at the right hour does possess a peculiar magic. There are mornings where one cannot tell where the land ends and the sky begins. A fine place to lose oneself.”

Even Xandyr wasn't quite certain where he was going with the conversation. It was more important to keep it flowing than to pick a direction.

At her remark about the instrument, his brow arched ever so slightly.

"A Varin & Solune, indeed," he confirmed, fingertips brushing reverently over the polished wood. "Did you recognise it from the shape of the neck?"

"Tell me, do you find the courts value the music, or merely the fashion of being seen to value it?"

He sipped his tea, the question hanging as gently as the off-note in the air, an invitation rather than an interrogation.