Private To Stand Between

[Alexi di Garthos]

Alexi did not reach for the glass immediately. Not out of hesitation; but because she allowed the moment to complete itself. The choice. The explanation. The intention behind it. Her gaze lowered briefly to the wine as the light moved through it; catching in the deep red with a quiet, almost contemplative stillness.

“Contradictions,” she repeated softly. There was something in the word that lingered. It was not challenged, nor dismissed. Only recognized.

Her fingers finally moved, deliberate and unhurried, lifting the glass by it's stem. She did not drink yet. Only turned it slightly, watching how it settled again. Letting it exist without rushing to define it. “You chose something that requires patience,” Alexi said after a moment, her voice calm, but no longer entirely distant. “Something that doesn’t reveal itself all at once….and isn’t meant to. Which suggests you’re not particularly interested in immediate impressions.”

Her gaze lifted back to him then. It was steady and thoughtful. Not guarded, but not unmeasured either. “Or perhaps,” she added more quietly, “you’re interested in what remains….after them.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It held shape. Intention. Then his question settled between them. Alexi did not deflect it. But neither did she answer it immediately. Her attention lingered on him; not searching, not retreating. Simply considering, as she had done from the beginning. Separating what was asked from what was being tested.

“You’re asking for something that has weight,” she said at last. It was not a refusal. Not yet. “Not because it is hidden,” she continued, her tone even, “but because once it is given….it cannot be taken back in the same form.” A small pause followed. Her thumb shifted slightly against the stem of the glass that was grounding, not guarded. “You’ve offered honesty,” Alexi acknowledged. “Carefully. Intentionally. Without disguising it as something else.” Her gaze held his. “That carries….a certain expectation of reciprocity.”There was no accusation in it. Only clarity. Another brief silence was given as she considered her words.

Then - just slightly - something shifted. Not a collapse of her composure. Not a surrender. But a choice. “When I was younger,” Alexi said quietly, “I believed that if I accounted for everything….if I considered every outcome carefully enough….I could prevent failure entirely.” Her gaze did not leave his. “It took me longer than I would have preferred to understand that this isn’t how responsibility works.” A faint breath was released. “You don’t avoid failure by anticipating it,” she continued. “You decide which failures you can survive….and which ones you cannot afford to make.” There it was. Simple. Unadorned. And real.

Her expression did not change much; but something beneath it had. Subtle. Present. “That is the truth I don’t offer lightly,” Alexi said. Then, just slightly; there it was again. That near-smile. Softer now. Less distant than before. “And now,” she added, lifting the glass just a fraction, though not yet drinking, “we’ll see whether your selection was worth the patience you seem so intent on testing.”

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Alexi di Garthos​

Leaning forward, one elbow found the table's edge. "Perhaps," he said, lips quirking upward, "or perhaps I just enjoy the suspense of wondering whether I've made a catastrophic error." He tilted his glass toward hers in a small toast. "Either way, I find the waiting is often the most interesting part. Sometimes, the best conversations are like good wine. They just need room to breathe."

A nod was offered while letting her words settle between them. Almost like rainfall on parched ground. "That's remarkably courageous. Most people spend their lives running from the possibility of failure. You've learned to face it. I believe true responsibility isn't about preventing the fall. It's about knowing which ones only bruise you, and which ones will take something you can't get back. That's not a lesson you learn from books or mentors."

Finally, the glass was raised. Rather than a toast, it felt like more of an acknowledgement. "To truths." The first sip burst across his palate like sunlight; the second revealed something deeper. His shoulders relaxed as he swallowed; warmth spread down his throat.

Lowering the glass from his mouth, his thumb traced a curve where bowl met base. "The Outer Rim taught me something similar," he said thoughtfully. "No amount of discipline would've saved me back then." The fingers of his free hand tensed against his knee, then relaxed. "But the Sith doctrine.." He paused, searching for words that wouldn't betray too much. "Failure isn't an option to be survived. It's a weakness to be purged."

He looked up, eyes finding hers across the table. "And you? Was your education in failure purchased at full price, or did fate offer you a discount?" Whatever her answers was, he knew it was better than paying in blood.

 

[Alexi di Garthos]

Alexi did not immediately meet his toast. Not out of dismissal; but because she let his words finish settling before she chose where to place her own within them. Only then did her glass lift, the movement quiet, precise. It touched his lightly. No flourish. No performance. “To truths,” she echoed.

The first sip was measured. Not to taste, not yet; but to acknowledge. To give the moment it's place before moving beyond it. Only after did she allow the wine to rest, turning the glass slightly as if considering it again….or perhaps something else entirely.

His question did not surprise her. But it did narrow something in her gaze. “Full price,” Alexi said at last. There was no hesitation. No softening of the answer. A small silence followed. It waa not empty; but it was weighted differently than before. “I was not afforded the luxury of learning that lesson in abstraction,” she continued, her voice even, though quieter now. “Nor the distance to observe it from someone else’s experience.” A faint breath passed that was both controlled and steady. “When failure occurred….it did not remain theoretical for long.”

Her gaze lowered briefly. Not in avoidance, but in memory. In something far more precise. “There was a collapse,” she said after a moment. “One of our marble sites. It should not have happened.” No dramatics. No embellishment. Just fact. “The reports were incomplete. The warning signs….present, but not properly interpreted.” A slight pause was given as she considered her next words. “And I made the decision to continue operations.” Her fingers shifted against the stem of the glass. It was subtle. Grounding. “When the structure gave way, it took more than stone with it.” There it was. No detail. No spectacle. But nothing obscured.

Her gaze lifted back to his; steady and unchanged in posture. Though something beneath it had settled into place. “That is the difference,” Alexi said quietly. “Between what can be corrected….and what cannot.” A faint pause to stifle the flow of emotions before they could be released. “You asked whether the cost is the same.” Her head tilted just slightly. “It isn’t.” Another small silence followed, more deliberate than the last. “Some failures ask for adjustment,” she continued. “Others require you to continue knowing exactly what they took.” Her expression did not harden. It didn’t need to. “And to ensure that nothing resembling them is allowed to happen again.”

The glass lowered fully to the table now. “I don’t believe in purging failure,” Alexi added, her tone calm, but carrying a quiet weight beneath it. “But I do believe in remembering it accurately.” A beat passed. Then, just slightly softer, though no less certain, she added: “That is the price.”

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Alexi di Garthos​

Lysander set his glass down carefully, the crystal kissed mahogany with a soft click. He needed his hands unoccupied, one drifting to rest by the stem, the other pressing against his thigh, as though to massage away any tension. The confession settled in his chest. Not painful, exactly, but present, architecturally significant even, in a way that made breathing feel like a conscious choice. "Memory," he finally said, tilting his head, "doesn't balance like other accounts. It compounds interest on what hurts us and bankrupts what heals." He looked down at the wine, watching light splinter across its surface.

Fingers then found the rim of his glass again, tracing its perfect circle as if mapping the boundaries of what remained unsaid. Her revelation hung in the air between them, a rare gift of trust. He allowed the silence its moment, feeling the room expand and contract with their breath. "You know," his voice softening, "for a conversation about failure, this wine is performing heroically well." The smile that visited his lips felt foreign. "Either that, or we're giving an ordinary vintage far too much credit for extraordinary company."

He tapped his fingernail gently against the glass, creating a tiny bell-like note. In some ways, the gesture felt like extending a hand across a divide. "Now I'm curious, do you actually enjoy this vintage, or are you being diplomatically kind? I've been trying to decipher you all evening, and I still can't quite manage it." Well, his read on her was better than he let on, but redirecting their conversation toward lighter shores seemed the more merciful choice. For both their sakes.

 

[Alexi di Garthos]

Alexi did not respond straight away. Not because she hadn’t heard the shift he was offering; but because she recognized it for what it was. Not avoidance. Not dismissal. But a choice to ease the weight without pretending it hadn’t existed.

Her gaze lowered briefly to the wine again, the surface catching the low light as it settled in the glass. When she spoke, her tone followed his lead. It was lighter, though not without it's grounding. “That depends,” she said quietly, “on whether you selected it for it's reputation….or it's reality.” A faint pause occured. Just enough to let the distinction exist. Then her fingers lifted the glass once more; more naturally this time. The movement lacked the earlier deliberation; not careless, but no longer measured to the same degree. She took another sip; this one slower, allowing the taste to settle properly before she responded. “It isn’t ordinary,” Alexi said after a moment, her gaze returning to him. “But it isn’t trying to prove that it isn’t, either.” A subtle tilt of her head followed. “Which makes it….more convincing than most.” There it was. Not praise. But not neutrality either.

Her attention lingered on him, quieter now. Studying him, but without the earlier distance. “And no,” she added, just slightly softer, “I’m not being diplomatically kind.” A faint trace of that near-smile returned; not fleeting this time, but present enough to be seen if he was paying attention. “If I were,” Alexi continued, “you would already know. I don’t tend to invest effort in disguising something that doesn’t warrant it.”

A small silence settled between them again. But it was different now. Less weighted. Less precise. Something….steadier.

Then, just slightly, she shifted the balance back toward him. “You chose it for it's contradictions,” she said, her tone thoughtful, but lighter than before. “Patience. Complexity. Something that reveals itself gradually.” Her gaze held his, not challenging; just….aware. “And yet,” Alexi added, the faintest edge of curiosity threading through her voice, “you’re asking for immediate conclusions. Which suggests,” she continued, “that you’re less interested in whether I understand it….and more interested in whether I’ll say so.” Her expression didn’t sharpen. It didn’t need to. But something in her gaze settled into clarity again; balanced now between the personal and the precise.

“And for what it’s worth…” she added, just lightly enough to soften the edge without removing it, “I don’t think you’ve misjudged it.” She allowed for a brief pause for emphasis. “Or me.”

Tag: Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Alexi di Garthos​

Lysander let the silence stretch just long enough, then he tipped his head, another half smile playing at the lips, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Reputation versus reality," he murmured, "is precisely what I was hoping to understand, though I confess I hoped your answer would be more spontaneous."

He reached for his glass, lifting it as she had. "I picked this one because it felt honest. No gilded label, no lofty hype, just something unassuming that asks you to lean in. Patience and complexity, yes. Little invitations rather than grand proclamations." He inhaled, savoring the aroma before taking a measured sip. "And I'll admit, I hoped you'd see past the reputation, that this would feel more like discovery than just another performance."

His gaze settled on her. "You're absolutely right. I did ask for a verdict before you'd let the flavors unfold, but that's not to presume impatience is my failing. But more than a quick 'delicious' or 'meh,' I wanted to see how you'd untangle it all, what notes you'd find worth mentioning, what surprises you'd stumble on."

Down went the glass, with fingers grazing its rim. "So no, I'm not fishing for flattery. I'm genuinely curious how your experience differs from the.. hype. And if I've misjudged either the wine or you, I'd rather know why."

Then, softly, "But thank you, for not falling back on diplomacy. For giving me something more.. convincing." His smile deepened, a shade warmer. "Perhaps we could try again? I'll try to slow down, let things reveal themselves in their own time, and you can call me out when I forget. Deal?"

 

[Alexi di Garthos]

Alexi listened to him without interruption. Her attention rested on him in a way that was no longer purely analytical. There was still precision there; there always would be, but it no longer stood between them in quite the same way. When he finished, she did not answer immediately. Instead, she let the moment breathe just as he had suggested the wine should.

Her gaze lowered briefly to the glass in her hand. This time, when she turned it, it wasn’t to observe, but it was to consider. Then she took another sip, slower than before, allowing it to settle properly before she spoke again. “You’re right,” Alexi said at last, her voice quieter now, though not withdrawn. “My first answer was....structured.” A faint pause followed that was not defensive. Just honest. “Habit, more than intent.” Her gaze lifted back to him. “But if I set that aside…” she continued, the shift subtle but real, “it’s warmer than I expected.” A slight tilt of her head, as if reassessing rather than concluding. “Not immediately. It takes a moment to reach it.” Another small pause. “And it doesn’t stay where you first think it will.”

There was something different in the way that she spoke now. Less filtered. It was not unguarded; but it was not arranged for effect either. “It changes,” Alexi added softly. “Not dramatically. Just….enough that you notice if you’re paying attention.” Her fingers eased slightly against the stem of the glass, the earlier tension absent now. “I think that’s why it works,” she said. “It doesn’t ask you to decide too quickly. It gives you just enough to continue.”

Her gaze held his again; steady, though the edge had softened. “And no,” she added, more lightly this time, “I don’t think you misjudged it. But I do think,” Alexi continued with a quiet note of honesty threading through her tone, “that you were testing whether I would stay within what’s expected of me….or step outside of it when it mattered.” There was no accusation in her words. Just recognition.

The faintest trace of that near-smile returned again, a little easier now. “You’ll find I don’t step outside of it often,” she said. “But when I do….it’s not by accident.” A small silence settled between them; calmer now and more grounded than before.

Then, just slightly, she inclined her head toward him. “So,” Alexi added, her tone easing a fraction further, “if we’re trying again….I suppose that means that you’ll have to be patient enough to let me answer properly this time. And careful enough,” she finished, just lightly, “to decide whether you actually want that answer when you get it.”

Tag: Lysander von Ascania