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Crisis of Identity


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Hello denizens of Aurora. I returned recently in my semi-activity. Inspired by my nostalgia for this server, and wanting to catch up others on the story so far of my main character, Azala. I wrote a kind of biographical series of flashbacks, while I set up her next major character arc.

Please provide me feedback, as I am not very good at writing and had a lot of help while writing this to try to make it as easy to read as possible. If you enjoy it, please take some time and let me know! I have been beating myself up while trying to get the confidence to post this, so the encouraging word would be appreciated.

I don't anticipate a lot of people caring, because this work is highly specialized to appeal towards people already invested in the character, but if you came across this and haven't done stuff with my character, say hi!


 

The azure Sinta stares into the eyes of her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are sad and tired in their relaxed state, exhausted from years of late sleepless nights. The reflection in her mirror stares back, but she couldn’t recognize her. Wearing a business suit and makeup, she looked completely out of her element. Azala sighs, her voice echoing through the public restrooms. She pulls a cigarette out of her briefcase and contemplates, before throwing it into the trash bin, watching as it disappears. Then she pulls out her speech notes, long, hand-written and crossed out in many places.

 

Azala straightens out her spine and tail before taking an authoritative posture. Clearing her throat to speak, she begins. "Ladies and Gentlemen of this humble delegation," Yeah right, she began thinking to herself. ‘Humble’ should be the last word she uses for the ballroom filled with old money babies across the hall from her. So many “generous” oligarchs, gathered to stroke their collective egos on how sympathetic and charitable they are. Azala doesn’t like them very much, most of them hardly had to work a day in their lives, yet her ability to help hard working Sinta women relied on her pouring her heart out to them and garnering their sympathy. How twisted this was, she had to fight so hard when they never had to struggle. In a way she felt like she was cheating, asking for help when she knows she and her kin should be capable of doing it themselves. Then again she wouldn't of been where she was either, without charity. "We are gathered today in a joint mission of aiding those who do not have what we have. Giving opportunity to those without." Azala's mind escapes to a shuttle port in New Skalamar, Ouerea. 

 

"Come now Guwan, with as much speed as you can muster. You do not want to miss this shuttle!” Stammered a jogging elderly Sinta in humble cloth, urging a one-legged, young looking azure woman with a crutch. She took bated breaths as she hobbled behind, carrying all she owned on her back.

“Ah- ah- I- I am having second thoughts! I- I am scared,” She got out between deep breaths.The elderly Sinta man stopped, and turned around quickly, almost startling her off balance. 

“You do not have the luxury of fear or second thoughts, Guwan!” The shaman shouted out, pacing towards her and grabbing her to stabilize her footing. He continued, “What was it that you told me during our moments of council?”

The young woman paused, and looked up to the aging Unathi, glad to have rest. She thought back to their long conversations, and spoke, “I want to be more than a homeless burden on society. I want to prove I can do better.” The old man nodded approvingly, and lifted her, showing an unfounded burst of strength. 

“Then, if you speak truly, then this shuttle is the only way of you achieving such a dream. A woman of your status will never achieve anything here. The humans who travel the stars are your only hope of reprieve. Go boldly, and your ancestors and their spirits will follow you. This is my last offering to you.” He bellowed eloquently. This Th’akh shaman did Azala many favours, the smuggling of her on a Nanotrasen shuttle through some contacts of his being his parting gift on a girl he owed nothing to.

 

Azala stumbles over in the bathroom, losing balance from the memory of her multiple years of being crutch-bound. She has been dwelling on who she used to be, a young crippled orphan girl. She leans on the counter and continues her practice.

 

“Many Sinta who find themselves disadvantaged in their home systems come to the Republic of Biesel for better opportunities. To gain access to education, life saving medical technology, and safer and healthier environments for their families to live. Some are able to find this success very easily, well-to-do Sinta who are disadvantaged simply in too much competition or not enough work where they lived, are able to prosper. However, there are groups of at-risk Sinta who walk a harder path. A path full of religious oppression, caste systems, sexism, and ableism. Compounded upon these are societal norms that make it difficult to navigate any of those issues. Simply put, no matter how far from Moghes a Sinta is, they are still affected by these weights. I was an orphaned woman who was not afforded an education besides on how to clean and cook. If it wasn’t for kind sponsors, and humans who volunteered their time to assist in my education, I could never of gotten my GED, let alone a PhD.” Azala’s mind wanders off, as a phantom scent of burning Meatza filled her nostrils.

“Come oooon Guwan! Get a move on with those dishes!” Yelled out a hefty human chef, managing the plating section of a massive kitchen. He barked out orders between cooks, wait staff, and dishwashers. When Azala had finally finished a set of cutlery, she was handed a tray by a hasty cook. “Sorry girly, but we need extra hands to get the food out stat! We’ve got a huge lunch rush.” Azala opened her mouth to speak, looking down at the brace that attached to her upper thigh that let her hobble around. “Oh… sorry about that, can you do it?” Azala nervously gulped, and muttered out a timid “Sssssure.” She slowly lifted the tray, and carefully moved through the out door, looking at the note on the tray to find the table to which it belonged.

 

Upon arriving, Azala was stunned by the sight she witnessed. A beautiful human female, who was working on the prosthetic arm of another woman at the table. She stared, mouth agape, greedily taking in the sight. She radiated this energy of confidence, and intellect that made Azala, frankly, jealous. Azala’s blatant staring caught the attention of the women being worked on to notice her, who then brought it to the attention of the apparent roboticist working on her. She turned to face Azala and smiled politely. “Is that for us dear? It’s okay if you bring it over, I won’t bite.” she said coyly, waving her over. 

 

Azala carefully limped over, and placed the tray down. The roboticist seemed entirely focused on Azala's improvised brace. She spoke as Azala set the dishes down. "Now that simply won't do. If you keep walking around like that you will have back problems." She began, nodding in thanks as Azala finished plaiting the table. "Please, have a seat. You look exhausted." Azala looked around at the busy surroundings. Part of her knew she was needed back in the kitchen, however, her body ached badly. So she took the excuse the roboticist gave her, steadily sitting down at the bench. The woman was very polite, and their conversation lasted a good while despite Azala's atrocious basic. The woman's name was Kylie, and she made Azala a generous offer of a prosthetic leg she was refurbishing as a side project.

 

Azala's religious teachings were very inconsistent. Her orphanage would be visited by many shamans of different interpretations. However, the shaman she trusted most never spoke on prosthetics. When Azala asked about her missing leg, he hypothesized to comfort her. Saying that her spirit had no leg, which is why she was born handicapped. Therefore, she had no qualms at the offer of a prosthetic. Despite her caution, after having it fitted and walking around with it, she was immediately faced with more stigma than she had when she was missing her leg. While her comfort and mobility increased, she felt increasingly uncomfortable at work, with Sinta guests harassing her more and more. The majority of Sinta who could make it to human space followed the Sk’akh interpretation of prosthetics maiming the soul, and had no context of her prior missing leg. Azala became close friends with her new roboticist, and would find excuses to avoid interactions with her fellow Sinta. This roboticist would later coach Azala through language skills, and recommend her to Mars University for training in mechatronics after Azala expressed interest.

 

Azala continues to think back to her time at University, as she dwells on how other Sinta tried to put her down. In her speech, when she mentions societal pressure, it even found itself in the Sol system. Unathi in their quest for prosperity find themselves sponsored by mega-corporations to go to schools all across the galaxy. This is how Azala found herself with a sponsorship to Mars University along three other Sinta. When the program first started, the professors decided it wise to keep the Sinta together, to form comradery. However, this ended up making Azala the other that the three Males bonded over pushing around. She had to deal with harassment as the three felt safe to speak their threats and insults with a native tongue in a foriegn land. This caused Azala to instead find friends in Humans. She made close friends with some of her martian native classmates, and discovered many hobbies and passions. Yes, there were cultural misunderstandings, and at times she would deal with persecution from some Humans. However, humanity was much more accepting than her supposed kinsman. The obvious rift in the group of Sinta came to a head at a mechatronics competition.

 

Azala found herself in the cockpit of her team’s mech as their pilot. The objective was simple, the pilots had to complete an obstacle course of which challenges awaited at key checkpoints that needed to be completed before the mech could proceed. The challenges were based on the theme of the event, security mechs. To spice up the event, Mech teams were allowed to use non-lethals and melee combat to disable the competition. The event was timed, so although theoretically hunting down other mechs early was a valid strategy, the often accepted best strategy when teams simulated the event was to simply pursue objectives and deflect others when they caught up.

 

Azala adapted the strategy, and was quickly tackling hurdles and obstacles, piloting the mech with great precision. Showing countless sleepless nights of training on the mech that she helped her team design. A prisoner escort was the first trial, where she would need to use a security hatch attached to the mech to detain a crash dummy, and take it to a detention cell to proceed to the next objective. What Azala wasn’t anticipating however, was the Sinta team’s pilot actively hunting her down. While collecting the crash dummy, Azala was jerked forward as the rear of her mech was slammed by a mechatronic arm. She used her mechs traverse gear to rotate the torso on its legs just in time to block a second strike. Locked into a guard, the Sinta teams pilot patched into Azala’s coms. “Alright Guwan sellout, it’s time to pick off the easiest prey first. Don’t want to get your hopes up or anything.” A stunprod on the other arm of his mech deployed and was thrust towards Azala’s cockpit. She quickly used the other arm to grab the prod, causing shocks to go down the arm, but to be absorbed by it before it reached her. “Sellout?!” she responded, confused at the terminology. Her being a sellout would mean they were on the same team to begin with, which at this point she had no inclination of believing. 

 

To break the lock, Azala engaged her mech suits tackle mode, and lunged into the enemy mech. As she lurched forward, she engaged a close ranged flash that she had on her cockpit, that confused his sensors. Scattering their camera and sensor based feed, as they opted to forgo a traditional pilot window. Azala used her gained advantage to redirect the stun baton back onto their mech into a critical spot in its locomotive gears, causing a mechanical failing as she completed a circuit, and forced the mech into a death spin. Successfully dazing and dizzying the pilot inside, she ran off. Escorting the prisoner, and completing the event with a competitive time. Allowing her team to progress to further rounds.

 

In the hangar, as her team pulled her out to congratulate her on her time, the other Unathi pit crew was there, waiting for the damaged mech to be crane lifted to their pit. They chuffed as Azala exchanged congratulatory jeers in the growling language of freespeak. One of the pit members of the Sinta team spoke up, in a considerably accented freespeak. “Ssso, iss thiss how humanss view uss now? Ssssellout petss who drag them to ssuccssesss?” Azala, after being safely lowered from her mech, stared blankly at the other Sinta. 

“Why do you call me a ssellout now that I am ssuccessful, when before I wass not worthy enough to be conssidered equal to you?”

The other Unathi spoke up in his native tongue. “You are our kin, you are supposed to glorify us, and know your place.” Azala retorted immediately.

“Being Ssinta issn’t a position I am obligated to uphold, it's who I am. We are of the ssame race, facing the ssame obstacless, but you chossse to put me down. You lot are calling me a Ssellout, but I don’t think you know what that meanss. If anything, I think you ssold me out, and aren’t happy with what you got in return.” The two Sinta men blinked, somewhat stunned from the response. They opened their maws to respond, but the chief mechanic of the team spoke up. With a heavy southern accent, dressed in typical martian country attire, he spoke in Azala’s defense. 

“I think you two fellers said enough. Quite frankly, I am mighty thankful for your lack of foresight. This doll right here is the best pilot I could ask for. We won’t be letting you harass her anymore.” He stated plainly, his oil stained hands grasping at his suspenders as he took up an aggressive posture. The two looked offended at the human challenging them, but are suddenly pulled away by a tournament organizer, as their mech is returned to them. Azala felt light headed, and blinked, before finding herself back in the bathroom.

 

Azala walks up to the sink and washes her face, ruining her tedious shine job on her scales. She felt the need to snap herself out of her self-reflection. She needs to focus on the now. After waking herself up, she looks to the mirror and wipes her face dry with a towel in her bag. Before looking to fix her face again, she does her best to recount back to what she was going to have to say to get this funding. “When I began my job… no… career at Nanotrassen, I was burdened with a terrible debt that needed to be repayed. It required a lot of ssaving, and ssome dayss without food. Living independently wassn’t even possible, and I wass nearly living at my job before I found a houssemate.” Azala froze, as she felt the phantom texture of fur on her scales, and she shudders. Her housemate was more than just a housemate… and it was an affair that she kept deep in her mind. Like many parts of her life, it was suppressed due to the nature of the Sinta around her. 

 

During her time at Nanotrasen, she had of stigmas she wore on her sleeve, yet it was what she hid inside that hurt her the most. She was raised on a Th’akh faith, but yet was bullied into changing her declared faith to Sk’akh by an overzealous Marazite security guard. She had an incredible interest in AI and IPCs, but had to keep her studies private to avoid the stigma of aiding in false life. She had… queer tendencies in her romantic life, that would cause great scruitiny for herself and the unfortunate person she held interest in. Azala tears up as she recalls an uncomfortable memory.

“Azala, she is getting home late.” Whispered a feminine tajaran voice, in the dark that is the shared apartment. Azala hung on the door her jacket and hat, and collapsed on the futon in the front room. 

“I know Katya… I… I’ve had a long day. I jusst need sssome resst.” Azala turned on her side, ready to pass out in her jumpsuit, before the light is turned on. 

“She… needs to speak to herrr for a moment.” Azala groaned, as she turned to look up at Katya. In the dull light she saw the classically sloppily dressed Njarrir-Zhan mixed Tajaran in some loose fitting nightclothes. Her fur having serious bedhead, she looked rather normal for the hour of night that Azala returned to. Katya walked over lighty to Azala’s side, and sat down beside her. 

“It’s about what we are doing… togetherr…” Azala’s heart stopped, and she turned around quickly in the bed. “Did ssomeone-” Katya quickly cut Azala off, before she even had the chance to panic. “No. Nobody knows. Howeverr… that is the prroblem. You said it yourrself… what we arrre doing can’t last forreverrr. She… she found someone Azala. Someone she doessn’t hate, that she could possibly have the family she wants with.” 

Azala’s heart melted. She knew this time would come, when either they would both be brave and decide to be social outcasts for the rest of their lives together, or when one of them wisened up and took the step they knew they would need to take. However, selfishly, Azala was saddened that she was the one who was being abandoned. She wanted to protest, her eyes welling up with tears. She opened and closed her mouth, attempting to find a solution, but couldn’t think of anything. Katya gave her plenty of time. Comforting Azala with a warm embrace, with some tears shared by the two of them. Eventually, Azala found her words, and spoke. “Iss he good to you. Do you feel that you will be happy?” Katya pulled away, wiping at her own eyes. She nodded promptly, and Azala feigned a smile. “Then... I am happy for you. Glad that you were able to find what you need.” A white lie, but in a relationship based on the lie that it wasn’t one, was small in comparison. 

 

Azala excused that time as a phase, and chalked it up to her being young. Perhaps she was simply expressing her phobia of Unathi men by forcing herself on someone totally opposite of it. Yet Katya still held a special place in Azala’s heart. She worked out a lot of emotional trauma with Katya, and she gave her perspectives she never would have considered by herself. Azala won’t ever be sure about how healthy the relationship was, but would be forever thankful for it. Yet, like many things, she had to keep it secret. Furthermore, despite the attraction to non-unathi no longer taking hold of her, she still found herself preferring the company of women. Despite these conflicting emotions, Azala tried her best to seem normal on the outside. To fit in with her own people, as she felt herself growing homesick, and foriegn amongst the non-sinta. The cultural differences were starting to show, and made her uncomfortable. 

 

The Sinta’s best attempts to focus on the task at hand were failing, her claws becoming unsteady. Her makeup became very sloppy, reminding her of countless changes she made to herself to appeal to others. She clutches her leg in pain, her mind was sent back to a shift on the Aurora. Azala was signing a consent form, as her Research Director and a team of scientists and doctors were preparing themselves. The Director spoke to Azala, very formally as he organized his collection of paperwork. “Miss Guwan, did you have any further questions about this clinical trial before we began?” Azala looked over to one of the human friends she made on the station, Doctor Sukhoi, who was busy finalizing the finishing touches on the bioengineered leg. She considered the wording of her question, without wanting to sound like she doubted the skills of her colleagues.

 

“Sso, what are the projected sside-effectss during recovery?” She asked plainly, at this point her accent and Basic being much better than it used to be. She finished the paperwork, and handed it over, confident that she would still want the procedure, despite the answer. She asked to make it seem like she was more careful than she was in reality. 

“Well, simply put, most side effects should be mitigated with compliance to your prescription program. The primary thing we are looking for is for the leg to integrate into your system completely. We don’t want your body rejecting the limb. I want you to have realistic expectations, we are using a highly experimental process. Failure in the surgery or the design of the leg could cause nervous system damage.” Azala pouted, she invited the bad news and realism, but she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to hear that everything would be fine, and that she would look normal and have all her problems solved. 

“I undersstand, and I appreciate the warning. I will follow the regimen carefully.” The director nodded, satisfied with the answer. Helping Azala up and towards the medical bed. The joy that filled Azala when she woke up to find herself with two authentic legs, that were the same and felt real was unparalleled.

 

The only time that Azala could recall being happier, was when she met her birth family for the first time. Part of her motivation for the new leg was making herself more likable for when she presented herself to her birth family, of which she discovered after months of searching the pre-war public record. At the time she didn’t know why she was given up, and to be frank when she discovered her father’s apparent reasoning she didn’t really believe it. However, when she met her mother and siblings for the first time, the doubt melted away. She was willing to do anything for the acceptance of her blood and kin, and compromised on a lot of her values. These memories are marred by the consequences of them. Azala lifted her leg, and lowered the left side of her pants. Looking at the source of her leg pain, she observed the festering wound, marking where her leg used to be cut off. Dark onyx scales were peeling off of rotting flesh as her body was rejecting her leg. She shuddered as the refitted the pants on her hips. Azala’s body went cold, as she recalled the stare her father gave her across the family dinner table. For like her leg, the fallout of meeting her family didn’t end like she had hoped. 

 

She looked into his eyes and saw a similar tired stare, there was no doubt that they were related. The man looked exhausted with his situation, a Noble whose lands are waste, and his title only one by name. He led a proud levy, and brought pride to the Huz’kai name, as he amply explained to her in front of the family. However now they had a tense, private moment to discuss the terms of Azala returning to the clan. He looked over her carefully, looking for weakness. Azala could tell his gaze was piercing, and was thankful that she prepared the way she did. Already she could tell that he had mixed opinions on her success. When she was asked about her time in human space, she could see in his face that he didn’t think much of her experience. Finding the lot of it more odd than commendable. The only thing he couldn’t deny is that she was making a good living, better than most of them. This was one of the first things he brought up, as he began.

“Your mother and I have had extensive talks. She feels strongly about you bearing my name, as is your birthright. However, this needs to come with some caveats, both legally and with obligations to the family, as a member.” He began, he took a sip of his glass of wine, and continued. “Firstly, all debts that you accrued up to this point, schooling, orphanage fees, are yours. This family cannot handle the financial burden, and I cannot take those over for you.” Azala nodded politely, and responded. 

“I have carried that burden myself, and am on a good track to paying them off. You should not have to worry.” The man chuffed, and took another long sip of his wine. He grunted between sips as he continued to speak. “Of course, you are expected to bring honor to the family name, and perform your duties required to the family. Including your obligation to represent your new title of Lady Huz’kai diligently. You are to be available for functions that will require the clan, stay in communication, and eventually be wed. You will become my oldest daughter, and inheritor to the title of clan mother in the case of your mother's passing. If we were to wed you, it would either be to another noble family for a considerable bride price, or if the man is of common blood, he would need to offer a suitable bride price, and a matrilineal marriage. You need to either meet this requirement in five years, or I will arrange the marriage myself with a pool of candidates that I collected.” He finished his very formal statement, and returned to his drink, letting the girl stew it over.

Azala hated the sound of this condition. She hasn’t known a man that she felt any romance for, and the idea of needing to wed herself out for money was uncomfortable to her. However, she looked into the families position, and it was clear that her father and the family was in desperate need for money. Most of his children had left the house, and were funding their own lives. All of his daughters were married out, and are building families of their own. The only child that lived with her father was Hu’azai’s eldest son Jeskai Huz’kai, and this was because he was between jobs. The tension between the two could be felt at family dinners, and their outings to church due to a scandalous lustful relationship Jeskai had with another man. Jeskai was very sympathetic and kind to Azala, but wasn’t aiding in her acceptance, since Hu’azai was debating adding another child he may have to micromanage. 


Azala stirred her own beverage around in the glass, staring at the contents as they mixed, before looking back up to speak. “I appreciate you being generous in giving me time to sort that matter out myself… I would much rather continue my contract with my current company. At least as long as they fund my education.” Hu’azai chuffed, he clearly wasn’t pleased about having to wait, and this period of time was likely given with pleading from Axala, Azala’s mother. “I don’t quite understand your obsession with working, and galavanting off into space. I know plenty of men who need a good bride, who would fawn over you and your hatchlings. However, your success in space could bring honor to the family in its own way. As long as you do not give us charity, it will not look like we are making you work for our benefit, as this would hurt our standing in the eyes of the other nobles.”

 

Azala deflated in her seat. She hated seeing her mom and family in such a tough condition. For being a noble, their only claim to nobility was miles away, in the remains of a foriegn land. Her father ruled a mound of ash, yet he held onto his title and the past stubbornly. She offered Jeskai and her parents the ability to leave with her, but Hu’azai was not going to stand for it. He did not want to abandon his claim on his lands, opting to wait out for the Izweski restoration efforts. Hu’azai waited for Azala to respond, Azala remembering that she hasn’t actually agreed yet. “I will perform my duty to the best of my ability. I want to make you proud, and get to know my clansman.”

The bittersweet memory was cut short as Azala clutched at her leg again. She collapsed to her knees, as the memories flooded her head, she felt faint. She pulled herself up and looked into the mirror, the girl she saw she didn’t recognize. Her relationship with her family, her new friendships she had made, after completing her PhD and Director mentorship, are based on a Azala that got her family name and respect from peers through a lie. Azala lied to her father, her family, and also herself. Something about the Unathi didn’t feel right, Azala felt like a stranger to herself. She wiped her face with her towel and sobbed. After a short cry, she reached for her bag, to grab a cigarette before jerking backwards as she saw something strange in the mirror. The reflection was no longer hers, but of a black scaled Unathi. She turned her head, and the figure in the mirror followed carefully. The reflection of the light on it’s scales showed a blue tint on the otherwise onyx looking body. Azala was shocked again when the figure spoke.

 

“So, the lies are finally catching up to you Guwan? You can lie to a lot of people, your family, your friends, yourself… but not to your soul. No, your soul is the representation of the true you, and yet you ignore me so plainly.” She stared blankly at the illusion, she went to pinch herself, to see if she was dreaming, and the figure in the mirror laughed at her. The deep male voice of the black Unathi continued. “You should be less concerned about the realities of myself, but the realities of yourself. For although I may not be real, your feelings are true. Consider for a moment, the strength you have had throughout your life. Do you really think a woman could muster that? The strength and self determination to build your own legacy? The self respect and dedication to build up your own might, instead of relying on others? Do you think your attraction to woman is an accident? Your brutish nature, your tendencies for male activities? Every time you look into the mirror you see me, but you ignore me. You lie to yourself and others to hide me, because you are so desperate to be what others think you are, so that you can exceed their expectations. You hide me because my existence is inconvenient for your message. You are wounded… because of me.” The visage in the mirror lifted it’s left leg over the threshold of the mirror, revealing that it too was missing. He used his strong arms to carry himself through the mirror, and sit on the counter. In full view the man looked stunningly similar to Azala as she was years ago. He wore armor, like a warrior. The leg that was missing was bandaged and wrapped, as if it was lost in a battle long ago. 

 

Azala took a panicked step back, she let out a shriek, and a cry for help. “T-there iss sssomeone in here! Help me!” The spirit chuffed, and stood, limping towards her. 

“I am not just someone! You will not ignore me any longer! I. Am. You.” The figure went to tackle Azala, and like his scales, her vision went dark. Laid out on the floor of the bathroom, Azala was unconscious. Her head buzzed with many questions, was she dreaming? Was this a vision? The way he was dressed, was he an ancestor? Her actual spirit? Would that mean she was reincarnated? Was she… a he? The revelation granted clarity, but also much more confusion. If this was true, then why was she here? Acting as if she could represent the struggles of women, when in actuality she had the innate advantage of a man after all. Azala felt herself being lifted, and reached out with her hand. She could swear she could hear voices… more spirits? Her ancestors, here to welcome her? Was she dead?

Azala awoke, in the grasp of her brother Jeskai. He is well dressed, in a suit and tie, with a clip that bared the emblem of his new obligation, the Kataphracts. He came to Tau Ceti to be closer to his sister, and find glory while waiting for calls to arms at home. By luck, he heard her cries and rushed into the restroom to check on her. Shaking her some more to be sure, Azala grabs his side, and he sighs in relief. “Azala… are you alright? I heard you scream someone was here, where are they? I didn’t see anyone leave.” Azala takes careful breaths as she embraces her brother. She tries to get up on her own, but her sibling won't allow it, guiding her to her feet. “Jeskai… I need your council.” She says calmly, as she is led to sit on the counter, where the spirit once did. Jeskai obliges, and urges her on as he goes to get her some water. “I had a vision… a revelation. I am not sure if I should believe it or not… or how to act on it. Jeskai… if I were to have a soul of a man, what right do I have to anything that I am trying to do tonight? What right do I have to represent the disadvantaged women of our people?” Jeskai is caught off guard by the sudden confession, and carefully examines his eldest sister with darting eyes. His tongue frantically tasting the air.

 

“I think you need to see a doctor before you make any public statements like that.” He states curtly. Azala was not satisfied, and angrily responded. 

“Do not treat me like I am crazy, and just tell me what I should do! In ten minutes I need to speak in front of…” Jeskai cut her off promptly. 

“Five minutes.” This caused Azala to put her face in her hands, wanting to weep again. However she couldn’t manage it. There was nothing left for her to cry about. Jeskai pulls Azala’s hands away from her face and holds her consolingly by the wrists. “Listen to me carefully Azala. Male soul, or female soul, does not change how others see you. Your whole life people treated you like a woman. They spoke to you like a woman, viewed you as a woman, and expected nothing of you, like a woman. You walked the road of a woman, and along the way, saw strong women who you believe in. If you are a man, then you are the only man qualified to have an opinion, one that needs to be heard.” Azala isn’t fully satisfied with the answer, still having quite the crisis of identity. However she feels more comfortable with the idea of speaking. She looks to her notes, a jumbled mess of anecdotes and stories, some she wasn’t sure of anymore. 

“W-what should I say? Do I need to change anythi-” Jeskai interrupts her again, and puts her notes to the side. 

“Say whatever comes to mind, that comes from here.” Lightly, Jeskai patted Azala over her heart. He gives her a toothy smile and continues. “Speak truthfully and sincerely, and they will fall head over heels for you.”

Azala sits there, uncertain, wanting to just cry. However now she doesn’t feel sadness, but thankful. Thankful that her ancestors led her to her brother. Thankful for the opportunity she was going to have. She quickly turns around, and attempts to fix her face. Jeskai helps the best that he could, having a surprising amount of knowledge of the tools required to fix up a woman’s face. When she finally finishes, she puffs out her chest, and looks towards the door. Jeskai carefully aids his sister out of the bathroom, and to the ballroom. He leads her to the stairs to the podium, as she was being introduced by the speaker for the event. Azala notices that she still has a considerable limp, as she moves up the stairs. After this speech she accounted for likely needing to go to the hospital, to get herself checked. Jeskai took his seat amongst his partner, and some Sinta businessman. Azala was properly introduced, and walked to the podium. She spoke, and began her next chapter.

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