I am not a true daughter of Cardassia

drorah-walks:

D’rorah catches Ziyal’s imploring glance from the direction of the kitchenette and turns her attention to Naprem, who is, naturally, pushing herself too hard.  No surprise there at all.

She opens her tricorder, just to be certain, and starts a quick scan to make sure nothing is terribly amiss.  She makes herself as unobtrusive as possible, trying for all the world not to disrupt their conversation.  Of course, there’s a certain amount of disruption that’s inevitable when you start pointing a tricorder at someone.

She folds the tricorder closed and gives Naprem a look.  “You are going to wear yourself out, playing at being well,” she says.

@professortora​

Naprem sighs, clearly annoyed that she’s being called out, but not in much of a position to protest. 

“Please,” she says, and she’s in a bit of a huff because the soft whine of the tricorder is making her headache worse. “Don’t you start. You wanted me to eat. If I’m going eat, I have to cook. You can’t complain about everything I do.”

But her headache makes her bow out again – she winces and shuts her eyes again, leaning into her hand, rubbing her forehead. 

“…I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m… It’ll pass. You don’t both need to get so worked up.”

@oftwoworldsandnone​

Ziyal winces in shared agony as she watches her mother crumble under the stress of whatever was hurting her. She looks at D’rorah again... an idea forming. She knew better then to hope her mother would tell her what was happening to her (regardless of how frightened that made her daughter) but D’rorah would tell her. She was sure of it.

“Yes. Yes, mama. You need to eat. Hot food with help you feel better.” She gives her mother a warm smile and nods to D’rorah. “Please, doctor, will you help me get the pot out to the table? My mother should rest.”

Without waiting for an answer, she starts for the kitchen, her question as plain on her face as if she was saying it like a mantra.

‘Tell me what has happened to my mother.’

Ziyal follows Quark back to the bar, trying her best to keep her chin up, but she does press her bad to her chest like a little girl without meaning too. She sits on a stool and sets the PADD down, looking at the face of one of her protectors. Even though this was a picture they took of him for an auction… he still looks into the lends like a defiant dare. Her fingers trace the frame, courage…

“I did speak to my father about this.” She starts, with a sigh, feeling a bitterness on the edges her heart. “I told him where they all were… my protectors… and who didn’t survive.”

She clears her throat a little, forcing herself not to think of her friends who died in that camp.

“I told him that the Breen sold him to the syndicate… and…”

Ziyal looks up at Quark then, bitterness showing through now.

“He told me that I was alive, and that was all that mattered. That my guards were no longer needed… that they were not worth the risk.“

Ziyal sighs again… “My father had already risked much for me… maybe it was too dangerous for him to break formation and retrieve a Glinn from an order that no longer exists… but…” Her face firms and sets her jaw. “But I do not have anything that would be risked reducing him.”

Right, so that was that. Not only was it madness but there was no backup either. The Cardassians wouldn’t even go in there, and they had armed military ships and the law on their side. The whole thing went against so many Rules of Acquisition, he wasn’t sure where to start. 

But that wasn’t really the problem. He knew how to say no. In fact, it was one of his favourite things to say. He’d made a lot of profit off saying no. 

The problem was the girl sitting across the counter from him. 

He was quite sure Natima would think the whole thing was very amusing. The way his soft heart could be swayed. He was significantly less amused, however. 

She adjusts a little in her stool, trying once again to look like she knew what she was doing, like she negotiated the returns of her closest friends all the time.

professortora:

“Darling,” Naprem chides, because she doesn’t need to be henned over, even though it makes her feel like her heart might be about to burst from affection. She catches Ziyal by the shoulders before she can pull her away from her work, kissing her temple and her forehead and the ridged bridge of her nose. “I’m fine. Oh, D'rorah’s scared you half to death, hasn’t she – I’m quite alright. Please. I’m sorry I frightened you, but really.” She let’s a hand slide over her shoulder to rub comfortingly at her back.

As soon as Ziyal came in, of course, she brightened right up – straightened her sagging shoulders and the sagging corners of her mouth to look properly happy and energetic, as she ought to be. She’s been putting on a happy face for her daughter for the better part of two decades. She’s very good at it by now. Shoving away her exhaustion and her heartbreak and her deep, existential fear and sadness is nothing.

After all, as soon as Ziyal enters the room, a deep, effervescent affection rises like a tide to take it’s place. Naprem presses her forehead to her daughter’s in a brief kiss – Ziyal is the star at the center of her universe, and Naprem orbits around her effortlessly. No sadness, no matter how soul wrenching or how deep, is enough to keep her from putting her daughter first.

“Here. Come help me with dinner. It’s nothing to be so worried about.”

@drorah-walks

D'rorah gives mother and daughter a few moments to themselves.  Ziyal to fret over her mother.  Naprem to assure that really she was fine, she has always been fine.

D'rorah is convinced Naprem would describe her state even during the years she was dead as Fine, just fine.  Please don’t fuss.  Just a little death.  Nothing to worry about.  It was all perfectly fine and normal.  Please don’t look at me like that.

It is, naturally, D'rorah’s fault that Ziyal is frightened, and she doesn’t object to this.  She allows Naprem to make this whole concern a figment of D'rorah’s imagination for now.  Never mind the fact that she came perilously close to dying or madness the night before.  Never mind that D'rorah knows Naprem’s body is exhausted and yes, Ziyal is right, she really should be resting, but at least right now she’s over-exerting herself under medical supervision.  D'rorah knows better than to try to make Naprem drop her mask while her daughter is around.  And she knows better than to step foot anywhere near that kitchen if they want their dinner to be edible and don’t want to be scraping DS9 debris out of Bajor’s atmosphere for the next few decades.

“I will set the table,” she offers.  She glances at Ziyal.  “Try not to let her push herself too much.  Perhaps you will have better luck at that than I.”

@oftwoworldsandnone​

Ziyal nods to D’rorah seriously, silently promising that she will as she steps in to help her mother with the dinner preparations. She was completely hopeless in the kitchen, in spite Jake’s constant attempt to rectify that, she was starting to get a complex about her inability to cook. But right then, standing with her mother in the kitchen, watching her face as she smiles back pains and her hands as she toiled, seeing the small tremors that told Ziyal far more truths about how she really felt then her assuring words attempted to.

“Mama… I would really feel better if you rested…” She pressed but didn’t force the issue, not yet, following her mothers instructions with the preparations as carefully as she was able with her mind so worried after the woman she loved so dearly. “So, you just tell me what to do, do not strain yourself. I am here now. I am going to help you.”

But she’s happy for the help. It really is exhausting to be on her feet, and her headache is getting unbearable. She instructs Ziyal for a while, working beside her until she finally has to sit down – she can’t be on her feet for another second, and her hands won’t hold steady, and she’s struggling to see straight. She sags back into a chair, leaning her head against her hand. So long as Ziyal’s here, she reasons, at least it will get done.

“It should be nearly done, darling – you just have to put the lid on and let it simmer. Here, sit with me.” She waves her over, closing her eyes. “Tell me, tell me what you did today. Did you work on anything?”

“I-um,” Ziyal starts, trying to focus on the question and not the pain in her mother’s face. “I was working with coal today… It was suggested that I try to create something with a different medium then I am used to. I… I don’t like what I’ve made with it so far. Coal seems so… lifeless and dreary. I already miss my colors.”

professortora:

“Darling,” Naprem chides, because she doesn’t need to be henned over, even though it makes her feel like her heart might be about to burst from affection. She catches Ziyal by the shoulders before she can pull her away from her work, kissing her temple and her forehead and the ridged bridge of her nose. “I’m fine. Oh, D'rorah’s scared you half to death, hasn’t she – I’m quite alright. Please. I’m sorry I frightened you, but really.” She let’s a hand slide over her shoulder to rub comfortingly at her back.

As soon as Ziyal came in, of course, she brightened right up – straightened her sagging shoulders and the sagging corners of her mouth to look properly happy and energetic, as she ought to be. She’s been putting on a happy face for her daughter for the better part of two decades. She’s very good at it by now. Shoving away her exhaustion and her heartbreak and her deep, existential fear and sadness is nothing.

After all, as soon as Ziyal enters the room, a deep, effervescent affection rises like a tide to take it’s place. Naprem presses her forehead to her daughter’s in a brief kiss – Ziyal is the star at the center of her universe, and Naprem orbits around her effortlessly. No sadness, no matter how soul wrenching or how deep, is enough to keep her from putting her daughter first.

“Here. Come help me with dinner. It’s nothing to be so worried about.”

@drorah-walks

D'rorah gives mother and daughter a few moments to themselves.  Ziyal to fret over her mother.  Naprem to assure that really she was fine, she has always been fine.

D'rorah is convinced Naprem would describe her state even during the years she was dead as Fine, just fine.  Please don’t fuss.  Just a little death.  Nothing to worry about.  It was all perfectly fine and normal.  Please don’t look at me like that.

It is, naturally, D'rorah’s fault that Ziyal is frightened, and she doesn’t object to this.  She allows Naprem to make this whole concern a figment of D'rorah’s imagination for now.  Never mind the fact that she came perilously close to dying or madness the night before.  Never mind that D'rorah knows Naprem’s body is exhausted and yes, Ziyal is right, she really should be resting, but at least right now she’s over-exerting herself under medical supervision.  D'rorah knows better than to try to make Naprem drop her mask while her daughter is around.  And she knows better than to step foot anywhere near that kitchen if they want their dinner to be edible and don’t want to be scraping DS9 debris out of Bajor’s atmosphere for the next few decades.

“I will set the table,” she offers.  She glances at Ziyal.  “Try not to let her push herself too much.  Perhaps you will have better luck at that than I.”

@oftwoworldsandnone​

Ziyal nods to D’rorah seriously, silently promising that she will as she steps in to help her mother with the dinner preparations. She was completely hopeless in the kitchen, in spite Jake’s constant attempt to rectify that, she was starting to get a complex about her inability to cook. But right then, standing with her mother in the kitchen, watching her face as she smiles back pains and her hands as she toiled, seeing the small tremors that told Ziyal far more truths about how she really felt then her assuring words attempted to.

“Mama... I would really feel better if you rested...” She pressed but didn’t force the issue, not yet, following her mothers instructions with the preparations as carefully as she was able with her mind so worried after the woman she loved so dearly. “So, you just tell me what to do, do not strain yourself. I am here now. I am going to help you.”

Naprem nods a little, and spends the next few seconds convincing herself to get up. There’s no part of her that actually wants to, but Ziyal’s impending arrival eventually drives her to it – she can’t stand to have her walk in and find no food waiting for her. (Or, worse: instead of food, finding her mother sitting there, eyes red from tears, unable to speak or smile.)

As soon as she stands, she finds that her entire body is in agony, aching for more rest. She ignores it and goes to the replicator and busies her clumsy, tired fingers with dinner preparation. 

Hotpot, anyone can make, her mother used to say. All it take is a pot and something to put in it. Hot vegetable stock, and then the rest to taste: stocks of minty bateret, thick slices of kima and meaty strips of lirma, three different types of mushrooms, pickled cabbage, spicy bean stalks, pressed rice cakes, green onion, and spindles of noodles, all mixed in and basted with spices and oils and a splash of Bajoran spring wine. It’s a dish made not with skill but with preparation and a full palette, and soon the kitchenette is steaming with it. 

Naprem’s stubbornness is coming in handy in the moment.  It coaxes her to her feet when any reasonable person would have begged of to stay in bed.  And though D’rorah wants her to get more rest, she knows there are certain expectations she’ll just have to be reasonable about, herself.

Before long, her quarters smell more appetizing than they ever have, and she feels hungry for the first time since coming aboard the station.  She itches to offer some assistance, but is keenly aware that her presence in a kitchen never results in anything other than disaster.

When the door opened, Ziyal stopped her inherited need to pace and hurried inside, looking for her mother even before she was able to make out the words: “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The smells of the hotpot draw her attention to the kitchen where she sees her mother. Working away, of course. Even after all this. Even after she had been ill.

“Mama!” Ziyal says, going to her side. “What’s happened? Are you alright? You should not be standing like this, come, sit over here. You need to rest!”

She looks at D’rorah. “She needs rest, doesn’t she?”

Back to her mother without waiting for a response. “Mama, please sit with me. Tell me what’s happened.”

“You mean… like going to a facility for higher learning to study art?” Ziyal clarifies, leading the doctor back down the hall and starting for where the fight took place. “I… I have thought about it. But there is some… complications.”

If that wasn’t a understatement, was not sure what else was…

“My father wants me to attend such an institution. I know it would make him very proud… if I were to go to the school of his choosing. A Cardassian university, unsurprising, I am sure. And I think you can see why I would be less than enthusiastic to attend such a place. We… end up fighting about it quite a bit lately.”

She sighs a little but gives D’rorah a smile.

“And I don’t want to fight with him. I want to make him happy.”

“In the end,” D’rorah replied, “your father will figure out how to be happy as long as you are happy.”  Dukat could be an awful person, but he was an extremely soft touch where his children were concerned.  She had her doubts he’d ever denied they anything they truly wanted.  No doubt he’d told them no before, had denied petty whims and greedy wants as any parent must to raise a child who wasn’t entirely selfish.  But for the bigger things–she doubted flat-out refusal was in his toolkit, no matter how stubborn he might want to be about something.

“You would be miserable at a Cardassian University.”  She considered, giving her head a slight tick to the side.  “Truth be told, most people are miserable at Cardassian Universities.  And a lot of people are just plain miserable, anywhere you go”  Having to follow the path laid out by tradition and societal expectations could do that.  And sure, there were plenty who thrived in the environment, but a person could thrive and be miserable at the same time.  Plenty of societies had firm foundations in that fact.

“I... am not sure...” It was not a complete truth, more just something to fill the silnce while she tried to figure out what to tell the Doctor. She always wanted to make people that she cared about happy. But... what would make her happy.

“I don’t want to go far from Terok-from my home. From Deep Space Nine.” She stumbled over the names, as she always seemed to when her mind was moving faster then her mouth. “I... thought that an institute on Bajor would be ideal but...”

Her hand gestures without words to her face.

oftwoworldsandnone:

“You mean… I’m going to be afraid forever? Even when I am big?”

Ziyal gave her mother a disheartened look. This was very bad news indeed… she had hoped that one day she would be brave like her father and her mother… but if they were scared too, how would she ever be brave?

Naprem smiled sympathetically, rubbing her back.

“I’m sorry to say it’s an enduring condition,” she said. “I don’t imagine you’ll be frightened quite as much, or by quite the same things. But you’ll always feel afraid sometimes. And that’s alright, darling. Because if you weren’t afraid, it would mean that you did not care about anything. A fearful heart is a caring heart.”

oftwoworldsandnone:

“And I love you mother. More then I can say.” Ziyals’ words come out of her with a wide smile, loving being so close to her mother and feeling so… wanted and loved. It made her feel like a very small child, when she didn’t have a care in the universe except for her parents happiness and her own.

She chuckles a little…

“I missed that smell…” She says, murmuring more then speaking. “It was one of the first things that I forgot when I was awake… but it was something that I would smell in my dreams and wake up, for a moment remembering it before it faded away…”

She opens her eyes and looks at her mother.

“What sorts of dreams do you have, Mother?”

Something flickers through Naprem’s expression. Her smile fades just slightly, and she feels, for a moment, as though she’s been pushed out of her own body – like she’s very far away.

Naprem hasn’t dreamt in a long time. You couldn’t call what she does ‘dreaming.’

Every time she closes her eyes, she feels as though she’s a second away from dying again, sinking back into that deep, impenetrable darkness, unraveling from the heart outward. For a few short days she had been spared – she’d had Skrain to chase the demons from her – but she and Skrain haven’t spoken in almost a month, and her nights now are often sleepless. Better not to sleep at all than to be tortured by the terror sleep brings, the gasping, the crying, the feeling as though a hole is opening up inside her and threatening to leak her out.

She dreams of death. Over and over and over. She sees the Ravinok, tastes the smoke. She feels herself dying, she feels it.

She forces herself to smile. Reaches up to brush back a lock of Ziyal’s feathery hair.

“You,” she lies. “When I’m lucky.”

Ziyal watches her mother pause... fighting some unseen and unspoken darkness inside her heart when she asks of dreams. Maybe she should have known better... Her mother had been through so much to bring her back here into her arms.

Her mother lies to her about her dreams and Ziyal smiles brightly in response.

[Text]: I’m in a turbo lift. If you need to sit down, I think you had better.

[Text]: I don’t think it is fair for you to tease me so, by the way! I am sure you have a crush too!

[text]: too late i already fejll down

[text]: ooooooohho no nonononooonnononono w'gere not taiknlg about me

oftwoworldsandnone:

Ziyals mind was elsewhere, as it frequently was when she was returning from hours in front of a canvas. Her eyes still seeing the imagine in her mind of what she wanted her piece to look like… and the reality of what it was turning out as in its place. It just wasn’t right…

Her dress was smudged with paint. Her ridges had black coal in the creases between her scales. Her hair had come loose from the bun she put it in at the beginning of the day. And she was truly paying no attention when she bumped into the other, jumping in surprise as the creature rippled like water before the face returned, dropping her sketch book and tools onto the ground.

One of the changelings.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, I- I really wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She doesn’t hold eye contact long… a little nervous around it. The only changeling that treated her with any kindness was Odo and she didn’t want to push her luck.

“Please forgive me.”

As the materials clattered to the floor, the changeling knelt down and started to pick them up. “Oh! No, no need to apologize, oh, look what happened… How clumsy of me!”

Shekuu wasn’t a fool, they knew she felt uneasy around them. It may have been easier to simply absorb the art supplies and then return them, but that would have been more unnatural to her. So they fumbled with humanoid hands, trying to collect the tools in one go.

They straightened up and held out the supplies, bowing their head apologetically. “H-here you go..! Ahh… I haven’t introduced myself! I’m Shekuu!”

Ziyal is a little stunned and unsure what to do as the changling kneels down to pick up her scattered items, holding out her hands to take the art supplies back.

“Th-thank you for your help.” Ziyal said, offering the changling a friendly if subdued smile. This Shekuu spoke in a friendly way. She didn’t want to that to change, so she gathered her courage and her manners and bowed her own head politely.

@oftwoworldsandnone [I hope this is okay!]

The young changeling was adapting well to life on the station. They were still having trouble finding others to play with, given the nature of distrust towards their kind. Shekuu was currently walking, well…gliding along the promenade, feet still too gelatinous to be really considered feet. They were an outsider, that was for certain.

Now they really understood the loneliness they felt during the time they spent linked with Odo. However, they weren’t paying attention to where they were going, and bumped into a figure a bit taller than them. They briefly lost form for a moment in surprise, but quickly regained composure.

Her dress was smudged with paint. Her ridges had black coal in the creases between her scales. Her hair had come loose from the bun she put it in at the beginning of the day. And she was truly paying no attention when she bumped into the other, jumping in surprise as the creature rippled like water before the face returned, dropping her sketch book and tools onto the ground.

One of the changelings.

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, I- I really wasn't looking where I was going."

She doesn't hold eye contact long... a little nervous around it. The only changeling that treated her with any kindness was Odo and she didn't want to push her luck.

“Yes. We both aught to.” Ziyal agreed with a firm little nod of her head. “There is so much in this world that makes us feel unsteady and lost. We need to find people who we can rely on. People that we know will not… forget us.”

Ziyal’s firm expression softens and she lowers her eyes again to her hands.

“I… I thought I was forgotten for so long. Everyone that I still had with me told me that it was better that way. That it was better to be forgotten then to be remembered and executed.” She shakes her head gently, remembering the faces of her few protectors and prisoners alike who told her the same thing. “I sometimes wonder… if I was forgotten. My father would never admit to it if he had, but…”

What if he had?

“I never wanted to be forgotten. I think it would be better to be remembered and hated, then loved and forgotten.”

Liz reached over and took Ziyal’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If there is one thing I know for certain about your father, it’s that he would never forget you. Not for one moment. I see how he is when he’s with you and I’ve heard him talking about you. It’s not even a shadow of a possibility that he could have ever forgotten you.”

"I have been told... that my father has a tendency to ignore things that are not right I front of him." She says... mostly to herself, but a question is forming in her mind. A question that she is not sure she has the courage to ask.

Ziyal huffed a little, but she couldn’t keep the sparkle of mischief out of her eyes.

“Oh! I think you are just pointing to anything and calling that proof! That is hardly worth the label of ‘father’s daughter’! And on what grounds do you call me a flirt, hmm? Who is telling stories about me now?”

Ziyal had no defense against that one and she knew it. But, could anyone really blame here that she was surrounded by so many attractive people in the station now.

“Julian does seem like a delicate one though, just like you said. Definitely has that look that some of the federation citizens have.” She can’t help add a little more with a grin. “I will be gentle.”

Oh god, she was Skrain’s daughter. Liz burst out laughing. “I definitely need to warn him. I know that look and it’s a bit terrifying to see it coming from such a lovely young lady.” She teased. “Although Julian does definitely have a taste for strong, independent women.”

She unconsciously runs her fingertips over her nose wrinkles.

[Text]: Lieutenant! That is none of your business at all! Don’t tease me!

[Text]: and you had better forget that you ever saw that picture!!

[Text]: Remove that from your memory like the memory of you data PADD!

[Text]: …you are not going to tell Garak right?

[text]: oh don’t worrfy i barely see garak

[text]: i thpink id’ve met uhim twice

Ziyal’s eyes brightened when the doctor asked her if she would like to come with her. There was a part of her that was resisting going back to the gallery… she was nervous. And, it was nice not to think about exactly what it would take for her to suffer the corn and mockery of others in silence with the hope that someone would come to her rescue.

“I would appreciate that very much.” She answered with an honest smile. “As long as you can spare the time of course.”

She looked around the infirmary again to see if there were any other patients waiting to be seen.

“I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble…”

D’rorah laughed.  “Oh trust me darling, I can get into trouble around here all on my own.”  Even without actually doing anything, she thought to herself.  “But I am not chained to the infirmary.  I can step away for a bit during the day.”

There weren’t any other patients, after all, and it wasn’t like she could go very far.  Besides, everyone on the crew liked Ziyal, and helping her out would be seen reasonably favorably.

If that wasn't a understatement, was not sure what else was...

"My father wants me to attend such an institution. I know it would make him very proud... if I were to go to the school of his choosing. A Cardassian university, unsurprising, I am sure. And I think you can see why I would be less than enthusiastic to attend such a place. We... end up fighting about it quite a bit lately."

She sighs a little but gives D’rorah a smile.

oftwoworldsandnone:

Ziyal gives a tiny gasp at the explanation, pressing one of he small hands into her chest right where her mother had her hand.

“Papa feels scared too? Just like, um, like I did in the cupboard?”

She asks the question like it is the most strange thing she had ever heard. Her father never seemed to be scared of anything. When it was thundering outside, he would play like he was making it happen. When it was dark, he lit a lamp for her and waited until she fell asleep. He wasn’t even scared of spiders, which, to the little girl, was the very definition of terror. Secondly only to her father’s anger.

“Um… do you feel scared sometimes too, mama?”

“Oh, dearest, of course I do.” Naprem was only just shaking off the ghosts of her own almost-terror, after all. It was difficult to be anything but honest. “I feel very scared sometimes.” Much of the time, as it were, there seemed to be little else to feel at Terok Nor.

“Just because you grow older, doesn’t mean you stop feeling afraid.”

"You mean... I'm going to be afraid forever? Even when I am big?"