#taisa

So, for Taisa, I took inspiration from the Fancy Kimono Typhlosion outfit from the game as well as Meiji era kimonos since that's most likely when the game takes place or is at least based on. And her name's meaning didn't have much influence on why I chose that name for them, but instead it's mainly the Ty/Tai- part that sounds the same as the start of TYphlosion.

“Oh?” Taisa paused in picking off a particularly stubborn bit of dried nutrient paste. “How rare. I haven’t heard you ask about her in years.” She considered the dishes, then finished washing the last one and dried her hands. “We should go sit down.”

Tarvei knew what that meant. He followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa, far enough away from the voice recorder in the piano that it wouldn’t pick up a whisper. It was an old, ugly pattern, but the upholstery was soft from many years of use, and it still had tiny marks in the wood where he had cut his first teeth before Dmin brought home a proper teething ring. Tarvei ran his fingers over the nubby little bumps and tried to be calm.  

“So,” Taisa asked him softly, teasing the tie out of his hair and running her fingers through the dark strands like she used to do when he was small, “what’s so special about today? You never ask about your sister anymore.”

“It’s…” Tarvei hesitated, biting his lip. He tried to look embarrassed instead of shifty. He couldn’t admit I met her. Not when they thought she had been dead for six years. Not when she was—when they both were working with the rebels. Tarvei shook his head and didn’t allow even the idea of that consequence to surface. “It wasn’t a hard day, Mom, but…”

Taisa misread his pause and took his hand. “It’s your job, isn’t it? Are you worried again, that you won’t live up to her?” She brushed his hair back, then met his eyes with a smile. “You don’t have to be a soldier, Tarvei.”

Vei leaned into her and let her feed him his story. “You’re sure? I mean, I’m a small-time merchant’s clerk. She was—”

Taisa hugged him with a fierceness that left just the smallest coil of guilt curled in his stomach. “She was an officer, yes. But—” She broke off, shook her head, and left him wondering. So even Taisa Saimiri could not voice some things aloud, but that she had even started to…

Vei took her free hand and pressed into her shoulder, a physical support and an emotional one. He didn’t dare say anything, didn’t trust his words to stay in line if they left his lips.

Taisa’s smile returned as she controlled herself once more. “We have you still, Tarvei. Your job is just as important as hers, even if it does not get the fanfare it deserves. What are soldiers without food?” Taisa ruffled his hair, then touched her forehead to his. “You’re doing good work, dear, for all of us. She would be proud.”

The guilt melted. Tarvei smiled back, certain for the first time. “I know.”

He could still see the pride in Nyota’s eyes as she spoke with him and Commander Blake on her ship just a few weeks ago, the affection in her familiar-unfamiliar smile.

Taisa leaned back against the worn down sofa and stretched her legs. “So, I think I owe you a story, then? What did you want to hear?”

Tarvei found his way back to the moment, his smile turning a little bit sheepish. He covered it with an embarrassed laugh. “I um. I hadn’t thought that far.”

Taisa’s chuckle was very much like her son’s. “Didn’t think you would get this far, is that it?” When he nodded, she laughed again and returned his hair tie. “I can always tell you a story about her training days. I still remember the tapes from her exam when she was fifteen, before the censor wiped it.”

A funny little bitter knot snagged Tarvei’s throat at the tiny note of sadness in his mother’s voice as she mentioned that. The censor. He still didn’t know why—but he could ask Nyota herself now. He would. But that wasn’t the story he wanted to hear today. “You always tell me something about her training, though,” he said. It took a little effort to make his voice teasing and not resentful. It was too easy to forget and slip back into resenting. “Why not something else?”

“As you like then.” Taisa looked at him, bemused. “I don’t suppose you have anything in mind now?”

Vei closed his eyes, eyes like his sister’s, like their father’s. “What was she like when she was a little girl?”

Taisa’s eyes creased with something bitter, something sweet, something Tarvei had not seen in her face before. “It is so hard to remember her like that…”

“Yeah, I guess.” Vei looked up at the ceiling to avoid recognizing the strange expression in Taisa’s smile. “It was a really long time ago.”

“Well, that as well.” Taisa sighed, but did not let her smile slip. “She was so small… She was seven years old the last time I held her hand.”

He almost regretted asking. He wished he could close his ears against the unshed tears in Taisa’s voice. But she kept talking as if it didn’t hurt at all. Maybe she needed to.

“She loved the snow, you know.” Taisa looked out the window at the almost-dark sky and the last hints of the flurry drifting down. “I know we all do, but she loved it especially so. As soon as the first flakes fell out of the sky, every time, she would run to that window there, run to find me or Dmin so we could see it too.” Her eyes half-closed. “She loved to share what she loved most of all.” The fond chuckle caught in her throat a moment and slipped free. “And she was a terror out there as soon as she could throw.”

Tarvei echoed her laugh. “I guess it runs in the family, huh?”

Taisa caught his eye with a smirk. “It does. You’re so like her. Like she might have been.” She stopped and glanced at the piano, but her voice was still too soft for the bug to hear. “She used to get stuck on top of the bookcase, just like you did, and get too scared to climb down. Dmin was so proud of her, that first time she rescued herself. He smiled for hours…”