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Mother and daughter argued common perspective, their difference in how and who would see to the unpleasant task.  Seventeen year olds devoted their energy to schoolwork and various extracurricular activities, not kicking the arses of world-class miscreants.

This seventeen year old lived a different life.  She claimed three mothers, a fact what befuddled those who screamed tradition yet knew not the history.  In her case, they spoke truth, but for all the wrong reasons.  How would one factor her parentage?  Left there, people assumed a polyamorous relationship.  Wrong.  The true explanation spun heads taut in the cyphering, and absent shyness, this child relished each such opportunity.  It helped two worlds knew their family story.  Too many still refused to believe it.  Some declared it the advent of apocalypse.

One mother played a piano and sang like no one who lived before.  One world considered her a treasure, another world moved in the same direction.  Yet a maniac robbed her of fifteen years of her usual life for daring to speak and work against him.  Small wonder she countenanced not acts of oppression and suppression.

No matter their history, mothers did not like their children facing danger.

“But Mum ‘Essa, I fought with you against Mohammed Omar.  Why can’t I go with you this time?”

Llhaesa knew the inevitable outcome of this match.  This child, so like herself in all things, wanted in on their forming plan.  At seventeen, to know the injustices and carry the will to correct them, this her parents could not teach.  “Need I cite the reasons, Addison?”

“Yes.”

“We confronted Omar on the first day.  This time, we go there for an indeterminate time.  You must tend to school, not run around chasing assholes.  You need to set an example for your sister, and Mum Ronnie needs you here.”

“As Ambassador, Mum Jahrae should not be involved in these things.”

Llhaesa huffed out a sigh, more for her inability to concede the point than for Addison making her case.

Jahrae, who led a successful revolution and mother with fire in her hair, smiled over Addison’s astute comeback.  She watched with interest.  In the early days after her arrival, Jahrae T’srha Khentavra held silent in parent-child disputes.  Then Ronnie insisted Addison and Serada were as much her children as they were of Llhaesa and Ronnie.

“We don’t know who attacked Malala or how many.  We don’t know where they hide.  We don’t yet know how we can help the people in her region.  We won’t know where danger threatens.”

“Essa, she kicked Omar’s ass.  She saved my life when she broke his arm.  She stands your height, a full one hundred eighty-seven centimetres.  You can no more hold Addison back then we could you against B’rellian eighteen years ago.”

“Or you, after my arrest.”

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