Summary: They aren't all exceptions, but on the other hand, they aren't all usual either. No pairings. Spoilers for both games. –BK: EWLO & BK:O-
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
I – Soldier
Soldiers are distinguishable by their uniforms. Wearing a uniform, he reminisces wryly, is like wearing a neon sign. One outfit is enough to tell a person one's rank, unit, superior officer, type of fighting style, lineage and practical battle experience. He doesn't mind wearing a uniform. He likes not having to choose anything specific to wear every day. It's easy to simply wear his uniform. He's comfortable in it. He doesn't mind being one of the crowd.
But I can't just stand by and let this happen! His hands ball into fists at his side. Even when he feels he ought to be shaking with anger, his soldier's training forces him to stand stock still and perfectly straight.
The rest of the men in attendance didn't seem to be the slightest bit upset or unsettled about the Emperor's announcement. We don't care, their silent, stoic faces said loudly. They're only Ahzani, only peasants. They're causing the rukus. They deserve this.
Soldiers are distinguishable by something other than just their uniforms. Soldiers are distinguishable by their ability (desire?) to blindly follow orders. That's the essence of a soldier right? To follow orders because it's their job to follow orders.
But Lyude knows (somewhere deep inside) that he is distinguishable for the opposite reason. He steps forward, ready to speak.
Life would be so much easier if I just followed my orders.
II – Femininity
She can't remember her father very clearly. She remembers a man with dark hair and dark eyes, but not much more than this. Was he taller than I am now? She isn't sure. He died a long time ago, after all. She didn't know him well, back then. She wasn't sure she minded that. If he hadn't died, she wouldn't be who she is. She doesn't like to think those thoughts. It makes her blood run cold.
She's been alone all her life, but not always lonely. Being lonely became so normal that it no longer bothered her to be alone. She was on her own and she had to take care of herself, but that wasn't a bad thing, right? Sure, she had to sacrifice her feminine side in order to survive, but was it really so bad to be considered "manly"?
She always had to be more man than woman, but she never minded that. She survived because of it. Even without having a purpose, being alive was a good thing. Not every soldier lived very long. Some of them—including the men—weren't manly enough.
It's all right. I don't need to be seen as a woman. Not as a man either. In the end, I'm a soldier and that's all that really matters.
She taps her green boot against the ground and tightens her long, dark hair into a tight ponytail before she heads off towards the mining village. The other female soldiers scowl at her as she passes. Savyna smirks. They're just jealous.
None of them can fight in heels.
III – Fisherman
Never fish when the moon is full, the old man warns him. It brings bad luck.
The young man questions him. What kind of bad luck? he asks eagerly. The old man only scowls and heads off in another direction, muttering something about nosey kids who don't know when to keep their questions to themselves. Wasn't it enough that fishing when the moon was full brought bad luck? Why did there need to be a reason for it brining bad luck? Wasn't it enough that it did?
The first time they caught the young man returning from a midnight fishing trip on the night of a full moon, they had confiscated his boat. The second time, they took away his rod. The third time, they banned him from fishing altogether. If you can't respect the rules you can't be one of us. We don't let rebels fish with us.
And the young man just smiled. "They aren't rules," Gibari the Rebel says to himself, whittling a new rod for himself (because they can't stop him from fishing just like they can't stop him from going out on the night of a full moon). "They're just superstitions without any truth to them."
And that made him wonder: How many other 'rules' can I prove are superstitions?
IV – Child
She has only one friend. Her friend is as small as she is and he wears a monochrome colour scheme. She can't quite get used to it. She wears bold colours and most of the time they don't match at all. She suits these mix-matched colours. She's the bold one, the strong one. She's the one who sends the other children away. She likes to have fun but she's always had to be a little bit more mature than a child really ought to be.
I'm going to the Sky. They need the Great Mizuti up there.
V – Ahzani
"Come with me, Larikush, to Mintaka!"
The shorter, leaner man looked up from his work. "To Mintaka? You were just there yesterday. Why do you need to go again so soon?"
His friend grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "I need more oil. The special stuff only sold in Mintaka. And remember those new bolts we heard about a while back? I saw some yesterday, in the new machine parts shop. Come and see, they're amazing little gadgets."
Larikush frowned. "We don't have the funds for all of that," he said.
His friend's face fell a little. "We don't need to buy the bolts," he replied, "I only really need the oil. We can probably duplicate the bolts ourselves in a Magnus anyway."
"That oil is expensive, Georg," Larikush reminded him, "You already spent most of our monthly funds on a new set of tools last week. That specially-refined oil is practically as expensive as those tools."
Georg sighed and flopped down onto a chair beside his friend. "You're right," he conceded, "I'm sorry, Larikush. Next time, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, instead returning to his own desk on the other side of the room and pulling his latest Magnus experiment towards himself.
Larikush sighed. "Next time, maybe," he murmured, returning to his plans.
It's too bad you're more Mintakan than Ahzani, now, Georg. They'll only use you, because you can never be a real Mintakan.
VI – Doll
He had been created for a purpose. Destroy the ones who think themselves gods.
He had been created defectively. It isn't any use to us, like this. Leave it here.
He was a testimony to the desperation of his creators. Kill Malpercio!
He was a controllable warrior, a puppet designed to kill. Kill the 'gods'!
And Seginus, though unused for a thousand years since his creation, had never forgotten his purpose. A puppet though he was, he was a special puppet, a puppet killer. Defective though he was he was good for at least one thing.
It is now the only godslayer left. Remember the fallen godslayers. Kill Malpercio.
VII – Angel
She's not quite the angel she pretends to be (because everyone pretends to be something, and she's pretended to be more than most: angel, princess, lover, mother). She remained one thing always and one thing only. She was a servant in the Empire and now she's a servant to an orphanage, but she thinks she doesn't mind being a servant. It's not so bad really.
She still wishes she was something more.
Show me your wings, Gena! Show me! They're so pretty, so angelic!
Yes, for now, she'll be an "angel".
VIII – Thief
"I'm not a thief!" he insists with a smile.
"Then why do you steal?" they ask curiously.
His grin widens. "I steal?"
The other children in Pherkad just stare at him and shake their heads. He's a strange one, they whisper to each other. He can move unseen in a whirlwind and he expects us to believe he's not a thief? What else would you need a skill like that for? They walk away having decided that this boy isn't someone they want to be friends with. He's too weird, too happy, too different.
The young red-headed boy just shrugs off this treatment and leans over the railing, gazing across the sky in the direction of Diadem. He's not a thief. He's only a little boy who wants to become a hero (and he has a special skill of his own to help with that dream).
Palolo the Second, he decided he would say after saving the day, At your service and stuff.
IX – Son
The new feathers on his helmet sway in the breeze. He is very aware of how they flap as bows to the cheering crowd. This promotion was a long time in coming, true, but he had worked so hard for this day. He had done so much for this country and it was high time the people showed their appreciation for it. He saluted the crowd again, his sharp eyes scanning it ceaselessly for some sign of that man.
His father hadn't come.
Son though Giacomo was, his father didn't care about him the way the army did.
The army is my only family.
X – Guardian
Once upon a time, he was mighty and ruled the seven seas. Once upon a time, he was free. Once upon a time, the people's hearts had not been so corrupt, and they had allowed him to protect them, to love them, and to cherish them. They used to come to him with hopes, dreams, sorrows, wishes—all manner of things. He would listen and listen until they were done and then he would sing to them. Sing, sing, sing.
He loved to sing. The people had once loved to listen.
But the Whale could guard them no longer. He had to hide, to divide himself into tiny pieces so that the world could be sundered and then reborn. It makes him sad—each and every piece of him is sorrowing—that he can no longer protect them or listen to their hearts. He cannot wait for the day he might return to his duty, when the Ocean is released once again.
The Whale can't wait to sing again.