Daja.
For as long as she could remember, Daja had worked the nets with her family. They would work all day, sweat pouring down bodies of various shades of velvet, singing at the top of their lungs while they hauled in the crawfish that fueled their little family business. Voices thick with accents- Jamaican, Cuban, Southern, Texan, Columbian- would rise in a crescendo at the docks as the Fifth Ship Kisubo made was proud to be part of something bigger, something better than herself.
Kisubo Fishing Co. had been working out of New Orleans since the French owned the Louisiana Purchase. "We were the only all negro company, you know." her grandfather would remark proudly from his spot of honor on their front porch, his pipe looking like the steamers that used to power up and down the Mississippi back when he was a boy. "the French didn't complain, and neither did the Americans when they had a taste of our craw." He cackled, his skin stretching like leather. "Us Kisubo, we stick together, hmm?"
Yes. Kisubo stuck together.
"You what!"
Daja cringed in her seat outside Judge Trey Dare's office, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other people who were waiting in line for a meeting with the Honorable Judge.
"It's bad luck, mon." she could hear the accent voice of Indigwe, the CEO of Kisubo Fishing Co. and her uncle. "Our family keeps to the old ways- bad luck clings to those who survive shipwrecks. It's contagious, like a plague. Disaster will strike if we keep her."
"Of all the most useless, inane, asinine, drivel I have ever had to stomach-"
"Excuse me, Mr. Goldeye, but you will keep your temper in my office, do you understand?"
There was a pregnant pause before she could hear the man murmur; "I understand."
"The papers?" her uncle sounded inpatient. "I would like to get back to my own family."
There was the faint scratching of pen against paper before she could hear them being shuffled. "That will be all, gentlemen." the Judge murmured. "Mr. Kisubo, you may go."
Daja only had a few seconds before her uncle burst out of the office, his thick work boots thumping against the expensive floors of the hallway. He kept his gaze fixed forward, and did not turn his head to acknowledge Daja in any way. Soon, his form turned a corner and disappeared from her sight. From her life.
Her throat burned, suddenly, and she could feel a lump form as she fought to keep herself composed. Trangshi, she thought, I'm trangshi. Outcast, Lost One.
"Daja?"
Daja turned. This, she realized, must be the man that had nearly taken the hide out of her uncle. "Yes?"
"My name is Niklaren Goldeye, I'm your attorney." he reached out and shook her hand firmly, like an adult. "If you would follow me?"
Daja nodded, and gestured for him to lead the way.
He went.
She followed.