Murky Teal

“Hair,” I point at my head, lowering the hood.

The other robot trudges towards me. Its movements are slinking and unnatural. This further reinforces my judgement of it as a strictly inferior model. It reaches with an arm, running it through the melted and knotted strands sticking in all directions. I look at Akkuiggana as this is happening. “Is this machine going to be able to do anything?”

“That’s a bit rude,” he says. “But yes, yes she will.” He stands in the corner of the room, shutting the curtains over a window and casting himself in darkness. “She’s been known for millennia as a hairdresser for us dragons, and your hair is close enough so it should work. Right, Madama?”

The robot is busy wrapping its long arms around my head when it stops. They seem to stretch and extend at will. I wonder how far they could reach. For data purposes. “Yes yes it’s a mess but the consistency and composition are roughly the same. Your hair, however, is not alive, unlike the Lightning Dragon’s over there.” Madama releases my head and steps away. “I can do it, for a price.”

“What do you want?” Akkuiggana says after giving me a short glance. “If it’s the usual, your mutt already ate one of my gems and I’m not sparing any more.”

Madama stands still for a moment before spinning its head. “Nono, your gems have grown murky and useless to me, only that silly critter would still take them. What I want is different, special.” Her head keeps spinning. “You must know what this Ancient One is, correct?” Her head suddenly snaps in place, staring right at me. Akkuiggana turns to me as well, face as impassive as ever. His features don’t move an inch as he stares vacantly, according to my systems, at me, or past me. I cannot tell from his expression. “Hmmm,” Madama adds. “I’ll take it it’s the murkiness, then. And you,” it addresses me now, “do you know what this Lightning Dragon is?”

My panic module pings me, but I’m unsure why. Data doesn’t indicate I should be concerned for any reason. In fact, I should probably be readying myself to gather further information on this place’s history and the origin of dragons. Yet my systems hold me back from expressing this. I sit silently.

“No.”

Everything is silent. Madama is unmoving, as is Akkuiggana, as am I. I am certain, if I was of flesh and blood, I could describe the atmosphere in this room as oppressive, or the air as heavy. Still. Stuffy. But I’m not. Instead, my panic module pings again. And again. And again. The robot unsettles me. It is incorrect and shouldn’t be here. It shouldn’t exist. No records. No data. No nothing. Server for millennia? I would know it then. This land isn’t advanced enough to build us. No matter what magical properties the creatures here possess. No, this robot is wrong. Madam isn’t real. Doesn’t exist. Exist exist existexistexistexit.

Why do I recognize her?

A thump resounds through the room and our gazes instantaneously lock on the curtained window. Akkuiggana blinks a few times, as if he had just slumbered, and I stare confused. I note that I have stood up, but before I can do anything, Madama walks to the window and looks through it. It turns back to us momentarily. “It is just the dog.”

“Stupid mutt.”

“My panic module hates it too.”

“Right? It ate my hair. Why do you keep it, Madama?”

Madama looks at him. “Oh spare me. And call me something more interesting, like old hunk.”

“No, that was his thing,” Akkuiggana says, crossing his arms. I open my mouth to ask whose, but Akkuiggana’s expression turns unreadable to me again. His brow furrowed, but not in rage, yet his eyes are cold and distant as they stare at me. I make a note to investigate further at a later date.

“I got my payment, by the way,” Madama interjects, which makes Akkuiggana shudder.

“Did you do that thing again?” He asks it slowly.

“Yes. And you’ll be pleased I learned nothing this time.”

“That’s good,” he adds.

“For you,” it says and turns to me again. “Shall we begin, then?”

I am all too ready to comply.

—

“Can we take this much off?” Madama asks, holding up an absurdly long strand of hair that makes my panic module start pinging again. “Or this much?” Its rudimentary fingers move even closer to my scalp, prompting me to start violently shaking my head. “I’ll take that much off then. Hold him, Lightning Dragon.”

“Yes yes.”

—

I watch in horror as my hair gets slowly but deliberately cut. Bit by bit, Madama uses a contraption I don’t recognize to singe certain bits of my hair before using a precise small hammer to snap them off. All the ruined parts of my hair get excised one by one, but I cannot help but overthink the consequences. Will I still be attractive with shorter hair? Will my purpose be intact if I wear a bob? Is such hair fashionable in this city anyways?

I catch a glimpse of Akkuiggana snickering to himself, but he goes back to pouting when he notices me looking at his reflection.

“What was it that you did earlier?” I ask Madama, and it pauses her work.

“Attempted to load old memories.”

“That explains nothing to me.”

“I thought it wouldn’t.” It goes back to tending to my hair, and, for a moment I think this would be the end of the conversation, but then it speaks again. “Dragons’ memories get stored in the crystals on their hair, you must know that much. I take payment in those crystals and keep those memories safe for later use. But the Lightning Dragon here, his crystals have gone murky. He needs to go to sleep.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” Akkuiggana interjects in a sharp tone. “I’ve been fine for the last fifteen years.”

“Yes, sure, which is why I failed to load any of your old memories, is that right?” Madama’s tone is more robotic than before. I detect a tinge of sarcasm in it. Has it been programmed to emulate it? “It’s not my place to comment, but you really should do what your body needs you to do. I can see you’re sensitive to light now too, and your memories are likely not even being stored properly. Think of the Spark Dragon, or the Fire Dragon’s legacy.”

Akkuiggana stands up abruptly at the mention of the latter two. I turn to see him breathing heavily, a shadow cast over his face as he stares down, looming over Madama and I. To my surprise, it is Madama who speaks next.

“Settle down. As I said, I cannot make you change your mind, but you should be mindful of what you’re letting go of by acting so stubborn.”

Akkuiggana’s eyes narrow. “I know only of what I still preserve by acting as such.”

“The Spark Dragon, huh? Will she be happy when you’re a sniveling amnesiac who can’t even remember her?”

Akkuiggana swings at Madama then, but I catch his fist with my hand. The robot doesn’t budge, and neither do I. Akkuiggana stares at the robot, then at me before shutting his eyes. I feel his fist trembling before he pulls it back, but I don’t relax just yet. I can still see signs of his emotional instability. “How dare you.” He whispers after turning around.

“Easily. You, Ancient One, bring the Spark Dragon sometime soon, I want to talk to her too.” Madama addresses me.

“No!” The roar shakes the cabin. I hear a whimper from outside before something shuffles away. Akkuiggana stares at us again. His intimidation attempt fails on both ends, as Madama casually turns to face him.

“Oh, how controlling. I wasn’t talking to you, and she’s a fine enough adult as is. Now will you help me finish work on this one, or will you go outside and cool down for a bit?”

The silence is only interjected with Akkuiggana’s heavy breathing. I stand at the ready to prevent any violent outbursts, but none come no matter how long I wait. Instead, silence persists and eventually, it breaks down as Akkuiggana sighs deeply and begins walking away towards the door. In the next few steps, he is gone without a word, and I am left alone with the robot.

“Shall we continue?”

“I don’t see a point to stop,” I sit down.

—

What follows are the most stressful hours of my life. The need to hold me down has long passed. Madama has already cut off most of my hair’s length, and with it, my beauty. Admittedly, its technique was masterful and the way it shaped the remainder of my hair was nigh perfect, but I couldn’t shake my dread over losing so much of my hair. By the time it formed a neat bob, with a fringe shaped towards one side, my entire body felt limp and my overthinking and panic modules were both overheated and, thankfully, inactive due to this. I look at myself. I am pretty, but not pretty enough. Madama stands quietly, letting me look myself all over. “It’s too different, can’t we go back?”

“No.”

“Is it perfectly even?”

“Yes.”

“Should it be even?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t we do any implants?”

“Dragon hair is expensive.”

“I’m hardly a dragon.”

“Yet I already proved you’re closer to one than you think.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t understand.”

Madama spins its head. “I didn’t think you would,” before giving a chuckle.

I turn to my reflection once more, looking deeply, trying to find any technical faults in the shape of my hair. I run my fingers through the soft strands, let it rise and fall as I toss it around, but it always returns to its form. Its shape. There is unlikely to be any replacement hair readily available for my model type here. Even if I returned to the scrap where Gua had found me, I would likely find nothing of note. Hair is a fickle thing, if it was buried in a scrap, I could scant find it myself. I think to myself, am I stuck with this hair now?

//You sure are, chief//

Will it be fine?

//Only one way to find out//

I suppose that is true. All I can do is go see what the others think of it now. Looking at it, it does look way tidier than before, but that was because I had been inactive for 2600 years. After some treatment, my hair truly is a lot softer than it used to be. Maybe others will like it then. I’ll ask Gua and Perretta when I get a chance. I turn to Madama.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. To repay me, you can visit again soon and bring the Spark Dragon with you.”

“I will.”

“Good, much less stubborn than the Lightning buffoon. Oh, wait a moment.” Madama limps over to the corner of the room where its resting area is. I note now there are buttons along the wooden floor, and it presses a couple of them in a sequence, prompting a few floorboards to open. “I figured you might like to take this with you when I saw who and what you are.” Bending over the hole, Madama pulls out a piece of dark green cloth with a golden rim. “Do you recognize this?”

My first instinct is that I should, but I shake my head. “I… Unfortunately not.”

Madama hands me the robe. “That is fine. So long as you wear it. It looks better than the rags you’ve got on right now.”

“Thank you.”

“So long as you repay me in kind.”

—

Meanwhile, in the royal palace, Gua walks awkwardly, followed by two guards and guided towards an envoy of the Queen, a tall, robed person standing atop a flight of stairs that lead towards the Queen’s inner chambers. This part of the castle is dark, lit by flames that are far too red, almost as red as Gua’s hair. The way the abnormally tall figure casts shadows across the room, and the way they shift with the flames’ fickle flickers only adds to the oppressive atmosphere.

“Spark Dragon, the Queen will see you now,” the envoy says, their voice echoing in the hall so many times it will surely keep echoing for far longer in Gua’s head. As she waits, the large door slowly creaks open.