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“Mama, mama!” Koko ran full speed at Rangi and if not for her military precision, the girl's mother would have spread the entire pot of bright red makeup across her lap at the interception.
“Sweets, you’ve got to be—” she rolled her eyes, placing the tin on the vanity before her, "careful."
“You’re doing your makeup.” Koko climbed up and into Rangi’s lap, and although only the white and one red stripe had been finished on her face, her daughter stared up with wonder.
“I was, Hun, but then you came along.”
“Me too, me too, me too!”
Rangi raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’m going to say, Ko.”
“Why not? You and Mommy put it on all the time!” She was careful enough not to smudge Rangi’s makeup that had yet to dry, but every inch she got closer to her mother’s face Rangi straightened. Eventually, her mother got a hand around either one of her daughter’s sides and flopped her around so they were face to face.
“It’s battle paint. And I don’t want you anywhere near a fight.”
“But, Mama!” Koko practiced her award-winning pout.
“There’s plenty of makeup we can play with.” Rangi nodded. “And one day, when you learn what it means to wear the colors, I will be happy to help you put them on.”
“Promise?”
Rangi pulled Koko tight as she could while her paint was still wet. “I promise, Spitfire.”
***
“You ready?” Kyoshi was practically looming the way she occupied the entire space of the doorway.
“Are you asking me or her?” Rangi beamed across the room.
“I know she’s ready.” Kyoshi nodded. She squeezed both of Koko’s shoulders before sending her over to the stool from their vanity.
They both took a deep breath in and out. Rangi began with soft sponges, dragging the cool white paint across her daughter's skin.
“I know you know this all, but I want you to listen to it again, really understand what it all means.”
Any other day Koko would have shrugged the instruction off and made fun of her mother for repeating herself, but whatever hung in the air around today was different.
“Please, tell me again.”
No one could quite pinpoint when, but the little girl they’d taken in all those years ago no longer resembled the one that sat before them. Koko had grown physically of course, taller, stronger, even her hair ran down past her shoulders, but more than that she leaned into herself like never before. Koko was no longer afraid to take up space, had no hesitation in talking back to her mothers, and started fights when people questioned her beliefs. Her parents should have reprimanded her, but they only beamed with pride.
Rangi explained the traditions diligently, how the Flying Opera Company were not themselves until they donned their colors. She spoke of Aunt Kirima and Uncle Wong like they were spirits, almighty and untouchable. And Uncle Lek, though she’d never even known him, filled the air around them, Rangi remembering the tension he never let up on, an electricity that kept him a worthy adversary, verbally or physically. Even though her other mother was present, Rangi spoke of the avatar and the definition her paints gave to the presence of one of the greatest avatars of all time. Kyoshi thought this part may have been inherently biased. A brief mention of Lao Ge to cover her bases, and Rangi reached for the red.
“What do you paint first?” Koko leaned her chin upward so the canvas better faced its painter.
Rangi chuckled. “Eyes first, your mother barely stops talking long enough for me to do her lips.” Okay, and admittedly, there was another reason she held off on Kyoshi’s lips.
“No, what do you do first?”
Rangi paused to look over at Kyoshi, who had sat on their bed silent. Her wife was no use, shrugging and playing with the cuffs of her instructor's robes.
“The symbols, so I can still use my eyes.”
“Ok—” Koko nodded while Rangi was still focused on the paint. “That makes sense.”
“But yours doesn’t have all that—”
“Yours does—”
Rangi met their daughter’s intense stare. “Ko, the warriors wear your mother’s paint.”
She straightened up. “And I would like to wear my other mother’s paint.”
Rangi looked to Kyoshi again. They traded an entire conversation in the silence of the room. Rangi fought not to let her nerves spike the temperature. But then Kyoshi, the same big dumb idiot she fell in love with years ago smiled at her and she was balanced.
“There’s a dozen copies of me out there.” Kyoshi threw her shoulders up, grinning.
“It’s not uniform.”
“The Flying Opera Company would have been appalled to know their colors ever were.”
“You’re sure?”
Kyoshi didn’t need to answer.
Koko lifted her chin and closed her eyes, even though the markings would come first.
Rangi ran the thinner brush she used for sharp lines through the pot of paint in circles. Every bristle of the brush was coated in the stark red. She had never had to paint her markings on
another before, not used to the positioning of her hand, but more determined to be perfect than ever before.
The cold paint touched Kokos' warm skin, a long thin line tracing the curve of her cheek. Rangi did another, and another, arching the pattern across her daughter's face.
When Rangi paused to redip the brush Koko giggled. “Thank goodness, that tickles.” She opened her eyes only to watch her mother lift the brush again, mirroring the pattern on the opposite side. Kokos' lids shut again.
“The red marks your bravery. It is as red as the blood in your veins, and as strong as your heart.”
Koko knew. Rangi knew she knew, but every warrior needed to pass on the importance of their colors. And since Koko was the only one left in her class to wear them, she had her own separate lesson.
Kyoshi had been stunned when Rangi allowed her to begin her training. Their daughter was two years younger than even the newest girl, and their session had begun weeks ago, but you could hardly tell as she trained.
Lessons with Kyoshi in the morning and practice with Rangi in her free time made Koko a formidable opponent for her class. And even though she was the last to achieve many milestones, there were others she soared beyond.
The younger girls didn’t don colors day to day like the older warriors. They were still in training, and it was wasteful, not to mention insulting to the symbology of it all, to have fighters painted before they were released.
Tonight, however, was their first patrol of the year. The other girls at Koko's level wore their makeup for the older girls promotion ceremony, but tonight the battle paint meant battle, theoretically. Protected, supervised, unlikely, Rangi-accompanied battle, but the sentiment was still there.
Her mother paused before painting the last curling stripe.
Koko opened her eyes as she blindly counted one missing.
“Still ticklish?”
“No, Sifu.” She shook her head and a piece of hair clung to the paint on her cheek. Koko grimaced, but Rangi only let out a small laugh.
“Hun, will you get her hair—”
“On it.”
Kyoshi took off her gauntlets she’d strapped prematurely, waiting while she watched Rangi work. She laid them on the vanity, far from the open pots of paint which all had their places.
“Ok, now you really can’t move.” Kyoshi raked her fingers through her daughter's hair. While she twisted pieces into a signature topknot, her wife started up again.
“Last one,” she whispered. Both her mothers bookended Koko now. What could have been intimidating and overwhelming, to have the most powerful women in the world pin you into one spot, gave Koko the greatest sense of comfort she could fathom.
Rangi dipped her brush into the black paint after finishing Koko’s eyes and lips. The thinnest of their tools glided gently over Koko’s eyelids, lining her pale skin with stark edges.
With Koko’s eyes still closed, Rangi rested her brushes in the tin of cleaning salve and brought a hand to her daughter's jaw. She pulled her forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her hair.
“All ready.”
Koko’s eyes blinked open. She turned to catch a look at herself in the mirror before returning to a neutral pose.
“Go look.” Rangi rolled her eyes.
“What do you think?” Kyoshi leaned her arm against the top of the mirror, looking down at their kid.
“It’s good.” Koko nodded, trying to suppress the excitement in her voice.
“Good? I worked hard on that.” Rangi leaned, hoping to give her permission to say more, in a way.
Koko took in a deep breath. “This is single handedly, the coolest I have ever looked in my entire life.”
“Well, good. Cool is certainly the most valuable skill in a warrior.”
“Mama!” Koko elbowed back at her mother. Rangi had failed to cherish the few minutes where her daughter behaved like a good little warrior, respectful of traditions and her superiors. Until patrol began, their warrior had morphed back into their preteen.
“You look beautiful, Ko.”
“And scary,” Kyoshi added, “in a good way. Careful Rang- she might suit those colors better than you.”
“Will the girls be upset if my paint is different?” She still wore an expression of pride, but her eyebrows pinched together.
“You’re the youngest, most Kyoshi-related, most privately instructed Kyoshi warrior in all time, save for your Mommy herself, but they know as well as I that it doesn't make you any different. Your paint won’t either. You still listen and act as a unit.”
“Yes, Mama.” She bowed her head, remembering that small piece of respect.
“You know, I’m really proud of you. We both are.” She brought a thumb to Koko’s cheek as if inspecting a blemish. She swiped it over dry paint and pulled her daughter in for a bone crushing hug. Kyoshi giggled at the sight until Rangi dragged her into joining.
“You make us so proud, every day.” Kyoshi whispered, having to kneel on the floor to be at their seated level.