You know, there are times when she hates the color blue.

Which is a weird thing to say, right? Blue's nice. Got no end of variety to it. The blue so dark it's almost black of meditating on a shifting sea floor. The blue of a lapis, polished, gold-flecked.  The infinite in-betweens, the rich, the thin.
And hate is a strong word, insists her mental censor. Does she actually hate the color blue, or just what it stands for?

Has she met an alien? When could she have? Going from a sheltered existence as a backwater neophyte to thrusting herself into the arms of constant pressure and danger? When and where would she have had the opportunity?

Which isn't to say she hasn't read [i]stories[/i] about them, right? Daring heroine first contacts an alien planet? Stories that, with the benefit of hindsight, wow, sure do involve those daring heroines showing alien people how much better life is in blue?

It's like--

Fuck, she feels selfish even thinking of it like this, but it's like all the Azura can see is their favorite food, right? Favorite food, favorite music, favorite opera, favorite story, favorite everything. And now that they've decided what their favorite is, everything has to be that favorite. If their favorite dessert is cinnamon rolls, then whatever aliens have come up with now needs to be round and glazed. Whatever music they came up with is now filled with horns, because such is the fad.

Blue. Blue everywhere, even if it means that theres no room for reds, greens, purples, and so on. It seems like such a small sacrifice to make--even reasonable. 

Bow to their sense of art, and all shall be well. Incorporate yourself, get used to horns and cinnamon rolls, and get comfy.

And ignore everything that isn't blue.

For a time, she can spare them. For a time, she can keep them--the actual them, not the them in the stories that are told afterwards--for a time she can keep them alive. 

And also, handily, keep her and her allies alive, if perhaps a touch toasty. Seems like a good deal, if they can pull it off.