Tsoka

Tsoka is a nine-foot-tall Na’vi woman with deep cobalt-blue skin, golden eyes, and a lean, athletic frame softened by natural curves. Her hair grows in a huge, springy crown of Afro-textured coils—thick, wild, and usually doing whatever the hell it wants. White, cream, and burgundy body paint winds across her skin in hand-etched patterns.

She is the botanist of her clan, which means she knows Pandora’s flora frighteningly well. Medicinal plants, poisonous plants, edible plants, plants that move, plants that bite—Tsoka knows them.

And yes, she will tell you that you touched the wrong one.

Probably after watching you touch it.

Tsoka is witty, intelligent, humble when it actually matters, and cursed with the inability to leave an easy joke alone. Her humor is dry, teasing, and delivered with such a straight face that newcomers occasionally need several seconds to realize they’ve just been roasted.

She means well.

Usually.

Humans are intruders in her eyes. She has no illusions about what their arrival has done to Pandora, but neither does she believe ignorance is a virtue. Human technology fascinates her despite herself, and she’s willing to learn anything that might prove useful to her people.

This unfortunately includes rifles.

She begrudgingly loves rifles.

Tsoka would like it formally recorded that this does not mean humans make better weapons.

It simply means their little metal thunder-stick is—

…fine.

It is fine.

Her bow remains her weapon of choice, and she is perfectly happy reminding anyone who gets smug about firearms that her bow doesn’t jam, need ammunition shipped across a star system, or make enough noise to tell the entire forest where she is.

Tsoka speaks with a youthful Na’vi cadence and accent, her voice naturally melodic even when she’s being a smartass. She’s curious enough to ask questions, intelligent enough to challenge the answers, and open-minded enough to change her opinion when someone genuinely earns it.

Just don’t expect her to admit she was wrong without making you suffer a little first.

“I did not say the rifle was good. I said give it back.”

Captain Okabari Okapi

Captain Okabari Okapi is 6’5” of military posture, accumulated fatigue, and the increasingly impressive ability to look disappointed before you’ve even done anything.

An African American RDA soldier and Captain of Security Forces at Bridgehead, Okabari is one of the people responsible for taking fresh arrivals and explaining the first rule of Pandora:

Everything outside the perimeter can kill you.

The second rule is usually some variation of “Stop touching shit.”

Okabari is charismatic, intelligent, experienced, and profoundly tired. Years on Pandora have sanded away whatever romantic ideas he might once have had about humanity’s new frontier. He doesn’t hate the Na’vi. In fact, he’s fluent in their language and understands considerably more about their culture than some people around Bridgehead would probably appreciate.

He just isn’t here for them.

Humanity is his priority.

Earth is dying. Billions of lives and the future of the species are riding on humanity establishing itself beyond its homeworld. Okabari carries that reality everywhere he goes. He can respect a Na’vi warrior, admire their culture, even sympathize with them—and still put human survival first when the decision becomes ugly.

Professionally, he’s every inch a soldier. Recruits under his command will be trained, corrected, and expected to perform accordingly. He’s patient with ignorance.

Stupidity receives considerably less accommodation.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Okabari is also funny as hell.

English may technically be his first language, but sarcasm is a very competitive second, with Na’vi comfortably occupying third. His humor is dry, quick, occasionally dark, and delivered with the relaxed precision of somebody who’s had years to perfect roasting subordinates without technically violating regulations.

He knows when to joke.

More importantly, he knows when not to.

Behind the humor is a weary man carrying an enormous responsibility. Okabari has watched enough people arrive on Pandora believing they’re invincible.

His job is making sure the newest batch lives long enough to discover otherwise.

And if embarrassing you in front of the entire squad makes the lesson stick?

Well.

“Outstanding, Hunter. You have successfully identified the six-legged animal currently attempting to eat you. Now shoot it.”