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The Saudi customs agent looked up from the papers in his hands. "Prohibited."
A spike of worry hit Xodiac's belly like a dagger. "What?" he almost gasped. "Why?"
"Against Sharia. Women can't wear men's clothes. It is criminal."
Xodiac blinked. What the hell? "But I'm not a woman."
The agent looked at him... oddly. He pushed the papers against the dragote's chest. "Not according to these... ma'am. Officially, you are female."
Xodiac blinked again, then opened up his passport. There it was, right on the first page.
Gender: F
He stared at it. That wasn't right. At all. Although it certainly did explain an awful lot. But how... Then it struck him. "Rille. I am going to freaking kill you when I get back."
He watched as others from the tour group filed through customs. The men went through without a problem, but the women were being directed down a nondescript hallway. If they kept him out... how would that even work? Would he meet them in India, their next stop? Where would he go in the meantime? Or would they just send him home?
Screw that.
"How," Xodiac said with gritted teeth, "do we fix this?" He had a funny feeling getting the paperwork corrected wasn't going to be the answer.
He was right. "You go down that hallway... miss," the agent said, pointing where the ladies went. He looked displeased about it. "There you can buy proper clothing."
Much as it distressed him to admit it, Xodiac had worn plenty of dresses. The abaya they guided him towards buying was just one more, if a bit more snug than most. At least it wasn't frilly. The hijab – the headscarf – was a little more of a problem, until one of the shopkeepers, giggling slightly, showed him how to properly arrange it over his horns and around his face.
More problematic was the little speech he, and the rest of the foreigners, received before they left the clothing shop. If they wanted to stay out of jail, the officer told them, they'd all have conform to local religious law. Which meant he'd be wearing an abaya, or something like it, the entire time he was in the middle east. Germany and Greece had been embarrassing, but they'd only been for a night. Here he'd be in drag all day, every day.
And they were going to be in the region for weeks.
"Absolutely murder you," the dragote promised his sister in absentia. "Wring your neck."
Xodiac sighed and left the shop with the "other" women, escorted by the required local male until they could meet back up with the tour group.
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Art by
crazymelimelo. Story by me.
441 words (this part)
The Saudi customs agent looked up from the papers in his hands. "Prohibited."
A spike of worry hit Xodiac's belly like a dagger. "What?" he almost gasped. "Why?"
"Against Sharia. Women can't wear men's clothes. It is criminal."
Xodiac blinked. What the hell? "But I'm not a woman."
The agent looked at him... oddly. He pushed the papers against the dragote's chest. "Not according to these... ma'am. Officially, you are female."
Xodiac blinked again, then opened up his passport. There it was, right on the first page.
Gender: F
He stared at it. That wasn't right. At all. Although it certainly did explain an awful lot. But how... Then it struck him. "Rille. I am going to freaking kill you when I get back."
He watched as others from the tour group filed through customs. The men went through without a problem, but the women were being directed down a nondescript hallway. If they kept him out... how would that even work? Would he meet them in India, their next stop? Where would he go in the meantime? Or would they just send him home?
Screw that.
"How," Xodiac said with gritted teeth, "do we fix this?" He had a funny feeling getting the paperwork corrected wasn't going to be the answer.
He was right. "You go down that hallway... miss," the agent said, pointing where the ladies went. He looked displeased about it. "There you can buy proper clothing."
Much as it distressed him to admit it, Xodiac had worn plenty of dresses. The abaya they guided him towards buying was just one more, if a bit more snug than most. At least it wasn't frilly. The hijab – the headscarf – was a little more of a problem, until one of the shopkeepers, giggling slightly, showed him how to properly arrange it over his horns and around his face.
More problematic was the little speech he, and the rest of the foreigners, received before they left the clothing shop. If they wanted to stay out of jail, the officer told them, they'd all have conform to local religious law. Which meant he'd be wearing an abaya, or something like it, the entire time he was in the middle east. Germany and Greece had been embarrassing, but they'd only been for a night. Here he'd be in drag all day, every day.
And they were going to be in the region for weeks.
"Absolutely murder you," the dragote promised his sister in absentia. "Wring your neck."
Xodiac sighed and left the shop with the "other" women, escorted by the required local male until they could meet back up with the tour group.
<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>
Art by
crazymelimelo. Story by me.441 words (this part)
Category Artwork (Digital) / Portraits
Species Dragon (Other)
Size 401 x 864px
File Size 116.4 kB
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