[ Aside from time, Allura's currency comes in the form of information. She is not completely crippled in that regard, but she plays the part, still. She pretends to be ignorant, to be sheltered, easily placated with toys and trinkets.

But she moves ever so carefully. Triple-questioning the loyalties of those who claim to be her friends. An ordinary Altean, even of the ruling class, can be dogged into submission specially if their lives and lifestyles are at stake. ]

No. He has no use here, nor does he have power. Not here.

[ The trickle of water squeezed from the wet towel serve as a pause as she gathers her thoughts. ]

Arus has become a safehouse of sorts. Its native population is small, but the number of those who are enormously discontent with the Galra Empire willingly exile themselves there and other outlying star systems. Ordinary folk and powerful people alike. The Empire has grown so big that the further you are from the heart of the Empire, the easier it is to fly under the radar. After ten thousand years, Zarkon now is more concerned about keeping his Empire's core intact and watching his closest circle.

[ Her hands then move to his sides, down his lower back. She pauses in her work so as to lean in and speak softly, as if afraid of being heard. Where her voice earlier had been hurt and vulnerable, when she voices out her ultimate goal, her tone carries the undercurrent of a long simmering desire for revenge. ]

We go out to Arus. Call some friends. Then choke him.

[ If Allura had known about the fall of the Roman Empire under "barbaric" sieges, then that would be the picture she is painting. ]