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The Scheherazade / Harem Shipping Meme

Straight out of the Arabian Nights, or any variety of the spin-offs and spoofs since, in a beautiful and fantastical realm of magic and djinn. You may be the great ruler, prince, or sultana of the realm, or you may be the tribute, captive, or arranged marriage spouse brought before that ruler.

Scenarios:

1. Arranged Marriage - You’re both royals or nobles of some variety, but one of you has been sent far from home to be wedded to a stranger in a foreign land.
2. Ambition - You’re just one beauty in a harem of dozens—or hundreds—but you’re determined to stand out, to earn the exclusive attention of the ruler, and to take your place by their side as the ruler of this land.
3. Scheherazade - One night with the king (or queen). Perhaps your one-night spouse had their heart broken, like in the story. Perhaps they’re simply a monster, or they have other motives. They may kill you in the morning, unless you can convince them to delay, by at least one more day.
4. Tribute - Perhaps your land was conquered, or perhaps you’ve been sent here to secure an alliance. Either way, this wasn’t your idea, and you aren’t particularly happy about it.
5. Within the Harem - Both characters are residents of the harem. You hardly see the ruler, and they don’t matter. What does matter is the friendship—or love—that you have found within the harem, and, possibly, your plans for escape.
6. Outside the Harem - You’ve fallen in love with someone you shouldn’t. A guard, a servant, or someone outside the palace entirely. But in order to be with them, you’re going to have to break all the rules.
7. Arabian Nights - Wildcard scenario, play any elements from the Arabian Nights that you please. Magic carpets, powerful djinn, curses and treasure!

How to play:

-Post with your character, preferred role (ruler, harem, other), and any other relevant info
-Reply to others. Use RNG or choose your favourite scenario!

--

originally posted by marlowe_tops

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[It would be so kind, to let the darkness take him away forever. No more fighting, no more universe gone insane, no more pain. Just... sink into the dark, quiet lapping waves and never come up again. Let it swallow him. Let go. What is he fighting to hang on for anyway? His world is conquered, his people scattered, everyone he's ever cared about most likely dead and he'll never even know. Why hang on at all? There's no future to fight for. There's no hope. He has no purpose.

He knows it all, acknowledges it. There's no reason to come back.

But he stubbornly claws his way out of the darkness anyway. Not for hope, not for any deception that there is anything better. But because he's stubborn. It's the only thing he has left but damn it, if he doesn't refuse to let that last piece of him be broken and taken away. So he sinks his fingers into the shifting sands of his mind that try to drag him down into forever and he drags himself out. He claws his way back to the pain, and the humiliation and the hopeless future simply because he refuses to stop. He may have nothing - but he can't refuse who he is. And his eyes open and his fingers twitch and he swallows blood.

He is so damn tired. So God damned tired. His body aches, his chest aches, his heart aches. For a very long time he lays there with his eyes open, seeing nothing, hearing the drone of voices that don't make sense or sound familiar. His eyes shut and when the open again its silent. This time he blinks, tries to focus and his eyes finally show him a pillow... a stupid, gold fringed, pastel blue pillow. It's laying against a chair leg and he thinks he should laugh, its so out of place. Except if he starts laughing he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop. He's not ready to go mad yet. He knows - and yet he tests the cords around him anyway. They don't give. Footsteps then and he forces his eyes to focus. Fabric of a dress hem, toes of shoes - his eyesight blurs and he lets it for a minute. Exhausted. And then he forces his eyes to focus again, just as she speaks.

She's on a knee, three long steps beyond where he's lying. And she says she's sorry.

So is he.

His eyes are dull when he lifts them to hers and there's no fire and no spark in them. What's he going to be angry at her for, even if he did have the energy for it? She's a slave too, a tool. He closes his eyes and exhales. So... tired of a universe that's full of monsters and victims.]

[ Allura uses the time to gauge Shiro's state, and sees that he is in no state to attack her -- or he can try, but is he actually even willing to? With how she is feeling at the moment, the best Allura can do is run away and shut the doors, but she has not come to do that, not when he looks at her like that -- beaten down and broken.

With little effort, she slides her arms underneath him to transfer him to the bed. The muzzle is removed first, and the restraints follow. Once again, Allura takes to cleansing the burns first. She gives more attention to the angrier looking marks -- specially the one across Shiro's nose, chafed by the muzzle and the electrocution. Her hands are careful, and her touch almost reverent, as if every contact of her skin with his is an apology and a promise.

Allura remains mindful for any reaction from Shiro though, anything that signals particular discomfort or pain. Taking a moment to look at his face, brushing the forelock aside, she makes a silent and fleeting wish for their story to be written in reverse instead -- that he had never become a slave, that she is with her father again, that Zarkon never happened. ]

[Usually he'd protest. Being off his feet is being vulnerable and he's long ago left behind the ability to give that part of himself to anyone. But - there's no protest when she lifts him. He can't do it himself and the bed is softer than the floor. Absent he notes that he was right. There's more strength in her body than it looks. The real relief comes though when the muzzle is taken off and the cords come next. His arms sag forward and he closes his eyes that he'd opened when she'd touched him and exhales. It's a long minute before he inhales.

He can't do this many more times. He's got a few left in him. He knows that. Probably more than he would judge at the moment. But its harder this time to work up the energy to care and he knows each time the fight will be harder to find the energy, or the desire, for. He just hopes he can hold out long enough for her to do whatever it is she needs the time to do.

The attention to the bridge of his nose is kind. The scar is still new, the skin over it still young and each time the muzzle goes on it rubs to the point of madness.

It's a good thing he's not vain, he manages to think with broken humor. His face is a long way from the fresh, sharp pictures they took of him lifetimes ago to help promote the space program.

They should have all stayed home. All the promises they thought space held - the universe is nothing but a cruel joke. Except he knows even if the space program had never happened Zarkon and his troops still would have come. He turns his head, rests it against the side of her leg. Keeps his eyes shut. He'll be fine. He knows he needs to stop thinking that way. He will. He'll force the energy back into himself. He just - appreciates not having to move at the moment.]

[ Allura had been reaching for the jar of salve with her other hand when she feels Shiro's head touch her thigh. For a moment, she freezes, wondering if she had disturbed him too much. She sighs in relief when she hears no complaints or strong protests.

She doesn't work right away. With the hand that had brushed his forelock aside, she takes to gently stroking his hair, and she is reminded how a previous gift -- Hunk was his name -- found it easier to be calmed when she stroked his hair. The gesture comes as a stark contrast to how earlier, she had just grabbed whatever she could of his hair to force herself on Shiro. Whether or not the act had been under the influence of a drug, she had been aware of her choice. She had long cleaned off the blood from around his mouth, but what happened is not something that cannot be so easily erased.

Zarkon had been right in his observations: Allura had been following the Champion closely, and truly, he isn't bad to look at. Despite the constant addition of scars, and her bias against small round ears aside, she had always found him easy on the eyes.

For a moment, Allura wonders if she could indulge in touching his lips, but ultimately decides against it. She has had her way with him already, unpleasant as it had been for the both of them. Even touching him in that gentle way is already indulgent, and soon, she mentally kicks herself into getting back to work, applying the salve where they are needed. ]

I'll be back. I'll just patch myself up and I'll be back with your food.

[ She isn't in a hurry to leave him though, her hand finding its way to his hair again. She doesn't get up right away, and remains mindful for anything else Shiro might need before she heads out the door. ]

[He won't even pretend the strokes through his hair aren't nice and his shoulders relax even more into something that's closer to comfort and less emotional exhaustion. Shiro grew up in a very subtle family. There was never any question about their love and affection for each other but touch was only given freely and often to children and he'd stopped counting as a child when he'd entered primary school. He'd always been open about giving but it was rare to receive and since his capture kind touches had been non-existent. He's always had a weakness for anything involving his hair or his scalp too. He sighs almost silently when she has to stop to finish working on his burns but - that had been nice. Comforting. Something he probably needed more than he could admit to. Over a year starved for humane physical touch - it was hard not to nudge his head against her leg in the hopeful prompt that she'd continue. Except he didn't. They weren't like that and besides, that was far too intimate a demand to make. It had been nice while it had lasted though.

His eye cracks open when she talks, looks up at her without having to turn his head and - its not so worn down and dull anymore. There's still lingering pain and he's still so damn tired but he's on his way back. That glance flicks away though, when she mentions being hurt. He knows that's his fault and he's sorry.

But he won't apologize.

Because its something he'd do again, and will probably have to do again or something like it, before his next bout with the bracelet and apologies are hollow if you're just going to repeat the behavior again. He's sorry he hurt her. He doesn't want to do it again. But he won't lie to her either. Instead he presses his forehead a little more to her leg and then starts gathering the energy he needs to sit up.

...except her fingers go back over his hair again and he exhales something that's almost a throaty, low rumbling hum that all but purrs and his eye shuts again as he relaxes.]

Edited 2016-12-18 11:51 (UTC)

[ Allura knows what she has to do, but she lets her inner child win over, even for a bit. She doesn't want to head out and put her masks on. She doesn't want to leave this room and face the monsters outside. She doesn't want to leave Shiro because she is lonely in her own room. Everyone she loves and has ever known are gone. She still has her people, but none of them are familiar, nor do they carry true affection for their monarch. She misses her father and how she would leap into his arms under the shadow of the Yellow Lion, and he would ruffle her hair and tell her stories he picked up from the Fripping Bulgogian.

But she takes what she can, whatever can fill her emotional tanks and give her strength for another day. So when Shiro seems to like what she's doing, she continues for a bit longer, listening for his noises and his breathing. It is all a welcome reminder that someone is still willing to be in her company, and trust her for a few moments to let her touch them.

Hearing the Black Lion purr at the back of her mind in rhythm with Shiro's breathing is a welcome bonus.

The sound of the lion brings her back, and this time, Allura stands to answer to a duty to herself. The quicker she is done with her wound dressing, the sooner she can return to Shiro's side. She then heads to her room, cleans herself up, dresses her wound the best she can, and changes into a lighter and less cumbersome dress. It is time enough at least for the drug's effects to completely disappear.

Once she returns, she is already bringing the hefty tray of food into Shiro's room to place it on a side table. She sits on the side of the bed, glass of water in hand. ]

You must be hungry. Would you like to eat now?

[He doesn't protest when her hand leaves the second time and he slits an eye open as her weight leaves the bed. There's no tension though. She's already told him what she's planning on doing and, so far, she hasn't lied to him even when the future is ugly. He misses her touch - but he's also fully aware that he's physically starved for touch and that's his problem to deal with, not hers. When she leaves she doesn't shut the door either and that more than anything goes toward keeping him relaxed.

He's tempted to catch a quick nap. He's physically exhausted enough and emotionally soothed enough that he might be able to catch twenty minutes, even half an hour, before the nightmares start. It's been - he doesn't remember the last time he actually slept well. But in the end he rolls until his legs drop over the side of the bed and forces himself upright. He's tempted to try to tub now. The hot swirling water would probably be good for his muscles. But she's just put all that effort into putting medicine on his burns and she's said she'll be back with food. Besides, he's not sure he might not fall asleep and drown if he tried the tub as tired as he is and his lips twitch, just barely, wry with the thought. Instead he gingerly rubs his human hand across his face, careful to avoid the areas she added her medicine to and lifts his head to watch for her through the open door.

Zarkon. He'd heard Zarkon's voice. He could remember that now that he wasn't in a haze of pain. He didn't remember much in the way of what was said but he'd recognize that voice until his last breath. His hands curled on the edge of the bed but didn't grind down. So she'd managed to put on her show at least. That was good. He didn't remember any raise in the voices, no subtle sounds of alarm or anger. He wondered how much time it had bought her. He wondered how much more time they needed.

He wondered when his next appointment with the bracelet was going to be.

When she came back in he was sitting a little slumped forward on the bed but not much and his body was slowly feeding strength back into him. Something was slowly feeding strength back into him. He knew his own limits, all to well thanks to a year in the Arena and he knew he could push past them. But this - wasn't that. His body was steadying at a faster rate than it usually did. Not alarmingly so, not dramatically but - something was feeding strength back into him. His recovery time and finding his balance was better than it should have been. And, now that he was thinking about it, the last time she's used the bracelet on him it had been the same. He's felt the bracelet before she'd used it. They had to test it somehow. And he shouldn't be, if not back on his feet, even upright so soon after. Was it her medicine? He - didn't remember but he thought the last time it had started before her medicine. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure he trusted it - but he'd take it. He'd take any advantage he could in his world.

The food has his interest though. So does the water, only realizing how much his throat hurts once he sees it. His eyes move over her, head to toe, only tightening a little at the new wound on her cheek before moving on and then finally lifting again to settle on her eyes. They're not that - color, the way they were before. Still opal but without the - the frenetic green. The glow was gone too. Had he imagined it? Was that a good or bad thing if he hadn't and she wasn't radiating anymore? Was it lack of energy or lack of fear? He knew he wasn't the only one that had to be exhausted.]

Have you eaten yet? [His voice is raw and throaty, still torn, but low and surprisingly gentle.]

[ A brief look of surprise crosses her features at the question, unused to have anyone really inquire after her, much less a slave she is supposed to be abusing. Allura is nonetheless grateful, and she gives Shiro a little smile. ]

I have, thank you; just before the call. Dessert, actually. My father would argue that it's not food, but cooks don't say "no" to queens. [ Recalling her white lie from earlier, she adds quickly -- ] And a bit too much nunvill.

[ She feels better in that she's no longer so breathless that she can't talk properly. As she speaks, Allura lifts the particle covers from the plates of food on the tray that had been keeping the dishes at ideal serving temperatures. Very appetizing aromas from sweet to savory waft into the room. Alien they may be in appearance, but the colors and presentation by themselves already make the food highly enticing. ]

I hope you'll find these to your liking.

[ She sits on the side of the bed, and scoops out some food in a spoon to help Shiro out in eating. She will surrender the utensils if he wishes to eat on his own, but she had said she would help him. ]

Did you catch some of our conversation earlier?

[ Her mind is recovering fast, thankfully enough. She needs to know what Shiro knows so as she can fill him in as needed. At ghe same time, she doesn't feel quite ready to talk about her reliance on a drug just yet, and so she chooses to direct the conversation into somewhat neutral ground. ]

Edited 2016-12-19 05:27 (UTC)

[For just a moment there's something at the edge of his lips, something that's almost the beginning of a smile. Its almost as if not every single thing in this universe is upside down and dessert is still something that adults are allowed to sneak and feeling guilty about disappointing their parents over. He has no idea what nunvill is but from the way she phrases it and what she said earlier he's going to guess some kind of alcohol or stimulant. Neither of which he'd blame her for considering what she'd had to do. The food catches his attention though and he shifts a little on the bed to look at it.

It makes his mouth water.

He hasn't had anything but the most revolting kind of slop since his capture. He should probably get himself a drink first but - he picks up the eating utensil that looks suspiciously like a spork and tries his first bite of something that looks fairly safe. He hopes to God, in the second before it hits his tongue, that it tastes as good as it smells because he's going to eat it anyway but disappointment would be -

but no. It does taste as good as it smells and he has to force himself to chew it, really taste it, instead of immediately bolting it down. It's enough distraction that he almost misses her question, looking up several seconds after with slightly wide eyes, waiting for his brain to replay what it had hear and not registered. He swallows and then shakes his head.]

Voices, tone, nothing solid.

[ There it is again, that shadow of a smile. Ever since her untimely separation from her father, Allura has missed his smile, and she finds herself looking for it in different faces -- kind smiles, puzzled smiles, and not the greedy, all-knowing sneers and smiles-for-show that barely conceal Galra fangs. Wanting to see people smile, the kind that reaches their eyes and make their face light up, would be part of her undoing.

Seeing as Shiro has no complaints over the food, Allura gets herself off the bed to take a nearby chair. As Shiro is busy, she takes to filling him in. ]

Zarkon suspects nothing out of the ordinary. I am still his hand Altea, and he expects me to grant him the favor of giving him an heir; or at least, that's what he wants me to believe. Here's what I think what's happening --

[ Allura leans back on the chair and places her arms on the arm-rest, ankles crossed in the more lady-like form of leg-crossing; a posture done out of habit than anything. ]

As the bracelet is activated with my quintessence, it would be logging my use of it in real-time -- that somewhere, someone is currently keeping me under watch. They would know if I used it on you, or if I used my quintessence on something else, such as the restraints. Or the Black Lion -- the vessel I mean for you to pilot.

I don't know how fast history and rumors go around the Arena, specially when it comes to the more recent arrivals, but Zarkon was the last Paladin of the Black Lion before it decided to shut down, making everybody believe that it's dead. Without it, the most powerful weapon in the universe cannot be formed.

[ Granted, Allura had been speaking in more veiled terms earlier, but as far as the few hours are concerned, she has come to decide to trust Shiro. There can be no pussyfooting, or else she knows she will trip and mess everything up, and it will be all her fault. ]

Would you know any of this? About the Black Lion-- [ Allura's eyes are on Shiro's face, studying. ] about Voltron?

[He listens. He really, truly listens. Because he's aware of how important any information at all she gives him is. It's his survival.

But - damn.

Does the food ever taste good.

He knows how to eat politely thanks to his family and even a year in captivity isn't enough to break that kind of ingrained teaching. But the military taught him to eat fast and a year as a slave taught him to eat even faster and all he really wants to do is inhale his meal just as fast as he can before someone takes it away from him. Except - he can't. He knows he can't. And its not even a matter of savoring the taste.

He hasn't had decent food in over a year and he hasn't had enough to support himself on what they had given him. He's been at a low level of starvation for over a year now - and his stomach just won't be able to handle it if he eats the way he wants to. He's blessed with an iron cast stomach for the most part but - its been a long time. If the food is half as rich as it tastes -

He forces himself to go slow, to chew, to swallow, to pause, and it is one of the hardest fights he's had to have with his body and his brain in a long time. Her giving him something else to talk about helps and at one point he gets up to get himself a glass of water and give what he has eaten time to settle. And as much as he listens to everything she tells him, the opening of which they'd both already assumed -

when she says she still means for him to pilot the ship -

His attention to her sharpens even more.

And he feels that treacherous spark of hope again despite himself.

The rest makes sense - but he gets the idea that he's missing parts of it as well that would make it make more sense. Nuance to a language he barely speaks.

How does a ship 'shut itself down'? AI sentience? It can choose not to cooperate?

... that should worry him. Not... make him feel -

welcome?

He doesn't lose her train of conversation though, sitting back down on the bed but leaving the food alone for a little while no matter how much his brain is still telling him its hungry and he needs to eat. He slowly works his way through the cup of water instead. And nothing rings any bells with him until - ]

Voltron? [That's a familiar word and he doesn't try to hide that from her. If he's in this - he's in this. His brows come down but he nods even as he frowns, fills in what, very, little he knows.]

I've never heard of paladins, not in the sense you're talking about probably or any Black Lion. [He'll leave out her asking about growling in his head the last time they talked for the moment.] But - Voltron. A little. It's - a weapon? The Galra want it. Recently. I never heard about it when I was first captured but lately... something's going on. [He looks at her and finds that he wants to ask about the Lion. Which shouldn't be his priority. So he asks what should.]

What's Voltron?

[ Thanks to the previous gifts, Allura had learned what kind of tastes and textures Earthlings like and what would benefit their bodies most. She has taken to not holding back on what she commands the kitchens to produce -- a privilege she very liberally takes advantage of. Seeing Shiro eat to regain his strength is reassuring.

Shiro's recognition of Voltron, even if just in name, even more so. ]

Voltron is indeed the weapon I've mentioned. It's a war machine about a quarter the size of this castle in height and is formed by five lions, the Black Lion being its central pillar. With its Paladins -- its pilots, it can wield tremendous power, far beyond what the Galra fleet can manage. I figure you understand now why they want it. The Galra holding Voltron means total enslavement of the entire universe.

[ Allura cannot even begin to picture how such a world would look like, what kind of gentler folk would have to suffer Zarkon's claws, unable to fight back. And yet it is against this picture that she has drawn her fighting lines. The Black Lion rumbles encouragingly in her mind. ]

The Galra have been trying to get our scientists to surrender the secrets behind Voltron in an effort to replicate it. [ A bitter kind of smile tugs at Allura's lips, but is never quite completed. ] How we have managed to stretch the trickle of all that knowledge over ten thousand years is no small feat by my father, but I don't know for how much longer I can follow his example.

[ Though she suspects that whatever other knowledge that's left at the time she started her "reign" has already been exhausted by now, which was why Zarkon is closing in on her. Allura corrals her thoughts, not wanting to set her plans in stone just yet. Shiro might just have information she needs, even if it means matching points up to what she already knows. ]

What have you heard exactly? Every little thing is important.

[Shiro manages to form the mental picture in his mind of a vague idea of what she's talking about. Five ships built to look like lions that - somehow - combine to form a larger ship that's... frankly huge sounding from what little of the vastness of the castle he managed to see when being brought here. Even so - its hard to imagine that whatever Voltron is somehow is more frightening or dangerous than a Galra battle cruiser since even at a quarter height Voltron would still be smaller than one of those.

Better fire power or weaponry, better maneuverability perhaps. He can guess but the point is that the Galra obviously think its a game changer and, whether it makes sense to him at the moment or not, Shiro is willing to trust that impression if his enemy feels that way about it.

Whatever the Galra fear - Shiro wants to be a part of.

But her question has him shaking his head in frustration and the barely there smile he offers her is painful instead of wry.]

We don't get a lot of gossip, down in the gladiator pits. I've heard that Zarkon is searching for it, ripping planets open to find it. I've heard that he already has it. I've heard that he already has a part of it. I've heard it doesn't exist at all and he's just going mad chasing an old legend. I've heard -

[And he stops. Breaks off and frowns, eyebrows coming down. There's - so much he doesn't remember. So much that's been lost to him. Things that have happened that he doesn't even remember happening, scars he can't explain, flashback that - ]

Haggar. [The name comes out and he tries to keep from growling it, but some of the hatred seeps out all the same. You'll be our greatest weapon... It hurts. Has him shutting his eyes against the stab of pain through his skull but he chases it all the same.] She's trying to make weapons. Like Voltron? Or - for Voltron... I don't remember. That was the first time I heard the name though. With her.

Haggar...

[ The name comes out of Allura's lips laced with genuine fear, her voice barely a whisper. How could she forget those sneering lips as Altean guards under Galra employ held her back from running and fighting as her father had been forced to put her to sleep. She had been there, watching. The mere sound of the witch's name has her in a complete 180-degree turn from being relatively composed to being the frightened little girl hiding behind her father's cape at the sight of her and of Zarkon.

Allura's eyes stray towards Shiro's Galra arm, and she recalls the savagery of how the Champion had fought in the Arena. Had it been truly Shiro? Could she have been so blinded by her stubbornly wanting to see the good in people that Zarkon just knew he can offer her a monster and that she will accept him with open arms? Her gaze then sets on Shiro's face and posture and all she sees is a broken man. Somehow, the fighter that she had seen in the arena does not equate with the man sitting in front of her.

"I don't remember," he says. Her own sources have told her how in his last years, her father had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, to the point where he could no longer even remember who he was, less due to his advanced years and more because of the machinations of the witch behind him.

Allura's face grows pale, her gaze drops, hands tense, and her feet slip to have her heels flat on the floor. It feels as if the very ground underneath her is crumbling. ]

Shiro... [ She struggles to look into his face. She's afraid that instead of seeing dark slate eyes, she will see yellow pinpricks of light. Her voice comes eerily even. ] How did you get your arm?

[His head lifts and turns to her as she echoes the name back to him, but her tone is vastly different from his. The base is the same though. She knows the witch personally and its not a friendly knowledge. It - reassures him somehow. As if his own extreme reaction to the druid isn't excessive after all.

She's wrong though, the princess. And he'd tell her so if she asked. He's exactly what she saw in the Arena. The violence, the kills, the viciousness, the fury, the absolute unwavering domination... he was all of those things and they were still there, just as real as any other part of him she is seeing. Maybe more real if she thinks this is him broken. He's wounded. He's wounded deeply and on such a more invasive and damaging level than physically. But he's not broken. Not yet.

He isn't aware his core is being re-evaluated however. All he sees is the way her eyes drop to his Galra arm and the fingers of it curl in automatic response, defense or shame as he watches her entire body language shift on him. It has him sitting up straighter in response, setting the cup down so his hands are free. If she's going to toss him out, reject him - even defensively decide to use the bracelet again, he'd rather face it unencumbered.

She won't even look him in the eyes suddenly. What did he say that -

Haggar.

...she thinks he's Haggar's creature?

-

Maybe he is. All the things that - witch did to him. The things he can remember. The things that only haunt him as shadows in his dreams that wake him screaming. He hates Zarkon. He hates the Galra. But the way he feels about the witch...

it goes so much deeper than mere hate.

The queen is frightened of his Galra arm.

Because it could make him Galra.

And what would he do, if he turned, while piloting this piece of a weapon that could change the balance of the galaxy?

He inhales. He should tell her to take it off. Surely they're technologically advanced enough here to sever if not the whole arm where it ports into the upper part of his bicep, most of it. Enough of it to render it useless as a Galra tool. Take it off and her fears about it are gone. Maybe her fears about him.

Maybe not.

But - he's never seen any medical tech that comes close to what he wears on his arm. Except for a very rare few Galra. If he lets them take off his arm - he doesn't know that they have the ability to replace it with anything close to its dexterity and maneuverability. If they take his arm -

His eye stay steady on her face and his voice doesn't waver.]

Only the Druids have this kind of technology for grafts. You know how I got it.

[A pause. Give it up. Earn her trust. What could be more important than that?

One thing.]

I can't fly with only one arm.

Of course... of course.

[ The first one for him, the second one to herself. Her fear had lead her to swerve, as if the mere name of the witch had been enough to blot out that spark of hope she had just so clearly seen. If all it takes is a name to erase her hopes, then her hopes might not be big enough.

She closes her eyes briefly, as if to try and summon that spark again. "If you get too worried about what could go wrong,..." She opens her eyes to look into his -- weary, and frightened. ]

Please understand. There is reason to fear that witch and her druids as much as there is reason to fear Zarkon, if not more.

[ Allura releases a deep sigh. With Shiro sitting up like that, she finds her previous thoughts corrected. He isn't broken, not yet. And she doesn't want him broken. He is so far standing up to the abuse she had subjected him to -- and far more, if his career in the Arena had gone on for a year or so. ]

There is the possibility that they know you might be a fit Paladin for the Black Lion. I don't know exactly what they will do, but they will know when the Lion is awake, and all it will take is for that witch's magic to twist your arm and there will be nothing I can do about it.

[ ... but he hadn't harmed her unless she told him to, or provoked him. He hadn't attacked her when she is so open and weak. He complies to everything she has told him so far.

She takes to resting her full weight on her seat, and her voice carries the burden of reversing ten thousand years of a reign of fear. ]

This is not just about my planet, Shiro. It's about yours and every other people that values freedom. I want you to understand what the stakes are. I don't trust her.

[ A slow blink, and an attempt at a smile. "... you might miss a chance to do something great."]

But I choose to trust you.

[She's not telling him anything he doesn't already know. In some cases perhaps even better than her - unless she's twisted and screamed strapped down to a table that glows with ungodly purple runes that writhe unholy against her bare skin while bird skulled druids and a tightly smiling witch manually cut her rotting arm off of her. He doesn't fear Zarkon. He hates him. And he hates the Galra empire for what its done to his home planet and his people. But the level of emotion he feels for Haggar goes so much more feral and primal than that.

He does absorb that his chance at flying is in the balance, that she hasn't yet finished weighing whether she will give him the chance or not. And -

and she deserves that. He is untried, untested. A Trojan horse of a gift they both recognize as such and who knows just how deeply that treachery really goes. Whether there are layers and depths to it he doesn't realize yet that are waiting in the deep to surprise and destroy them both. He is only responsible for himself but she is responsible not just for her own people but, perhaps if this Voltron really is as amazing as she says, an entire universe's hope at redemption. She can't afford to be careless.

And she says she trusts him...

He feels the weight of that settle on his shoulders and he straightens them in response, back straightening as well. When was the last time he was given responsibility for anything, much less someone else's hope?]

I understand the stakes. [He's watched his entire people stripped from their home planet and killed or sold into slavery and tossed wide across the galaxy. He knows what the cost of losing to the Galra is. His metal hand flexes. He knows what the cost of losing is.]

And I'll fly your lion, if you let me. If it lets me. [A chance to finally fly. A chance - to fight? To finally hit back at what's attacked with impunity for so long.] Plant a dead's man switch in me. If I go rogue, you can kill me before I can turn anything over to the enemy.

[ Having things in the clear lifts some weight off of Allura's chest, and voicing her fear out loud gives her a form of catharsis, like demons exorcised from her mind. While she had been resigned to bearing the weight of freeing the universe from Zarkon's hold by herself, it helps to see and hear someone who is willing to fight by her side. ]

Thank you.

[ Finally, Allura stands. She certainly can take a page off of Shiro's book about being determined, about adapting. If she is to fight monsters, then she will have to act like them -- be them. If she keeps on denying that all the playacting had not been truly her choice then she will be stuck in limbo and buying time for nothing. All her choices thus far had been between bad and worse, and she knows that she has to make the best of what she's got: scattered and few, but loyal allies; scraps of what used to be Voltron; a possible time bomb of a pilot.

Mentally, she adds, she must be willing to dirty her hands even more than she already has. She looks into Shiro's face. Her smile is apologetic, but her eyes show that she has indeed made her choice. ]

I will kill you myself, if it comes to that. I give you my word.

[ She looks to the door -- ]

I need to send word out to some friends. Looks like we're ahead of schedule.

[ -- then back to Shiro. Forget the child. Zarkon's not even going to get his piece of assurance. ]

Do you think you can act as if I had given you a downer? Or as if I had used the bracelet a several times in a row?

[So he was one of final pieces. Her pilot for a lion ship she's been waiting for. It's still an odd concept to him, a sentient ship and how that actually works in practice but -

but it sound like he's finally going to find out and something in his chest lifts, heavy and yet weightless.

He can almost tell himself he hears the roar.

She says she'll kill him herself and that's a grace. He recognizes it. But he'll still make sure that he's got that dead man's switch somewhere inside of him before things get too much farther. She can't physically kill him if she's not present and the range on the bracelet is very limited. He's got time though - and for the first time that's not a threat or a prison sentence.

Her question has him frowning but nodding slow. He doesn't know what she has planned but, yet again, he's willing to trust her and go along with it without knowledge.]

I can. To an extent. My fight instincts are hard to ignore. Harder to hide. Depending on what you're doing, you might need to bind me again to make sure I can't twitch and give you away. [A pause and he hates it, doesn't want to add it, but - ] If its for someone that's monitoring the bracelet, they'll know if you haven't used it. You'll need to use it on me again.

[ Allura nods, building the walls of her resolve. She had succeeded in smuggling four other gifts out. This is the fifth and the last one. She cannot flake out now. She hates using the bracelet, but Shiro has proven his resilience -- twice in her presence, and many more in the Arena. It's one thing to rely on oneself for strength, but she can see that she can rely on him as well. It's a strange analogy to her, when she truly holds his life in her hands. ]

I will only be needing you to come with me to the location of the Black Lion, and you must be able to fly or run at a moment's notice.

[ She lifts her left hand briefly to look at the bracelet. Allura feels that her own resolve is leaning on Shiro's far more solid one, and she's grateful for it. She also appreciates his input -- even if it means getting him hurt. ]

Binding you is indeed in order, the better to make others think that I am playing games with you. I can't have anyone seeing us think that I would let you roam free so easily.

[ Plans are being set into motion, but until then, she has a persona to maintain. Soon, she will have to shed that mask forever, and she can bare her fangs and claws and destroy the Empire's hold. ]

I will have to use the bracelet now if I am to have you in a condition to at least walk. I will put the restraints back on you after that.

[ This time, she gives him a moment to make himself ready, and stands by should he have any questions or objections. ]

[He doesn't want to feel the bracelet again. Especially not so soon after his last bout with it. A part of him rebels, yells to run, to refuse, to fight. The pain is still fresh in his mind, not yet faded with the mind's natural defense of softening the memory.

Instead he shifts over toward a cleared part of the room and drops to his knees. A careful inhale, a careful exhale through his lips. His shoulders roll and he leans forward to plant his palms on the ground. The scars on his bare back move with the motion. Align and the whip marks are easy then, to pick out from the battle scars. Someone once carved a foul name for him into his skin there and as he settles it aligns as well, forming an rancid slur in Galra.

She's promised him escape if he can bear this. Freedom.

His long lost stars -

His eyes close and one more inhale. His eyes open on the exhale.]

Do it.

[ It hadn't been clear when she had tended to his back earlier, not in the softer lights of her room and in his sitting position. Even if she had felt the scars under her fingers, unaligned, she wouldn't have made out that his skin had been vandalized so. Allura bites her lip to stop any verbal reaction, but the slur makes her blood boil, and her fists clench at her sides.

... like Shiro is anywhere near that; like whoever had the gall to carve that on his skin is even half the man Shiro is; like they actually knew the value of the lives they try to destroy --

Allura's clenches her jaw as she takes a calming breath -- and another. She may be looking at Shiro, but she sees red in the scars and she quietly swears that for every scar on every slave the Galra have taken, for every life that had been thrown away like garbage, the Galra will pay tenfold.

As she glows with quintessence, she feels her eyes sting, the slur etched on Shiro's back blurred through tears and repeating in her mind, and she pictures as to whom she would rather spit the curse at.

The bracelet activates the arm -- and the lion in her mind roars. ]

[Shiro screams in perfect synchronization with the lion's roar, head snapping back, eyes narrowing down to slits as the hungry Galra electric jumps over him again, gleefully tearing a thousand fingers of inverted color into and through him. So soon after the last bout, his muscles jerk and spasm, already torn once and doubly susceptible to it a second time. His head comes down and he screams again, sweat jumping across his skin to be viciously taken advantage of as the electric runs like steel spiders over him. His mind tries to retreat but this was designed to keep him trapped and aware, too many different points, too many stops and starts and linked chains of pain for him to try to lull away. He fights it. It's his nature to fight and even knowing that it would be easier if he wouldn't he still fights, hands in white knuckles fists, body curling inward, screams of rage as well as pain, teeth grinding between as he finally doubles over and collapses to the floor, body curling inward instinctively against something to position offers no protection from. Muscles jump and twist and wrench, overridden by electric impulses that aren't his and his throat goes raw again from the sounds that wrench out of him. His eyes squeeze shut and the juttering jerking starts but his mind refuses to blank, tight throat losing its ability to scream and the tears finally form in the corners of his eyes as his body is wrenched and twisted, purple burning gleeful over him.

He's getting better at resisting. But that just means his escape takes longer to arrive and the mindless pain through him lasts longer. His human hand hits the floor, hard, fisted before it opens to fingers that claw helpless at the tile. When he finally goes its a sharp series of jerks and shudders that rattle his bones and roll his eyes back into his head before the lids close again and his body goes limp, electric still dancing across it until it too finally goes dead as well.

It's three heartbeats before his first inhale shudders into him and his breathing, ragged, picks up again.]

[ Tears streak down Allura's face as she watches Shiro's torture unfold before her. She watches not because of fascination, but out of duty. If he dies -- and she prays and prays and prays in her mind that he doesn't -- she would be the last to witness his life, and she would be the one to carry his memory, even if she had only seen a part of it. The thought all the more adds strength to her resolve because she knows that Shiro is more than just a slave thrown in the Arena and made as a grotesque canvas of scars and Galra slurs, more than a queen's plaything.

The lion roars not because of pain, but out of a thirst to fight, and a hunger for retribution.

When the power subsides, it takes more than three heartbeats for Allura to see Shiro take his breath again. In that time, she mentally panics and lowers herself to the floor so as to cradle him in her arms. Soon as she sees him draw air, she releases the breath she just realizes she had been holding. She props him to a sitting position, grabbing nearby pillows to set behind him and to prop him up against the foot of the bed. Placing her hands on either side of his face as he recovers -- ]

I can't heal you right now, but I will take care of you as soon as I can.

[ For a moment, she catches herself. "I will..." She's looking to the future. That's a good sign.

She heads out of his room and into hers, using her earrings to communicate with her allies: slaves on the ground to make distractions, friends in other star systems to incite riots, and those in more powerful positions to lead coups. She cannot take credit for what is unraveling -- she only feeds the fire of whatever sentiment of enmity toward the Galra that already exists, and gives them the push necessary to get them moving.

It does take her more than ten minutes to get her message across to key people and to get the confirmation she needs that the message was received and understood. Soon after, she returns to the room to gather the restraints first before returning to Shiro. ]

How are you feeling?

[He's vaguely aware of a comforting embrace and his mind passes it off as delirium, gone again, fading in and out. He hears her voice, but whether its an echo his mind caught to replay later or in real time he doesn't know and he can't understand the words of it anyway. For a long time there's only the darkness, the drifting. He wants to sleep. He wants to let go.

But something is pacing inside of his brain. Circling, circling, around and around him, impatient. It - smells like starlight.

And it won't let him sleep.

His eyes open and it takes him a very long time to focus. Longer still to recognize where he is. And then even longer to realize what that means and to catch up on. The hand he raises to his face shakes and he presses it against himself and rubs, feeling skin and sweat and exhaustion. The hand moves, through his hair, tugs a little at his forelock and he exhales a long, empty sigh.

She wanted to know if he could look properly beaten. He isn't really going to have to pretend. Two times in less than an hour. His eyes slide to the Galra arm and, again, he wishes he could tear it off. But he can't.

And he can't fly without it.

He debates getting up, trying to find his half full cup of water. The thought of food makes him feel nausated but water...

In the end, he stays where he is, head back against the pillows, eyes shut, legs sprawled. Gathering strength. She said he needed to be able to run.

She said he needed to be able to fly.

His eyes open when she steps back into the room and focus on the restraints in her hands. And the almost smile he offers is painful with no pleasure in it.]

Water would be nice.