bakerstreet | (no subject)

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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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[ 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.

[ Word barely out of his mouth, Allura gets up to fetch the glass Shiro had been holding, and the pitcher she had brought in earlier. She is asking so much from him. She sets the restraints on the floor near her so as she can assist him in drinking. ]

Careful now. Take as much as you need.

[ She said that she would kill him if the need arises, with her bare hands if it comes to that. She can tear off his arm if she has to. But she doesn't want to think about that now. She needs him alive, able to walk, able to fly.

She echoes his smile -- humor, but no pleasure either. ]

From now, it's going to be a while before we'll be able to settle down.

[ She takes a moment to check on the mice, and she has them group into one of the Black Lion's internal compartments so that they would be out of the way. When she opens her eyes again, she reaches her free hand to touch the side of Shiro's face. ]

Thank you-- for bearing with me so far.

[There are still shakes in his hand as he reaches for the cup but they're not as bad as they were and he uses both hands to hold the glass to his lips, taking small sips and waiting between them until his throat stops tasting like blood.

He will be so damned glad when he doesn't have to do that anymore.

The water helps though, as he works his way through the cup. He can do this, he can face what ever is ahead. He's been promised stars - and a chance to a fight that actually means something. Her touch brings that small twitch to the corners of his lips. Not a smile - but perhaps the memory of what might once have been one and his eyes lift to hers.]

What now?

[ Seeing as Shiro has somewhat recovered, and at the same time in that state she had wanted him to initially act out, Allura picks up the restraints. ]

These. Then we go see the Black Lion.

[ Allura stands, and waits for him to set the cup down and for any cue to see that he's ready, already feeding the restraints, including the chain, with her quintessence. Once he is set, upon Allura's command, the cords and straps will bind him once more -- his arms first, then his neck, and finally his face. Her grip will be secured around the chain, ready to lead him out of the room and into the darkened halls of the Castle of Lions. ]

[His eyes tighten at the restraints, particularly at the muzzle, but he doesn't say anything. And, a moment later, they're bearable. Because -

stars.

And the ship that she talks about as if its more than a ship to the point that even if he wasn't a pilot desperate for flight, he'd still want to see it just to understand. He exhales, letting all the air out of his lungs and then inhales through his nose. His eyebrows come down. And then he forces himself to his feet, feeling the weakness in his legs, in his knees, feeling the way all his muscles protest and scream at him.

But he's felt worse.

So he stands still when the restraints close around him again, steal his freedom from him again, and he follows after her, steps becoming just a bit unsteady and faltering looking without truly stopping or slowing them down.]

[ Good. Good. Game face on, Allura... As she heads to her door, Allura straightens her back, lifts her head, and wears the face of a girl who just got candy for the holidays. She totally doesn't mind her bruised forehead nor the nasty wound on her chin that required bandaging. As far as the act is concerned, she has a sweet treat that she is tugging by its chains.

Castle staff bow their heads low when she passes them. Guards salute and make no outward remark. Allura just gives them a passing glance and a self-satisfied smile, a quiet little show as if she were parading her conquered little toy around.

One person bids her to stop however: a tall Galra soldier, whose looks were less bestial than his counterparts. He gives Allura a curt salute. ] "Your Highness. What might bring you out and about?"

[ Allura inclines her head in greeting. ] Commander Thace. I do appreciate your kindness; but can't a queen be allowed to play outside her room?

[ His eyes trace to her hand holding the chains, then follows the line to Shiro's face. Allura's wounds do not escape his sharp eyes. ] "Your Highness plays with dangerous toys. Might I suggest... supervision?"

[ Giggles bubble up her lips, and she brings up her left wrist. ] This other toy has come in handy. I can handle myself well enough, thank you.

[ Allura hopes that Thace would leave it at that. But her blood freezes when he walks past her, stops in front of Shiro to make a grab of his chin to look into his face, threat in his voice. ] "What makes you think you can raise a hand to a queen of the Galra empire, slave? You may have been Champion, but your time ends here."

[ What Thace cannot see is Allura pursing her lips, willing her thoughts to fly over to Shiro except that she has no capacity for telepathy. Don't take his bait. Keep still. Don't even look at him...!]

[He hates being paraded. Loathes it down to the core of himself. It happened far too often during his time as Champion. But - he can do it this time. He can swallow it down. And its not hard at all to let his head hang and follow with slow, unsteady steps where she leads. All he has to do is concentrate on how badly he aches, how much his body screams at him each time he moves it. The strength is feeding back into him again but - twice in an hour. He's got plenty of pain to let fill his mind and steal his concentration. Habit though has him counting steps, marking turns, memorizing the path and the guard points. He's not free of his prison yet. He won't be until he's back between the stars.

Still, focusing on other things, he almost stumbles when the queen stops, catching the change in movement slower than he should. He lets it play though, doesn't try to right himself, lets the weakness show even though his instincts say not to. He recognizes the familiar timbre of a Galra voice and he shuts his eyes, as if he's simply concentrating on recovering his strength. He is. He's just got more strength recovered already than he should or that he's letting on.

A Galra commander questioning the queen of a planet's right to something as simple as what should appear to be a childish whim. In front of her own people no less. That more than anything else tells him just how thin her illusion of control over her planet is and what a careful line she must balance. If he were her bodyguard instead of her slave he would have already had the creature on the floor with his boot at its throat. He's fought Galra in the Arena before. He knows exactly what they're capable of. And what he's capable of.

He's not her body guard though, and not her Champion. He's just a sex toy and one that's been abused badly in recent history. He pretends he isn't aware of the Galra's approach even if he can smell the musk like a taint in the air and when his chin gets jerked up, he keeps his neck loose, let's it. Focus on the pain, focus on the pain, focus on the -

he slits his eyes open, as if opening them fully is too much and the look isn't of recognition. There's no anger or defense there, just - tired. He's so God damned tired. He doesn't have to pretend that, only let it swell up inside him and stop fighting it for a moment. He's tired of playing games, he's tired of being a toy, he's tired of this entire mad, mad universe and he's tired, so damn tired, of fighting to survive in it. His eyes move as if he's trying to focus beyond that. He's the Champion. No one that had ever seen him fight would believe he's broken already. But - exhausted and unable to fight? It's not as if he always left the Arena willingly. There were times the guards had to use their electric staffs to take him down. Not a muscle in his body tenses despite the fact a Galra is breathing down on him, claws on his muzzle. Shiro lets his eyelids drop as if he's given up trying to focus them. Fuck them all. But not today. He's too tired to fight today. Wait until tomorrow. If the Galra monster wants a fight he'll have to wait until tomorrow.]

[ Thace lets out an amused huff. Had he been looking for a fight, or any reason to say that he had been provoked? Allura couldn't tell. She looks over her shoulder, brow raised. She was about to her open her mouth to tell the Galra Commander to knock it off, but with a flick of his wrist, Thace releases his hold on Shiro. ] "Your charms certainly are infallible, Your Grace, and your hands stronger. My worry was misplaced."

[ The exchange was familiar territory, but it never ceases to cause Allura much stress and humiliation. Those who witness the exchange do not see a dignified monarch, but Zarkon's little doll -- a pretty decoration who is unfit to rule. ] Thank you for your concern, Commander. I will make sure to put in a good word for you with His Excellence. You may leave.

[ At the dismissal, Thace gives a gracious bow, and Allura tugs at the chain to signal Shiro to move.

Thankfully, anyone with warm blood thins out as they approach the Black Lion's tomb. Incidentally, it was also where the body of the former king Alfor was buried. Drones patrol the area, but pay no mind to the queen and her "pet", like whoever is controlling them know what to expect. Once they arrive at the door however, the drones bar their way with crossed rifles. ] Oh, spare me you pile of junk. I'm introducing him to my father.

[ There is a few seconds delay, as the word recognition registers into the drone's systems. Eventually, they clear the way, allowing Allura to open the large double doors with her handprint. She steps in pulling Shiro along, and for a time, the only source of light had been the inverted purple glow coming from the halls, shining through the space of the doors. The doors soon close, leaving them in darkness for a few seconds...

Until a golden yellow ray beams through the high ceiling to cast its light on a rectangular coffin, topped with a relief replica of King Alfor in his prime, lying down in his Paladin armor with a sword placed in his crossed arms. His name and epitaph are etched on the floor in High Altean around the coffin glow with yellow light.

Allura drops her mask, as she places her hands atop that of the metal ones of her father's figure. ]

I wasn't lying when I said I'd introduce you to my father. He was king, and was also the Yellow Paladin of Voltron.

[ She closes her hand over the hilt if the sword, and king Alfor's figure dissolves in light particles, revealing a Paladin's suit of armor. She takes to undoing Shiro's restraints and holds onto them. ]

Wear this armor. You will need it.

[Shiro's never been much for pride. He takes pride in his accomplishments, he takes pride in his abilities - but the kind of pride that requires you to brag about or defend - its never been his style. He knows who he is and what he's capable of. If someone else feels as if they can take it away or belittle it - well, they didn't earn him what he is. They haven't got the ability to take it back. So its easy to play along that he's weak and exhausted and helpless because as long as he gets what he wants at the end, he doesn't care if someone, a beast, thinks less of him in the process. The beast's opinion doesn't matter. Shiro knows better and that's all he relies on.

So the huff and the dismissal doesn't mean anything to him and he's already ignoring it when he feels the tug on his chain and stumbles to follow.

Between his shoulder blades does itch though, long after they're out of that hall and deeper into the castle's depths. He may not care about its opinion, but he hates having enemy at his back.

Soon though its only drones and while Shiro keeps his head down and his steps slow, his half slit eyes sharpen. Drones are all but useless against him, only good in overwhelming numbers thanks to their slow response time. The ones at the door that challenge her would tear apart like tissue paper for him if she needs it. Except they're still supposed to be sneaking and he has no idea how far away the ship she's taking him to still is.

The constant vibration he's starting to feel in his chest though must mean they're near some heavy machinery. Maybe the air system from the way he can faintly feel it almost through his entire body. When she starts talking and moving normally again though he lifts his head, blinks. Does his best to shake off the exhaustion and apathy he's let settle across him, drawing in long, deep breaths and letting them out to a timed count, clearing his mind. By the time the last restraint comes off - and he hasn't noticed before that her touch is surprisingly soft - he's feeling clearer and he stretches, rolling his shoulders and back. One last very deep inhale and exhale and he follows her over to the tomb. Her father. He thinks that must lay heavy on her but he doesn't say anything. Instead he reaches out and touches the yellow edged white armor. It's a little fancier than he'd chose for himself but - it was for a king. And its not as if he's going to let a few extra frills keep him from practicality. Her warning that he's going to need it just makes that all the more obvious.]

Thank you.

[Even Galra captivity can't drive all his manners out of him and he doesn't waste any time in getting into first the body suit and then the overlaying armor. She's already seen most of him anyway and he has no modesty left. It's a relief to get out of his Galra rags and into something that both fits more comfortably - and covers his scars completely. All but the one on his nose but - its a quiet relief he won't admit to, to not be on display anymore. A few moves to test the fit and he turns back to her with a nod. He can feel the energy seeping into him and he welcomes it completely. The man standing in front of her isn't a slave or even the Champion. He's the beginning of someone else. Someone he might once have been and he's straighter and taller than before.]

All right. I'm ready.

[ The tomb is surprisingly airy, despite it being set so deep in the castle. Allura does realize that the hum -- something between a rumble and a purr -- is no longer confined to her head. It is real, and it is being picked up by her sharp ears.

Not one to forget her manners, Allura has her back turned to Shiro as he changed. Besides, the sword had turned into its default bayard form. She is holding on to that. Once Shiro signals that he's ready, she turns around and --

She's never really believed that the clothes make the man, but seeing Shiro in her father's armor, in the armor of a Paladin, has her see in her mind's eye that he is made to wear it. His veneer is of course, far from that of her gentler father, and the colors not a match for the lion he is going to pilot. Nevertheless, she does not see a scarred slave nor the savage Champion, but someone she knows she can place her confidence in.

Allura does catch herself looking at him a couple of ticks too long without speaking, and her eyes briefly take on the flecks of green of earlier. Her gaze is soft however, as opposed to the wilder, drug-induced reaction the second time she has had to torture him. Self-consciously, she chooses to blame the yellow lights by their feet, as she turns back to lead the way. ]

Good. Let's meet the Black Lion.

[ Soon as they move, the path that leads from the tomb of Alfor to the Black Lion light up with ancient runes and figures -- carvings of five robotic cats each with a distinct design. They are shown in fight, in flight, and at rest alongside humanoid figures. Stylized stars and planets and other celestial bodies turns the tomb into a sort of planetarium with white lights with the colors of red, blue, green, and yellow dancing over them. Whatever humming they had heard from earlier, the sound comes louder along with a something like a musical chord.

No turning back now... They eventually arrive at the door where Allura, once more, places her hand over the center of a runic circle. Streams of light run at the contact, connecting the lit figures and carvings, and heavy stone-metal doors open with a loud rumble.

Illuminated by the carved symbols looms a larger than life robotic lion. Allura and Shiro barely stand up to the height of its claws. The main body in itself is already impressive, but its red wings give the impression of it having a red mane. Its eyes look straight ahead, as if waiting for the guardian to come wake it up. A glowing white particle barrier surrounds it. Allura touches it, and this time, nothing happens. And for her, the lion had fallen deathly quiet, as if to signal that this time, it will only call and roar for its Paladin.

She turns to face him, expectant. ]

It's your turn now, Shiro.