galratech | (no subject)

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[Shiro doesn't remember falling, but it feels a little like he's been dropped off a high building and frankly, given the likelihood that he was teleported here, for whatever reason... he doubts, with his luck, that it was a gentle landing. He deeply considers lying prone for a few more minutes, but the sound of excited voices filter through to his awareness past the pain, talking about a 'beam of light'. Before he can think about how much he hurts, he's rolling into a tense, ready crouch, just in time for several large shapes to break through the foliage. Shiro can only gape at the variety of the figures that fan out to surround him, scales and vines and wings. He hasn't seen such a menagerie gathered in one place since, well... the coliseum.

It's not a comforting comparison.

Weary dread sluices through Shiro's body as they circle him, jeering. He seems weak! and King Darc will know just what to do with this one. and He'll be quite a prize, with this last line, an echo from the past again, ratcheting his pulse up until it feels like his chest will break. Though Shiro knows from their tone it won't do any good, he warns them to back off just once before lunging at the nearest one, hoping surprise will give him enough edge to run.]

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[Shiro nearly whips around to look at him, but he's conscious of not wanting to accidently knock him over, so he doesn't. It's a very striking statement, so much a stoned Shiro only slowly muddles his way through making sense of it.]

... It would be pretty bad if anything happened to me while I was here, right? Because I'm a human.

[Darc's mouth quirks a bit.]

That's right. And Deimos don't exactly excel in delicate situations.

[Darc twists the cloth and threads it between Shiro's legs.]

I'll be careful.

[Said with the weighty sincerity of someone who grasps the importance. The thought that Shiro might become the cause of some kind of diplomatic incident is horrifying to him.

And then his ears go bright red at this unexpected move, kind of ruining the solemnity of the moment. ]

[ties off the underwear. Also red.]

One way or another, I'm the best suited for this task.

[He grabs the way bigger cloth, and wraps that one more simply around Shiro's waist, this time from the front. Eyeing him here and there like his weird way of locking eye contact in defiance of instincts that tell him to break eye contact.]

So, you're my responsibility, Shiro.

[Good, hope you got a GOOD LOOK at those sculpted thighs and pert ass. As brutally scared as the rest of him.

Shiro's just trying to keep eye contact, because it's really important to stoned Shiro for Darc to know he's not going to plunge his people into war. ]

I'll stick close by.

[Yea to be honest Shiro's body is in fact, distracting. For lots of reasons.

Though the sincerity of his gaze cuts right into Darc. Especially since it's REAL SERIOUS STONED SINCERITY.

Darc stares a bit at him, then his expression softens. Now he looks away from his eyes, down at the knot he's folding into Shiro's skirt.]

Good.

... I've never seen a human with scars like yours.

[By now this is a story Shiro has told many times, both concisely and at length. It put a lot of the different people they'd encountered at ease to know that Voltron really knew the brutality of the Galra and were still willing to fight.

This is a little different. He's not trying to plead Voltron's case. His history is displayed all over his skin and he can't choose how Darc reads it. He really, really just wants to cover himself and he's stoned enough to let himself feel a deep, frustrated pang over it that only translates into an aborted movement to cross his arms. There's nothing for it. He's just going to have to do without.]

When the Galra had me they made me fight for them in their arena. I was there for a while.

A while? Then you weren't losing.

[Darc recognizes the reflex and feels a pang of sympathy. Feels bad, even though this is a human, a human causing him a lot of trouble no less. But he so rarely meets anyone with any similarities to him at all that it blasts through that fear of ever connecting with the side of him he's tried so hard to distance himself from.]

--Then these Galra, the ones you just delt a blow to, you were once their pet.

I never lost.

[Said simply, lacking anything, even the flatness of suppressed emotion. If he had lost he'd be dead, so even if his memories are a mess, that's one thing he's sure of.

The hint of understanding in Darc's voice makes Shiro glad he shared, because he wants Darc to be comfortable around him but it also makes him terrified and, weirdly, a little frustrated. He tries to think about that, since Darc's been nothing but cordial. It just feels like too much at once: He already decided to deal with his arm, he doesn't want to get into this, too. There's no point in filling in all that black space. Zarkon is dead and he needs to focus on the future, now.

The more reasons he thinks of, the more they start to feel like justifications, and the more he realizes he just doesn't want to know anything about it. Those memories feel like a disease, something on the verge of corrupting him, and the more he knows about the cause and the symptoms, the more he'll see them, feel them acting on him. And standing next to Darc with his scars and his sympathy, it feels like Shiro could catch it from him. It's such an awful, unworthy thought; the distress is plain on Shiro's face.

But then the rest of Darc's statement catches up with him, you were once their pet. The world drops out from under him. The gut-twisting vertigo of being suddenly adrift is so familiar by now that resigned irritation mostly outweighs the terror as memories sluice through him, purple and red, one shifting into the other. Is the fact that he has the space to be exasperated about the bad lighting and overabundance of purple a good or a bad thing?

When he drops out of it maybe thirty seconds later drenched in sweat, his eyes dart for Darc to see if he noticed. Or more likely what he noticed.]

--iro! Shiro.

[Darc has drawn himself up, frustration and anger and worry sharpening his voice to a bark.]

Damn it, human, get back together!

[Shiro has to give it a beat, and then swallow. He doesn't really sound like himself.]

Sorry. Zoned out. Still a little too drugged.

[Darc snorts, displeased.]

Is there a purpose to lying to me? Any idiot would recognize what just happened.

[FLUSTERED GRIMACE!]

There isn't. I wasn't thinking, King Darc.

[well that's appeasing enough, even though it explains NOTHING.]

Hmph.

[If Shiro had only recently turned the tables on his slavers... Darc grumbles, not liking the severity of the human's dream or how it reflected back on Darc.

Did Kharg with his cushy life even know anything about what that kind of life could do? Would the humans even know what to do with him?

He sighs.]

Come outside. The air isn't so perfumed. You can ask your questions there.

...

[Shiro nods, and gives himself a moment to focus before following after.]

[Outside can only be described as a thriving ruin. This place looks like an open-air, completely blasted open shell of a mall. It's been destroyed, abandoned, reclaimed by nature, repurposed and repopulated. They're on the highest floor, where Darc looks down over the broken "cliff", ropes and ladders linking each floor up and down. Torchlight lights up a storefront here and there where Deimos have claimed their rooms.

Far across the open crevasse, on the ground, is what looks to be a bustling Deimos market. All kinds of different Deimos walk to and fro. Stars can be seen through the sunset up above and the whole place is lush with glowing plants. It's a nice view and a nice sunset.

Darc sits on a mossy rock, crosses his arms and looks up at Shiro expectantly.]

[Shiro is earnestly distracted for a long moment. Really, this is probably the most Earth-like planet he's been on so far and it's just... really, really nice to look at.

He doesn't linger too long, though. Darc has his full attention as he takes times to formulate what to say. This should honestly probably wait until he's sober but he's way too keyed up and... Darc obviously wants to talk. Shiro owes him that.]

The Diezweld... Who are they? Were you their prisoner?

Pfah. No. But they imprisoned many Deimos and humans alike. They were a greedy nation of humans that attempted to rule us all. Now they're dead. What remains of their people has been reclaimed by allies.

[A little nonplussed:]

That's not what your scars are from?

Perhaps a few.

[he frowns.]

Not visible scars. They're the ones who captured Camillia. And they killed one of the greatest Deimos I've ever known.

What was their purpose? What did they want?

Power, what else?

Deimos and humans were fighting over spirit stones. We sourced our magic from it, they sourced their technology. It felt quite a bit like your arm.

Now, there's none left.

Do you think that will become an issue? I don't want to make you more of a target than I have already.

... No. Humans can't detect it without tools, and they've no reason to have them now.

And whatever it is, it isn't remotely enough, or any good to the Deimos if only you can use it. I'm more interested in where it came from.

[Well, that makes him relax... slightly.]

We really don't know much about the Galra. I think they use something called 'Quintessence" but to tell you the truth, I'm not sure if it's magic or science or both.