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[He nods. They decamp in relative silence, though Shiro does twist up the creature's offerings into an old shirt he slings over his back. It rests against his side, under the stump of his arm as they begin the ascent anew.

The sun chases them up the edge of the canyon wall, and by the time they reach the top Shiro is drenched in sweat. His hand aches from gripping at rock and managing the safety line that has them tied together, and they have precious little water.

What they see, though, once they reach the top--

Shiro says nothing for a good long while. Just stares. It looks like something out of a story, some old fantasy. Greenery that stretches on for miles in every direction, explosions of colour from the vivid bloom of every imaginable flower. There were old stories on Earth about a garden of Eden he imagines would have looked like this.

In an undertone,]

Are you seeing this?

[He helps where he can, when Shiro lets him, even if it's just pulling him up a few inches. Keith is still actively keeping some distance there, not wanting to show off his emotions or risk touching in a way that would make him uncomfortable. The worst thing he could do is make this more awkward.

That is to say the foliage at the top doesn't on its own. It's massive, with colors he doesn't know the names of spread out before them. It initially looks like mayhem, but the more he looks, the more he sees some structure - height and color and shapes having an order.

he almost doesn't hear Shiro--]

Yeah... What is this?

This world's version of an Ikea?

[Look it's as good a guess as anyone, even if he's obviously not being serious. Shadow poofs into existence on Keith's right, but despite sniffing the air she doesn't seem especially bothered by the expanse of-- everything.

Shiro sees the structure to it, too. This is no natural formation. There are fountains in the distance, hydroponics. It all looks incredibly outdated, almost archaic.

(Ten thousand years old? Maybe.)

If anything, it sets him even more on edge. Two options - split up, search, cover more ground. Or stay together, so that at least if they get attacked, or... overwhelmed by toxic plant poison, then at least they're--

-- Together.

(Together.)

He shakes his head, and then points to a spot in the distance.]

I think I see a structure. We should make our way there. If Zarkon was here, there's every possibility these plants are engineered neurotoxins, so try not to disturb them.

Got it.

[He readjusts the packs on his back and starts walking that direction. Potentially engineered attack plants or not, they're beautiful. He can't help but think it the further in they walk.

It doesn't help that the further in they walk, the more solid the ground feels. Gradually there are bits of colored cobblestone here and there, a sort-of-path marking their way. He's careful not to step on any that seem particularly loose (old Earth movies sticking out in his mind that he'd get to see pieces of giving some cautious warning). Careful not to touch plants that seem to reach out into their path.

But they truly are beautiful. A few he recognizes either from his work with the Blades, or his mother's memory flashes. The thought of them being altered to be weapons hurts his heart to imagine. He hopes it isn't the case.

It's when they reach a circle in the path, with different points going in different directions that Keith stops.]

Uh... Shiro?

[In front of him, on the other side of the stone circle, is a small bot. It looks old but functioning still and... possibly tending the plants there.]

Edited 2018-06-21 03:33 (UTC)

[Galra tech. Shiro stiffens, not quite recoiling from it but he definitely goes on the defensive.

It's small. Harmless. He still wants to kick it across the field.

But maybe it has information of some sort, something - anything - they can use to identify this place.

He steps forward a little, leading with his right side, intending to--

(He looks down at where his arm used to be. No, he can't do that any more, can he? But maybe Keith can.)]

Think you can interface with it?

What? Me?

[He blinks slowly, then realizes... Shiro doesn't have his galra hand anymore. He should be used to doing this by now, that he is galra, but sometimes he doesn't connect the two.

Keith takes a breath and steps forward, kneeling to the small bot. He looks at his hand, then holds it out and ...touches it. With finger tips first, then with his whole hand and watches the distinctive galra violet trail down its seams.

It takes a few minutes before he blinks wide-eyed.]

A garden. It's-- A bot to upkeep this garden. There's storage not too far from here, and some bigger structures further in.

[Shiro's hatred of the Galra isn't indiscriminate. Keith's connection to them is different than he is. The legacy of hatred, fear and suffering that bore him into their captivity is something Krolia fought against what Shiro assumes was most of her life. But while Shiro merely had something grafted onto him by the enemy, there's a part of Keith that many would consider to be the enemy.

Shiro doesn't think he could ever look at him and see something other than a friend, a brother, but-- he's one man, with one opinion. Keith will carry his heritage the rest of his life. They haven't really had time to discuss whether or not he struggles with it, but-- Shiro knows him. Keith never does take the easy way through anything.

He watches as he crouches down to activate the robot.]

All right. Let's keep going. Stay close.

[Keith stands, watching the little bot go on its way to work, trimming hedges and what amounts to watering others. It'd be almost cute if he didn't know it's been here for countless years untouched.

He makes an affirmative noise in his throat and leads the way, staying just a couple steps ahead of Shiro. Shadow flicks between walking in front of Keith, and walking beside Shiro, wanting to keep an eye on them both. There isn't any need, though. Nothing jumps out to attack. There's no ambush waiting. The most they find are more flowers. The stone under their feet becoming more solid, some glossy black stone benches, soft on the edges and not sharp like he's come to see Galra design.

They come through one alcove, an arch of vivid blue, white, and pink-purple blossoms to an open field, with a two story structure just in the middle. It's old, but still solid.]

...What do you think?

[It looks like something he saw once in the castle of Lions. And those flowers--

Juniberries. Allura showed him once, before they had to deactivate Alfor's AI. He exhales sharply, and crosses his left arm until he can grasp at the fabric of his shirt against his ribs.]

I think it's Altean.

This is... weird.

[He's said it earlier that day, and it's still true now. He carefully takes a step into the open grass, and when nothing happens, looks back to Shiro to motion him on.]

Why would a Galra garden bother with anything Altean...

Edited 2018-06-21 04:11 (UTC)

[He follows Keith, because of course he does.]

Lotor's mother was Altean. The timeline fits.

[His mouth screws up at one corner. Bitterness. Anger. It's all old emotion, these days, but still present. Still vitriolic.]

Zarkon must have had this place built for her.

Oh.

[Well. That puts this into a different perspective. About Lotor, about their original alliance... Everything. Maybe a time before Zarkon was out to enslave the universe, he actually cared about someone.

Zarkon might have been something approaching sympathetic before the rift opened on Daibazaal.]

Let's look at it. See what's inside.

[He knows Black brought them here for a reason. Black was also originally partnered with Zarkon, and likely knew a lot more about him than history was willing to tell. There has to be a reason she brought them.]

I don't--

[want to. It's a small, personal, petty thing. He knows it. Zarkon is dead. His ghost had no chance at being salvaged the way Shiro himself was, and all he haunts now is his memories. But he doesn't want to be or go anywhere that he called home, that he may have found peace or comfort. He doesn't care if he was a veritable saint before he was corrupted, because that corruption subjugated billions across the known universe, and was responsible for equally as many deaths.

He grits his teeth.]

Keep alert.

[Keith stops and looks back to him when Shiro stops himself at first.

It makes sense. Shiro wouldn't want to go near it. A part of him is sad - though he can't put a finger on why - but Shiro not wanting to see any part of this is ...sad.

He sets his pack down by the archway and only keeps his knife.]

It's all right. I'll check it out. Shadow - [She poofs next to them, watching Keith.] Stay here with him. I'll be back in a few ticks.

No.

[He shakes his head, firm, already stepping forward.]

We need to stay together. We have no idea what this place might be capable of.

....If you're sure.

[Keith doesn't feel sure.

He feels like Shiro is putting up a front. He isn't sure for whose sake that would be, but he knows Shiro doesn't want to see this place.

He takes up the pack again and his knife in one hand. His free hand he uses to open the door on its palm scan. Inside is... dusty. Old. It clearly hasn't seen any visitor since possibly before the empire. It's open, not as grandiose as large mansions but still nice. Some rooms off the main entry, stairs going up to a second floor. The decor and design is almost entirely Altean.

A few steps in more, and the lights begin to flicker to life, starting close and going out into the home. Because that's what it looks like: a home.]

[It does look like a home. There's a reading room, books neatly stacked on a small end table. Actual paper books-- he didn't think Alteans have used those in longer than just ten thousand years. There are decorations on the wall, a crawling vine motif evident in all the carved woodwork, the stairs, the trellis.

It's beautiful.

Perfectly preserved, somehow, despite its age. Maybe it's not real wood, but something simulated to look like it.

They pad through the empty rooms. Each one of them simply looks as if the inhabitants simply left one day and never returned. There's a cloak draped over a chair. Plates still on the table, though the food has long since deteriorated away. Dust covers anything and everything, and Shiro wrinkles his nose at the way the weak sunlight filtering through the grimy windows catches on the airborne motes. Can't be too healthy to be breathing this all in.]

I guess if it's not booby-trapped, we'll have somewhere to sleep tonight.

[In case of rain.]

I think it'll work fine.

[Keith is already testing the stairs, supporting his weight just fine. So it must not be real wood after all. It isn't a problem, but he keeps his eyes sharp as he goes up. They cleared the first floor, but the second may be where it's all at.

There are only a couple of rooms upstairs. A big, sprawling open loft with large windows facing where he saw the sun set the night before. A bedroom on one side, drapings of deep purple and blues. Beddings folded neatly, waiting for their next use that would ultimately never happen.

The whole place feels almost like a fairytale. If it were cleaned up, it might have even been romantic.

And that's a dangerous line of thinking, given his particular circumstance.]

Looks like it's empty. Where should we set up.

[Shiro doesn't reply immediately. Instead, he is busy inspecting the walls. Sliding his hand across the faux wood paneling, until he finds what he's looking for - a panel that, when compressed, slides away to reveal a communication interface.]

If the robots outside still work, maybe the ones in here do too.

[He can't exactly see Zarkon sweeping floors or doing dishes. There have to be servitors, long-dormant, that could at least assist them in driving away the oppressive dust.]

We can take one of the guest bedrooms downstairs.

[Speaking of dangerous, that phrasing makes him grimace the second it's out of his mouth. An amendment:]

I'll take the floor.

[He still wants them to stay together. This place has every nerve left in his body singing with tension and--

(fear. some. enough. he hates it.)

-- It doesn't matter. They won't be here long enough for it to matter.]

[Keith doesn't think anything of the wording, not until Shiro adds that second part. His heart catches in his chest when he gets to the last step coming back down.

Right. Another reminder that this is one sided. He needs to get over this and quick. Nevermind that he's thought about Shiro like that for... well, years now, when he looks back.

Keith knows the smart thing is to stay together. He wishes he could justify any reason to stay in another room, stay outside even. He knows Shiro won't go for that. He'll have to make that time himself when he can. He swallows down the lump in his throat and heads where Shiro is, seeing the comm interface. He's doing his level best to keep his expression carefully detached. Guarded. That wall that went up when he left the original conversation hasn't completely come down.]

Other bots?

[And it kills him, even though he knows why Keith is doing it. Seeing him that on-edge around him-- it's as if they lost five years of time together, they're starting all over again from nothing. It's hard, and he's the cause of it. He'd walk right up to Zarkon at the height of the Empire's power and hand himself over if it was a way to keep Keith from pain, so this--

He's helpless. There haven't been many times in his life that word applies.

He nods to the panel.]

Couldn't hurt to give it a try.

[He takes a breath and holds it as he puts his hand to the panel. Whatever wasn't on before whirs to life, lights on, air circulating systems, and servibots. Some are automated, cleaning the dust and grime, others come to them, waiting to be instructed.]

Uh. So... That's what that does.

I... don't think this is any place with defenses set up.

At least nothing we've found yet.

[Which doesn't mean nothing at all. It's possible Zarkon's ego lead him to believe that Black would be enough in the event of some event, but-- surely he was never so naive?

(Then again-- if this was before the War, before everything-- maybe there wasn't anything to fear. No one to fight. Maybe Black was enough. Maybe this planet was remote enough.)

Shiro shakes his head, and then shifts the makeshift rucksack with the offerings from the local creatures on his shoulder.]

Just-- be careful.

[That bit is softer. He's not really meaning to show his frustration and anger and all that deep, deep suspicion around Keith, doesn't for a moment want him thinking that this is something Shiro's just taking out on him when really, it all just boils down to Zarkon.]

Let's see if it has a functioning food processor unit. Or at least a kitchen.

Right.

[He investigated upstairs (more private, more personal, beds and bathrooms), but not entirely downstairs. He sets his pack down with knife in hand and starts meandering to the other side of the building. An open room with bookshelves and seating, a single door to...]

Hey! Found it.

[A fairly decent sized kitchen. Storage and cold storage are empty from what he can see; what servibots were working must have emptied it out before shutting down.]

Nothing stocked.

Running water?

[They can hang on without food, at least for a while. Water they'll need. The gardens are lush enough that those systems must have remained functional even if the ones inside the house aren't, so if needs be they can use those.

Shiro slings his pack onto the floor. Now that they're-- somewhere he's choosing to believe is safe for the time being, all the little hurts are coming back to him. From the fight, from the crash, the climb. His knee throbs, he just knows if he takes a look at it it'll be swollen and tender, too.

But Keith-- he's even worse-off.

Shiro follows him, butts his good (well, 'better' in this case) shoulder up against the doorway.]

I know you're going to protest, but unless they have a healing pod on the premises somewhere, I'm going to have to look your injuries over.