whatsacactus | (no subject)

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.

I'll take care of them.

[He says it clearly, with no room for question. It wouldn't be the first time he took care of his own injuries, likely won't be the last.

Instead, he focuses on what looks like a sink, has to be. It sputters when he turns the knob, a few seconds, then pours easily.]

Guess turning all that on turned the water on too.

[u stubborn l'il shit. Shiro just looks at him. Then, soft,]

All right. Sooner rather than later, Keith.

[He Knows You. And can surmise that right now, what he wants is to be left alone. Which, coincidentally is the last thing Shiro wants to do, but.]

Then I guess I'm going to have a shower. All that climbing, I bet I smell worse than that time Lance got sprayed by a space skunk.

[He says that lightly enough, not exactly trying to get a smile or a laugh out of Keith but at least to ease the severity of the mood.]

[Turning the water off, Keith doesn't really look at him. It hurts, in a way he hadn't thought it would, a way he's used to but a different flavor: not wanted. He should be used to this, but this particular instance is... so much more personal than would-be friends or foster homes that sent him back.]

Saw one upstairs. Pretty big.

[He assumes it's because Zarkon was a big guy.] I'll see what else I can find down here that's useful.

Okay. I won't be long.

[Normally, he'd reach out and touch Keith's shoulder. A greeting and a parting both, something grounding, something bracing. But instinct tells him it's not the right move here, so instead he just-- nods, and turns to go.

The shower is massive. He, like Keith, can guess why but chooses to ignore the connotations. There's no soap, but the water - after a few minutes of it being ice cold - turns hot enough to scald, and that's good enough for him. He does it quickly enough, and then gets back out.

Alteans, just like humans, had something of a vain streak. Mirrors. He catches his reflection in one that's across from the shower, full-length, and just sort of. Grimaces. He hadn't given too much thought to the hair, but now it's obvious how much it ages him. He's skinnier than normal, too. Not eating enough. His ribs are a multicoloured patina of greens and blacks, and that knee is plenty swollen.

He touches the pads of his fingers to the stump of the prosthetic. There's no pain. The nerve-endings have been disconnected, the entire thing feels dead against his shoulder. He wants it-- off, out, gone, so intensely in that moment he can almost taste it.

Later. They'll work on it later. For now-- no. He gets dressed again in clothing the servitors had taken to clean and then goes back in search of Keith.]

[When Shiro leaves, Shadow pads up to him, nosing at his hand until Keith takes a tight grip of her longer fur. Just for a moment. Just until he hears Shiro go upstairs.

Shiro's absence is enough time for him to finish looking at everything in this kitchen. There are plenty of dishes and cutlery, but no sign of even sealed food. It must have all gone bad at some point and was thrown out. Not a bad thing. They can make do for the short time they're here.

He goes back to the front entrance just to dig for the emergency kit, figuring by a sink is the best place to clean himself up. It's painstaking to get the armor off, peel out of the body suit. But the cuts and bruises are bad, staring to outnumber his previous scars. He carefully starts cleaning them all, hissing between his teeth at the stinging pain. The cleaner included in the kit is about ten times stronger than human solution. It's here, being able to stop for a few minutes, that he realizes he's had the underlying taste of iron in his mouth - blood he never spit or cleaned out from the fight before. Never had the chance. He rinses his mouth and spits as much out as he can.

He'd done it though, hadn't he? Despite having promised Shiro nothing would happen to him, he'd failed. Shiro had died. And sure, Keith got him back with Allura's and Black's help, but he'd fucked up. And then fucked up again.

You're worthless. Broken.

He knows. he knows that. He just thought maybe things could be different.

It's when his hands are shaking trying to dress the more egregious wounds that it hits. A wave rolling over him that he can't stop, getting caught up in it the way his eyes sting with tears he can't stop. He ties that wrap off and lets it happen. He's alone, he's quiet. It's fine if he just lets it out for a little while.]

[The house is silent when he comes downstairs. There's an absence of movement in the still air, which makes him instantly suspicious, and he grips the bayard awkwardly.

It's Shadow's appearance that gives him pause. The wolf emerges from the kitchen and crowds into him. Nothing about her seems on edge, no ruffled fur, no snarling teeth. She just pushes against his leg (avoiding his bad one, maybe she can tell it's hurt) and for lack of a better word, she herds him towards one of the smaller side-rooms.

She doesn't want him around Keith right now, that much is clear. Something catches in his throat, closes. But he doesn't argue. He just lets himself be shuffled towards one of the chairs. When he sits down at a freshly cleaned chair with a high back and lush purple cushions, he realizes that what he had thought of as being paper books are actually electronic paperwhite. He picks one up, idly turns the rather solid pages, and images flicker across them in an elegant scroll. Words in Altean.

(He can read some of them now. Black knows how, and some of her knowledge became his when she rescued him. Osmosis.)

He touches the symbols, they flare under his hand. One of them is projected into the air, he recognizes it. But not from Black.

(He's seen this one before. This one. On a table. Under a knife. Haggar--

It means purification.)

He closes the book. His breathing is hard, and Shadow whines as she butts up against his leg. He clears his throat. Action. Action is how he's held the tide back ever since he and the Holts were captured. The ocean swells, the storm builds, Shiro can't be idle even a moment. So, loudly:]

Keith, find anything else?

[His voice carries through the house.]

[Shiro's voice carries, and Keith sniffles (sniffles! Some parts of him are still growing up it seems) and wipes his face on his undersuit.]

No. Was cleaning up.

[Himself, his injuries. Anything. If he remembers to breathe, he can wash his face, make it not so miserable-looking.

It takes a minute, but he comes back out in just the black undersuit and boots.]

Feel any better?

Yeah. Shower's great. Ten different settings.

[He assesses Keith's overall state - no visible dishevelment, but his eyes are red. He doesn't linger on the details. They've been through a lot. Keith especially - more than anyone his age should ever have to deal with, and it's been a constant deluge since he was a child. Shiro's expression softens.]

I don't know how this place heats its water supply, but I think I left enough if you want to use it.

I'll get one later.

[There are only hits of fresh bandages at the edges, coming up his neck, or at his hand. Instead, Keith comes to stand by the chair and look around the room.]

A lot left here. Could probably find other food out there, if you want.

I guess that'll be the first order of business, then.

[He makes a move - something familiar, to fold his arms. Halfway through the motion he realizes he's without his right, and the gesture transmutes itself not quite seamlessly into him simply putting his left on his hip. His expression gentles when it falls on Keith.]

But we both need time to rest and recover. We can worry about reconnaissance tomorrow, and we have food and water to get us through the day.

[He sees those bandages. Just how badly injured is he? This body did that to him. Some of it. A lot of it. Shiro knows that between the two of them, his clone certainly took less punishment in the fight. Shiro wishes he hadn't held back, but-- that's just Keith. He couldn't have done anything else.

I love you.

Shiro goes to pick up his satchel, full of the creature's offerings and sets it down on the countertop to sift through.]

[Keith starts to protest, to offer to go look around. Something about Shiro's movements have him stop. Shiro needs to rest and recover.

Instead, he nods and goes about finding sealable mugs or cups to carry water in, just in case they have to leave suddenly.

He needs to stay busy. Stay moving, otherwise...

I love you.

He'd never said it out loud before. Never even thought it hard enough to mean it before that.]

Didn't hear anything unusual while you were up there.