( he's always thought he would be better suited to ensuring the success of others, instead of headlining himself; he'd never really wanted to be at the top of the ranked officers when it came to flying for the garrison, never wanted to be the head of voltron before everything had effectively fallen apart but he's always taken to the role when it's required of him, taken to it flawlessly even though he sometimes thinks he has no damned idea what he's doing. running on instinct, and the ever-present drive to try to do the right thing. that's what keeps him moving forward, even when he feels like he would otherwise be at a standstill.
so. they really are kindred spirits, aren't they? what a wonderful chance meeting this has turned out to be.
he'd been more used to the slight salt-and-pepper look he'd come out of his initial stay with the galra than he cares to admit; sometimes, he'll look at himself in the mirror and try to remember what he'd looked like before he and the holts had left for kerberos, what the softness of his expression had looked like without that scar bisecting it, without the tiny lines of stress and responsibility and obligation etched into its surface, the sort of definition he wouldn't have thought to expect until he was much older than his current years.
truth be told, he's still getting used to the whole-white thing. but. it's just hair, at the end of the day. it doesn't change who he is on the inside, just. makes him look like the old man he feels like sometimes. ) I'm just being proactively positive. ( and he does give that with a flippant sort of tone, almost teasing? just like a good chunk of their interaction has been so far, because he's always been a man of consistency, and that isn't about to stop now.
though, at the very least, he's still being quiet about it because she is one hundred percent correct about not being out of the frying pan just yet; he can still feel the heat, that's for darn sure, even if it might have lessened infinitesimally once the shackles started coming off, and that's a heck of a load off of his anxiety in its own right.
though, while she works at that last lock he finds himself at least trying to think of how they're going to proceed from here, because it isn't going to do either of them any good at all if they're free and have zero plan on how to proceed; he's racking his brain, turning over every single one of his brain cells one by one and he thinks that if there was just some way to invisible their way out of the cell once they have a chance to, that would be it. done, stealth check passed. then to get the literal hell out of dodge.
they'll. get there. surely. it's only a matter of time before one of them comes up with some Great Plan ( ™ ) to get them to their destination and, subsequently, that hug that's going to happen back out in the real world.
and you know? he wouldn't mind all that much if she wanted to inspect his arm more closely; before he'd woken up from stasis here, he hadn't exactly had a lot of time to get used to the thing, and he'd really like to figure out the whole of it for himself, too. shared knowledge, or something like that, is what it all comes down to.
too bad he isn't going to be able to tell her more than 'it's an altean design' and 'it's powered by a crystal' and 'if you only knew how much it hurt before allura figured out how to fix it so that it didn't'.
also … no need for bullying into bedtime. he'll probably go gladly, willingly, even if his conscience would be the one convincing him that he was stepping out on his responsibilities. or something like that. ) Yeah, you're right on that one … betrayal's never been my thing. ( a soft hum, and then we swear … we can hear those crickets.
hm.
excuse him if he's grinning just a tiny bit wider at that 'autograph', though. you ridiculously endearing woman. ) How long do you think we have before they come to get another prisoner? ( maybe … they can fabricate their escape then.
ok we are going to be FINE because some of my longest tags have been 1300+ words ... coughs
so. they really are kindred spirits, aren't they? what a wonderful chance meeting this has turned out to be.
he'd been more used to the slight salt-and-pepper look he'd come out of his initial stay with the galra than he cares to admit; sometimes, he'll look at himself in the mirror and try to remember what he'd looked like before he and the holts had left for kerberos, what the softness of his expression had looked like without that scar bisecting it, without the tiny lines of stress and responsibility and obligation etched into its surface, the sort of definition he wouldn't have thought to expect until he was much older than his current years.
truth be told, he's still getting used to the whole-white thing. but. it's just hair, at the end of the day. it doesn't change who he is on the inside, just. makes him look like the old man he feels like sometimes. ) I'm just being proactively positive. ( and he does give that with a flippant sort of tone, almost teasing? just like a good chunk of their interaction has been so far, because he's always been a man of consistency, and that isn't about to stop now.
though, at the very least, he's still being quiet about it because she is one hundred percent correct about not being out of the frying pan just yet; he can still feel the heat, that's for darn sure, even if it might have lessened infinitesimally once the shackles started coming off, and that's a heck of a load off of his anxiety in its own right.
though, while she works at that last lock he finds himself at least trying to think of how they're going to proceed from here, because it isn't going to do either of them any good at all if they're free and have zero plan on how to proceed; he's racking his brain, turning over every single one of his brain cells one by one and he thinks that if there was just some way to invisible their way out of the cell once they have a chance to, that would be it. done, stealth check passed. then to get the literal hell out of dodge.
they'll. get there. surely. it's only a matter of time before one of them comes up with some Great Plan ( ™ ) to get them to their destination and, subsequently, that hug that's going to happen back out in the real world.
and you know? he wouldn't mind all that much if she wanted to inspect his arm more closely; before he'd woken up from stasis here, he hadn't exactly had a lot of time to get used to the thing, and he'd really like to figure out the whole of it for himself, too. shared knowledge, or something like that, is what it all comes down to.
too bad he isn't going to be able to tell her more than 'it's an altean design' and 'it's powered by a crystal' and 'if you only knew how much it hurt before allura figured out how to fix it so that it didn't'.
also … no need for bullying into bedtime. he'll probably go gladly, willingly, even if his conscience would be the one convincing him that he was stepping out on his responsibilities. or something like that. ) Yeah, you're right on that one … betrayal's never been my thing. ( a soft hum, and then we swear … we can hear those crickets.
hm.
excuse him if he's grinning just a tiny bit wider at that 'autograph', though. you ridiculously endearing woman. ) How long do you think we have before they come to get another prisoner? ( maybe … they can fabricate their escape then.
again. hm. )